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It's her first evening away from home, and even Papa's strong mental presence has left her range by now.
It's lonely.
She knows that humans aren't lesser than mutants, per se, but she's still used to a different flavor of minds thrumming against hers when she's trying to go to sleep.
She and Emily aren't the only mutants on campus, though. There aren't a lot of them, but there's one other, at least...
She reaches out to them.
Hello?
"I think tonight it's late enough that what happens next is that we go our separate ways and sleep. Later is another story."
Aww. Sad but true.
"Yeah, probably. Morning classes and everything."
Pause.
"...see you tomorrow, though?"
He kisses her back, laughs, and then walks away, waving over his shoulder before he disappears through the door of the dorm.
The next afternoon there is a possibly-familiar former frisbee player blocking his path out of his last class and glowering at him.
He nods to the guy as if he just happens to be standing in the doorway.
(99% chance he's not, but hey, better to give the dude the benefit of the doubt.)
"Hey. Have I met you? Your hair looks kinda familiar."
The best part about that line is that it's not an insult unless you expect it to be.
The dude growls and shoves him. "Freak," he spits.
He stumbles back, hits a desk, and...laughs.
(He almost missed this. What a fucking rush!)
"Yeah, what about it? You jealous?"
The guy snarls and picks him up by the front of his shirt.
Several other muscular guys emerge from the hallway. None look especially on his side.
He grabs the guy's wrists to take a little weight off. Being picked up just by your shirt is kind of uncomfortable.
"Aww, I know mutie guys are scary, but I didn't think you'd bring all your friends!"
"Shut up," he says, shaking Z sharply.
Unexpectedly, he does.
He doesn't struggle, though. He just holds himself there.
"I'm listening."
He throws him down on the ground. "What the fuck was that yesterday?"
(If Z has a good memory for faces he may identify his present attacker as his previous blown-kiss recipient.)
The impact doesn't quite knock the wind out of him, but it's close.
"Oh, shit, you're that guy."
He barely remembers it.
"Yeah, I assumed it was an insult or something. So I blew a kiss. Makes sense?"
No, it doesn't.
Someone kicks him.
He coughs a little when the kick connects, curling his legs up a little instinctively before forcing them still.
"See, the guys who yell at me from long distances are usually the first guys to lose it if some fag blows a kiss at them."
Someone else kicks him. In the ribs, this time.
There's a snap.
He doubles over on the ground.
"--fuck-"
It probably sounds like that's all pain if you don't know him too well.
And the door slams open.
"And just what do you goons think you're doing?" Edie demands.
shh nah it's ok i got this it's fine it's cool they're gonna go for it again--
He sounds a little...unstable at the moment.
He almost wants to try to send her the feeling of his rib breaking, the gorgeous screaming full-body jolt, the flutter of all the little muscles it sets off, the electricity of it. She might understand.
But he doesn't think she'd like it if he tried. Instead he just squirms -- and something moves under his shirt as the broken bone begins to pull itself back together.
"What the--" one of the jocks says.
If it's violence you want I can do whatever you want consensually later may I please make these jerks regret it I lose credibility if I let them hurt you after barging in like this.
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