Avalon

•16•

Deductions

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It was one more day Nate spent trying to figure out what the heck he could do to get inside. The catering personnel was already inside out and taking in the stuff they needed for station set up. And from the looks it was some freaking fancy tech involved.

Looks like fancy finger food isn't enough these days... Nathan mumbled to himself while taking another puff from his nebulizer.

The very pretty looking but also rather bossy lady with dark lightly curled hair and porcelain skin seemed to be the boss for catering. She looked very determined and profoundly professional in her heels and pad on arm. She looked like Earth people. Because here paper was rare technology for notes among locals.

Olay he did scribble on his hands still but that was different.

Officials used digital stuff and they even had pretty advanced tech. Not all of course. Only the high rise. Mid levels and low lives like him relied on old school shit. Basically what he'd deduced mostly was that those from Earth that came less officially or before were simple stayed simple. He was still the same paper and pencil guy but kept up his secret techie skills for another day.

Because what he had otherwise would require strict observation and regulation. Because he was still a mutant among normal. They still avoided those with gifts like plague. Of flu.

Nate had seen many occasions when military came to swipe a building and came out with many different people in cuffs or with a net over their heads. He knew what it meant. So he always ran from hospitals. Always. And never gave his real name. Always an alias so it wouldn't tie him to system or get him in trouble.

Nate was the one to always be cautious. Especially after Samara. Because he never could do this one thing she wanted- that damn crafty artsy envelope that held some ancient invitation form. It was freaking neat on the outside with real velvet covering the outer part and having red leather on the inside layer with fucking gold letters in extremely intricate engraving that resembled calligraphic handwriting. It was priceless and worth several billions on black market. It was in the fucking museum where New York held some event. And only that night alone it was out on display. And exactly two days before Samara challenged them to steal it for her. She would ring up a buyer on spot if they did.

Nate almost choked on his nebulizer mist at the ridiculousness of the thought alone. Yet they did it anyway. Almost.

In the last moment somebody else grabbed the thing and they were made to run.

The memory often came back when he was scouting such events (which wasn't that often). And for some reason he had hard time believing it wasn't one of their group who snatched it so utterly pro. Not that they weren't. Just in a way they always hesitated, especially Noel. Maybe he actually believed programming. Yet he was another group but he never stuck with them, somehow he always sneaked over to their bunk.

Other thing that kept Nate wide awake was mere memory of the boy everyone kept calling his twin. Well, mirrors and vanity was a thing for older boys and girls so little ones didn't see themselves in mirrors until they reached next level.

Therefore Nate had no idea how he looked and couldn't really compare. Waters didn't count much because in water surface it still was hard to see the reflection and it often was too distorted by tiny ripples.

But the longing was there. It never left.

He wasn't usually a sap but stakeouts made all the worse come out. So it rarely was fair.