"This is you with the edge off?" Tansy said lightly.

"Maybe I'm a lost cause," Frank replied, focusing on the paper in his hands.

"Okay, first up. Tansy May," he said, dipping his head in her direction before continuing. He read from the page like he was reading board game instructions to the room. "The Green Witch of Scarborough. A witch before all this..." he waved his hand in the air, "... utter bullshit, so that tracks."

Tansy nodded, still a little shaken by Frank's unexpectedly intense energy.

"Tansy is 28 years old as of July. Her scales are green," he continued. "She carries a bag of infinite mystery, full of good smelling things and medicines. And knives. She is a self-proclaimed hermit. Her weaknesses are insomnia and other people."

"The Green Witch's ability is Resilient Roots, in which she takes healing energy from nearby plants and channels it to allies for 15 seconds before she passes out. Also, she can't move while it's happening, so that's probably not good."

Elio put his hand to his heart. "You are a goddess."

Tansy bowed her head.

Frank looked back and forth between them, feeling things again. "Yeah," he said. "Thanks for fixing my face."

She took in his unbroken nose, his fading bruises, his healing scar beneath the five o'clock shadow, and apparently had nothing to say.

"Then we have yours truly, Frank Chaplin," he said, breaking the silence.

"Francis."

"That's Frank to you," Frank said, fixing Elio with a look and a shake of his finger.

He cleared his throat again, then took a big swig of water. "The Urban Fucking Bard of Philadelphia. Frank is a woodworker by trade, and—"

"Are you really?" Tansy said.

"I am."

"A man of many talents," Elio interjected.

"And damn good with my hands," Frank said, winking at Elio.

Tansy stood and walked to the window.

"Woodworker by trade," Frank repeated, "and bootlegger by hobby, but that is for your ears only. Frank is 31 years old, and his scales are a rather royal looking purple, if he does say so himself. He doesn't carry much on his person, but he makes good use of available resources. His weaknesses are sensual in nature, and he would rather keep it at that—"

Leila made a gagging sound. "Gross."

"—for reasons," Frank continued, staring at the back of Leila's head.

"The Urban Bard's ability is Call of Valor, in which he drains opponents of their resolve and mixes it with his, ahem, prodigious passion. He then channels it to whoever can hear him, and those fine folks are instantly all revved up. Sadly, Urban Bard is a wee bit vulnerable afterward, maybe feels his feelings for a while. Just something to keep in mind. Oh, and that ability has a 36 hour cooldown."

He put the paper on the table and jotted something down. "What's yours, Tansy?"

"Hmm?" she said, still gazing out the window.

"Your cooldown," Leila said.

"Cooldown? Oh, right. Um, twelve hours."

"Twelve. Hours," Frank repeated as he wrote. "And the downside? Just passing out?"

"Just passing out? I guess so. I'm pretty drained afterward."

"Yeah, same," Frank said.

Leila said, "Same."

Elio nodded. "Yes, yes."

Frank shuffled the character sheets. "Leila Reed!"

Leila took a bow.

"Leila is 17 years old and hails from Pittsburgh." It was Frank's turn to gag. "Gross."

"Hey, you!" Leila said, balling up a fist.

"Leila is a self-proclaimed maker and excellent trapper of fish. She has been on her own since the ripe old age of 14, since something happened which she won't talk about, and she ended up here."

"Yup."

"Leila is now the Falconer of Philadelphia." Frank paused to get her approval.

"Fine," she said.

"A falconer without a falcon," Elio murmured, tacking on a sad tsk tsk and a shake of his head.

"We don't make the rules, Rivera. Where was I? Leila's scales are brown. Armed with her incredibly fucking painful slingshot and trusty sidekick Buster, she has the ability Dissimulate. During Dissimulate, she distorts light to blend into her background, becoming invisible to anyone who doesn't already know she's there. She is free to move about for the duration, but has to hold her breath the entire time. When she exhales, her head hurts like a son of a bitch, and she's useless for a short time afterward."

"The headache doesn't last as long now," Leila said. "But I still can't do anything for a minute or two afterward."

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"What do you mean?"

"I practice? What do you mean?"

"Exactly how many times have you practiced?" Frank said.

She shrugged. "I don't know. Probably... twenty?"

The adults exchanged glances.

"But why?" Frank asked for the room.

"Why not?" When they stared at her, dumbfounded, she continued. "Has anything like this ever happened to you? Or you? Or to anyone, ever? It's pretty amazing, right? I mean, I think being invisible is pretty fucking next."

"Hey, language."

"Whatever, Grandpa."

"I don't know," Tansy said quietly. "I might just rather be home."

"Alone?" Leila said. "For real?"

Tansy picked at the hem of her shirt in silence.

"Leila," Elio said, pulling his chair closer to her. "Your spirit is commendable and inspiring."

"Thanks. It's not—" she cut off abruptly. "Hang on. Ooh, I just remembered," she said, inching closer to him. "How did you know I was in the elevator?"

"I do not understand."

"Oh really? Because I was holding my breath, and you acted like you couldn't see me. But then you came back. AND, you just slid that door right open even though I locked it."

A smile formed on Elio's lips. "Yes."

"So, you saw me?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"It was simple," he said, leaning forward and whispering. "I knew you were there."

"But how?"

Elio reclined in his chair and straightened his legs, casually crossing one foot over the other. He stretched his arms wide and laced his fingers together behind his head, gazing at Leila over his long, lithe body.

Disarming smile intact, he shrugged his signature shrug and said, "I have my ways."

"Oh, no you don't." Frank smacked the table with his open hand. "Spill it, Rivera."

"I will not."

"You see this?" Frank said, holding up a blank sheet of paper. "This is everything I have on you."

"Then all is as it should be, my friend," Elio said, still with that mischievous grin on his beautiful face.

Tansy circled the table, then leaned against the wall with her arms folded over her chest. "Alright, how about this? If we guess something correctly, you say so."

He looked her up and down and took his sweet time doing it.

"Eh, I think not, witch." He picked up Tansy's flask, shaking it lightly. His smile was gone.

"What am I missing?" Frank said, totally baffled.

"When someone tells you who they are," Elio said, "believe them."

Tansy and Elio locked eyes for an uncomfortably long time before she said, "You don't actually have to say a word."

"Mmm. I am aware," he said.

Seconds passed.

"Okay, I'm out," Leila said with a yawn. "There are beds around. If a door is locked, leave it locked. Trust me." She turned around at the hallway door. "And don't touch my stuff. Night."

"Goodnight," they said in unison.

The tension in the room was palpable.

"Hey," Frank said, low and serious. "I don't know what's happening here," he said, gesturing back and forth between them. "But there's something I want to discuss."

They dragged their eyes away from each other and looked at him.

"Look," Frank said, pressing his fingers to his temples. "You don't know me. I don't know you. Not really. I get that it's only been a day or two, and some fucked up days at that. But I need someone I can trust. I'm no good alone, okay? I don't mind saying so."

He looked at Elio. "I lost my person, you know?" he said, his voice cracking.

"Who?" Tansy said, but Frank held up a hand.

"And I need her. I need her for this. I am lost, okay? I mean, what even is this shit? What, we're just walking around like a bunch of fucking lizards now? Talking about voices in our heads and freaky fucking superpowers, and that's just," he shrugged, "how it's gonna be? And what do we have, huh? We don't know what we have. Nobody seems to know what we have. We don't even know if..." He trailed off, unwilling to speak it.

"So, do we have each other?" he continued. "Because if we have each other, then alright. Just say so. But if we don't, then just say that. Because I need to trust someone really fucking hard right now. And if I can't trust you, either of you, just say the word and I will look elsewhere."

The silence stretched out into the lonely night.

"The words don't matter, Frank," Tansy said at last.

Frank ventured a glance at her, surprised to see tears. "What do you mean?"

She wiped her cheeks with her human-skinned palm and looked in his eyes. "It's never really about the words, is it? What you want us to say, whether you can trust us. I won't speak for Elio. But if you can't already feel it? If you don't already know it? Then nothing I say will matter, anyway."

"Frank, please," Elio said, looking as cool and composed as ever. "Trust in me. Please, both of you. I will not apologize for who I am, nor should you. But I mean you no harm, my friends. I will not cause you pain. At least, not if I can help it."

"Wow," Frank said with a hint of amusement. "Is that supposed to be reassuring?"

Elio shrugged. "Sometimes, we cannot help but hurt even those who we most love. The heart is only human, after all."

"True," Frank said, thinking of B. He nodded to Elio. "Alright then."

"And you," Frank said, turning to Tansy, "You're right, of course. And I get it. I do. But I cannot believe you just told a bard that words don't fucking matter."

There it was again, that wholehearted, full body laugh.

"Oh, no!" she said playfully. "Did I find a tender spot, Frank?"

Woman, he thought. If you only knew.

The sirens died down after midnight, when a storm blew through and bathed the city in silence. Frank lay in the lower bunk, arms crossed behind his head. He hadn't slept in 48 hours. He was exhausted to his core. The bed was thick and soft, if small. He should have been sound asleep.

And yet, his insistent stomach growled its surly discontent.

A zephyr gusted through the open window, laden with a pungent ozone scent. The wind meandered over yards of weathered oak and rose to tug ever so gently at his sheet. He kicked it off and let the wanton breeze caress his weary, careworn body.

If his mind would only be still, then maybe his stomach would follow and give him some peace. He spoke low with the voice of a bard in the words of a long-dead poet.

"To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow,

All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means."

In the meager shadow light, his form was a solid one of meat and bone. He arched his aching back and rolled his neck from side to side. He bent and flexed his muscular legs, wishing he had coin for a massage and somebody with the willingness to give it. Filling his lungs, he rubbed a calloused hand over his expansive abdomen and chest. All vigor and brawn, someone had once said of his body, after he had shown them what such a vigorous body could do.

A body that needed a fuck ton more than fish and leaves.

"You awake? Hey. Rivera?"

He sighed into the silence. Standing, he zipped his pants and turned to the top bunk. "Hey, you want some chow?" he whispered, shaking the bed. "I'm starving. Elio?"

Frank rustled the blankets, then shook his head and laughed at the empty bed. "You sneaky SOB."

He padded barefoot out into the hall toward the makeshift kitchen. Three doors down, he stopped, listening.

"Elio?" he whispered?

He waited in the dark until the voices carried again. No, not voices. There was only the one.

Frank leaned against the wall, listening until he wished he hadn't.