✖ ; sxccharose ; ✖
He's been picking splinters of brick out of his hands ever since one armored truck happened to roll by. It was a good reminder that he could still use his power, maybe he's even a little more stronger than before. But Wren finds himself sitting at an outdoor café table, despite the cold conditions. No one really bothers asking him for an order, no one really wants to talk to the freak pulling out inch long shards of dried clay out of his hands.
Wren looks up quickly, he catches a glimpse of pink and immediately assumes it's someone else he knew. So, he goes right back to what he was doing, stifling giggles. ( Hey, his fast-healing made the closing wounds tickle. )
