#ofhati

He's tired. No, it's more than that, isn't it? He's exhausted, and not just in a physical sense. Eoin left Boston with nothing but the clothes on his back and the possession in his pockets, and none of it prepared him for a life on the run from a government that'd kill him or crack open his brain if they get their hands on him, just to see what makes him tick. A cornered animal. That's what he feels like right now. He hasn't had a good night's sleep in two months now.

He finds himself in a roadside diner in Ohio, tucked into the back, feet up on the booth he's in, legs against his chest. The glances the waiting staff cast his way lets him know that he's standing out, he's not being inconspicuous, but hopefully he comes across unstable rather than familiar. It's unfortunate, that as soon as he was reported, everywhere he went, the news would talk about the dangerous mutant prone to violence that should be called in but not approached upon sighting, with a clear physical description of himself.

They're not wrong, of course. He is dangerous and violent, Eoin doesn't deny that, and he has no qualms about liquifying every human in this diner if there's even a drop of recognition in their eyes. And yet, he's not looking at them, however hyper-aware he is of them. Blood-shot, exhausted, and angry blue eyes are glued to the door of the diner, waiting; every time it opens, he can't help but lift his head from where his mouth is pressed against his knees, only to lower it once more when it doesn't seem to be the individual who contacted him.

A glance sideways out the window makes him miss the woman that walks in, and he doesn't notice her until she's already standing by his table. He doesn't say a word; instead, there's an almost feral growl that escapes him, eyes narrowing to slits. Like an alligator's hiss and bellowing, tensed and ready for the attack at a moment's notice.