[The only reason people gawked at him now were the ears. As he sat on the steps to the Metropolitan Museum of art, his hands laying across his knees, the humans stared at his ears and whispered, but they had nothing else to gossip about. He had a respectable wardrobe of slacks and shirts and looked like a casually dressed businessman waiting for a friend for lunch.
She said he'd know her when he saw her, but that didn't actually mean anything to him. The people of New York City were still bizarre to him. The shocks of pink and green hair, the piercings, the strange clothing, all of it combined to leave him in a consistent state of befuddlement. But that was irrelevant. He could feel her - or others like her - moving around him. Some of them were the mutants common to this world, warping the magical background noise that seemed to permeate everything. But a few were those weights, those points not unlike what human science called black holes.
Solas took a deep breath, flinching at the fumes and toxic smells that assaulted his nose, and shook his head sharply, as if that would clear the scents.
That was when he saw her. A dark haired woman, she stood out from the rest of the sea of humanity. She had that weight, but she also flickered with magic. He canted his head to the side, watching her as she approached.] Zatana, I presume.
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