"I'm going to be good about this," Arla said stubbornly. She jammed her fork into the pie and took a bite... then melted a little. "Mm. Mm, that really is so good." She smiled indulgently and closed her eyes.
That boy who served them their pie had gone back around to the manager----who was now approaching the table. He looked a little on the nervous side, like he wasn't used to being difficult.
"Excuse me," he said, straightening his shirt. "Could I see your registration cards, please." Following the law, doing his job. Registration checks. Everyone had to register these days, but only mutants were going to be called on it. And Arla? Well. All covered up and with that weird skin... she had to have an x-gene.
Arla tensed up, tightening her right hand around the fork. The milk in their glasses started to ripple as the water in it was disrupted by Arla's mind. She looked sharply toward David, her eyes wide. That right hand was now clenched up, as it tended to do from time to time, and she couldn't let the fork go.