Essex was annoyed. At the world in general, at Westchester in general, at people in general, at New Years in specific. It was because of New Years that he was still in that pathetically boring town with nothing to do and no where to go until after the pointless celebration of yet another revolution around the sun. Years were to be recorded as a measure of time - not celebrated as a milestone. Achievements were milestones, things you had to work for and accomplish. Unless one was born with a disabling disease or contracted one at some point, simply surviving to see another year was not an accomplishment.
He was also a tad annoyed at himself for forgetting that most of the population - and a school especially - would be partaking in this past time. Which made the two times he'd attempted to ring Xavier's pointless. Of course no one had answered. The school was probably near empty and not ready to receive students, much less guests. The winter break that many if not all would go home for. And so he had to extend his stay in the city until after the festivities - something that was not going to do his mental state any good. And he also had to deal with finding an open hotel room that wasn't already booked months ago for the loud, drunken parties that were to happen in them.
Nataniel had to change hotels on the morning of the 28th. Pack all his things and drive across town to a hotel near the airport that managed to have one suitable room still available - and at $150 a night it damn well better be fantastic.
It was as he was driving that very classy rental car he had, bags all packed and stowed in the trunk, that his damn mutation decided it wanted to hit him like a ton of bricks. The doctor slammed the brakes, eliciting honking from those behind him, and spun himself to the side of the road. Flashers came on a split second later and then there were gunshots in his mind, pain and shock and disgust and the fleeting echo of a soul escaping its mortal coil.
He didn't know how long he sat there, leaning back in his seat, hands pressed to his face. But as the voices died down and the sirens of cop cars rushed past, Nathaniel realized he felt a thread of thoughts that were more familiar. A girl's thoughts. Harsh, hidden, angry... annoyed. They had the same feel to them as...
"Child," he whispered, both out loud and in the space between thoughts - doing his best to concentrate on the feel of her mind as he did so. Perhaps... he could speak to her? Across the distance...