Illyana closed her journal and tucked it into the handbag she'd nabbed from the clothing shop the day before. Wasn't her style at all - it looked more like one of those carpet-bags that she saw older women with on planes - but it held a fair amount of stuff, and it had been how she'd gotten the things she'd taken back to what she was considering "her" place, at the moment. She stood, flexing in her new shoes, glad she'd opted for the mens' loafers rather than the high heels. While she could handle heels, she didn't like doing so. How Betsy and Ororo and Madelyn had done it every day, she had no idea.
As she headed out, bag slung over her shoulder, she wondered yet again why she didn't remember being here before. It put her at a disadvantage, which she didn't like at all. People knew her, knew things about her that she wouldn't tell random strangers. Which meant she'd been here long enough for them to have become friends, or at least to trust each other. She frowned. Not the sort of thoughts to have when she was going to meet one of her former friends. At least, he seemed like he was one. Connor hadn't questioned her at all when she'd offered to go to the carnival with him, and even Gambit, who claimed to know her from home, was wary around her. What did and didn't Connor, or the others, know about her?
Too many questions. Not enough answers. Illyana smirked. Wasn't that how things always were?
She approached the shops, not entirely sure whom she was looking for, aside from a man, probably a youngish man, if they'd been friends before. She was banking on him remembering her. She didn't think she looked different than she did last time she was here, but, without her memories, how could she tell?