Rider of the white powder, picker of the Fire Flowers.

"SHIT!! My cell, my switchblade---DUDE, THEY EVEN TOOK MY GODDAMN DRIVER'S LICENSE----"

The seventeen year old rifled through his hoodie, wincing a little as he sat up quickly; there was gravel up underneath his shirt and his head felt heavy. But forget that---where was--- "Aww man, AW MAN, THEY EVEN LIFTED MY GUN OFFA ME, fuck, do you have any idea how long it took to get Vern to sell me that shit? Aw man, aw---AAYA BABY, WE BEEN STRAIGHT UP ROBBED--!!!"

Salim Ashoka scrambled to his feet, his baggy jean shorts slipping down to expose his boxers. Not that he cared so much about that really; he'd always been a firm follower of that particular fashion statement. "Whoa--fuckin'..." The 'gangsta' swayed slightly on his stolen Adidas clad feet, crouching a little to try and center himself as one of his large tanned hands went to his sweating brow. "What happened? Shit, bro, if mom finds out I got you dragged into this, she's gonna rip me a new one, damn---" Salim pushes his sandy bangs out from his frantic, darting brown eyes. "Where the fuck are my boys at? WHERE ARE WE EVEN--"

"Bro..?" Fourteen year old Aaya Ashoka stands with his back to his older brother, his football jersey blowing in the wind, his neon-orange dyed mohawk following suit. The younger teen blinks his large sea-green eyes---he still has a baby-face, the face of a child, an honest and innocent kid---those eyes taking in the strange and otherworldly landscape as he stood on the edge of that unfamiliar roof, toes teetering freely and dangerously over the open air.

Buildings, once skyscrapers presumably---tilted oddly and half-sunken into a great blue expanse. Water. Water that calmly seemed to stretch out endlessly until it met the horizon in a blurred, slate colored line. And silence. The young boy standing atop that roof was greeted with an eerie silence, a calm the likes of which he'd never heard in the screaming bustling busy and noise-infested streets of New York. The only thing Aaya could hear was Salim; and yet the quiet, the knowing yet foreboding aura of this place even seemed to muffle him.

"Dude..? I don't think we's in the Bronx anymore..."

"Like hell we----wait, what are you talking about?" Salim shakes his head vigorously again, trying to dispel that odd feeling of heaviness. He grumbles, plodding across the roof to where his younger brother stood. "Fuck, I think I got clocked in the kisser....dude, does my face looked fucked up?" Bringing his hand to his face again. "Like a fucking brick."

Aaya slowly shook his head "no," though in all honesty, the boy had yet to turn away from the watery scene before him. "Salim... Salim..?" The smaller set of tanned hands tug on his brother's hoodie sleeve. "The...bro, look." Finally Aaya breaks his gaze with the unfamiliar horizon and steps away from his precarious perch near the edge of the roof. "Salim...Salim...look."

A twinge of nervousness in that usually carefree voice. "Where are we, man?"

Aaya's older brother however, had just in that moment discovered the peculiarity of this place for himself; it wasn't the sunken buildings, the seemingly endless blue-grey water, the lack of the natural urban ramble of the city, no, nothing of that nature; Salim was still far more focused on his own personal status than that of his surroundings.

The older teen had just discovered that his hands distinctly lacked nails, his fingers weirdly elongated and ending in hardened sharp points; claws made of tanned, slightly scarred skin, stretched and pulled over bones that any normal human shouldn't possess.

"AWAUGHHH---WHAT---WHAT THE HELL?!! WHAT THE---" Goosebumps erupted on Salim's arms as he roared in outrage, disturbed. "WHAT THE---FUKKIN'---MY HANDS, WHAT THE HELL?!!!"

Whether it was the sudden sight of these "claws" or Salim's angry, nervous yelling, Aaya jumped back with a startled yelp. His sneakers brushed the edge of the building, squeaking as if they themselves were terrified, the 14 year old wobbling for a split second before his shoulders pitched backward. So surprised was the mohawked youth, he even forgot to scream; his aqua eyes wide, his mouth formed into a silent "oh!" as the wind caught his shirt and hair, ruffling it with a mock sort of tenderness as the boy fell backwards toward plummeting death.

Without even having to think about it Salim was suddenly at the edge of the roof, his clawed hand around his little brother's wrist. He snarled like a frightened defensive dog, yanking the smaller teen back up onto the building, back to life, the two brothers then tumbling backwards onto the harsh stone in a mass of confusion and baggy clothes.

"WHAT THE FU---ARE YOU OKAY?!"
"WHAT WAS--"
"DUDE, WHAT---"
"I-I'M SORRY, MAN--"
"HOLY SHI--"

Claws momentarily forgotten, awkward hugging, nervous laughing. A smack upside the head, some mumbling, apologies.



It takes awhile for the magnitude of the situation to slowly sink in again.


"Okay man...I'm freaking out. We need to figure out where we are. What the fuck happened. And how the hell we get home. 'Cause like...this shit is fucked up, man"