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"I'm Natasha,"

Natasha. Ezra repeated the name a couple of times over in his head. He was awful at remembering names. Faces, excellent, but names, not so much. Anyway, it was a pretty name. As they briefly shook hands their eyes met for the first time and he could feel his stomach tying itself into a knot. For some odd reason. She looked like she didn't really want him to know much about her. About what? If she was one of those the people called "oddies", then, well, he was one too, so it ought to be fine. Did she know he was a shifter? Or did she think he was a human? Was that why she was being so private? After a few moments his eyes pulled themselves away from Natasha's and he glanced down the street again, feigning interest in a beat-up taxi that slowly turned the corner and noisily rattled its way past them. Inside it, sitting at the back was a hefty, irritated-looking man who flicked his cigarette stump out the taxi window, adjusted his gloves and promptly lit another.

Ezra slouched back into the bench a bit and folded his arms across his thin frame. He had no idea why this meeting felt so awkward. It was like they were both inconspicuously trying to find out as much about the other as they could without asking anything direct, meanwhile saying as little about themselves as possible, because of a suspicion they may or may not have reason for having. Ezra tilted his head to the side slightly. Was that normal? "You from 'round here?" he asked casually, and paused for a moment. "Or alternatively I could shut up and enjoy the peace, I'm not making any useful contributions to the art of conversation" he smiled lamely, glancing over at her again briefly before looking down at his knees. Fail.