ARCHIVE Dawn

CloudyBlueDay

consistently inconsistent
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Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Chat Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time, Private Convo Roleplays
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A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
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I check as often as I can.
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Both.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Realistic/Modern, Magic, Scifi, Romance
Genre You DON'T Like
I am generally not a huge fan of RPing Fandom, but it can depend.
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CloudyBlueDay

consistently inconsistent
Original poster
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Chat Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
I check as often as I can.
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Both.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Realistic/Modern, Magic, Scifi, Romance
Genre You DON'T Like
I am generally not a huge fan of RPing Fandom, but it can depend.
My mother used to say there was a star for every person in the sky. A star to watch over them, to protect them. She said there was a special star for me, always watching. I’d always be safe. She promised.

I never looked at the sky and at the stars the same after that day.

After this day, neither will you.


N E V E R N O R M A L
Arc: Dawn
Chapter 1: Starfall


MILLENNIUM CITY, NEW YORK


I once heard someone say Millennium City was the city for people who had something to run from. Whoever said that knew what they were talking about.

The meteor shower had hit Millennium City hard. It had hit New York as a whole hard. Streets upon streets were ravaged. Countless people were left homeless, and despite it having been over two weeks ago, the effects were still fresh. Places still burned. And people’s eyes glowed.

Not only did the news blare on for weeks and weeks about the meteor shower, it talked about the new, strange occurrences. Animals acting strangely, plants growing at an alarming rate. Fire hydrants exploding with no cause, electricity sparking, places burning to the ground with no accelerant.

Something was wrong, and everybody knew it. Everybody knew something was wrong. They didn’t know it was someone.

A week after the meteor shower, someone by the handle L30 sent out a message to those someones. To those that started the fires, grew the plants, angered the animals. All those within Millennium City who could do things received a message from this person.

”To whom it may concern,

If you receive this message, then the meteor shower changed you. We both know there’s no escaping from it. I know for certain, ‘cause it changed me too.

There are bad people in this world… People who want to use you for the new abilities you’ve been given. It’s not your fault, but it doesn’t matter. Whoever you are now. That’s all they care about.

These people have taken someone from me. And I know they’ll take countless others. They’ll take you, without a second thought. And you’ll never see your family again. They know no mercy.

I intend to stop this.

Please, tread with caution from this point forward. Until I can truly protect you.

I’ll return and with your help, we can stop them.

L30.”


Whoever that message was from, you didn’t know. He only went by the tag: L30. And whoever L30 was, he didn’t contact you again for the next week.

Today, January 13th, was a quiet day, compared to the rest. No contact from L30, nothing bizarre at all, in fact. Today was an ordinary day in your life. Your goal? Keep it as ordinary as possible for as long as you can.

SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS

While Millennium City had been ravished with meteors, San Antonio was majorly untouched. That was not to say that Texas as a whole was safe and sound, but at least quite a few parts of the large state were majorly untouched. The residents of San Antonio would get to watch from the comfort of their homes as the rest of the nation crumbled around them.

Pleasant.

Whatever had happened obviously didn’t matter a great deal to you, because today you were at the North Star mall, the biggest mall in all of San Antonio. Great place to spend the last remaining piece of your christmas break, if you still had it at all. Or maybe your school got blown to bits by the meteor shower? Who knows.

It was well past lunch time, but the food court was still buzzing. Those hours before dinner were of course not the busiest, but plenty of shoppers still passed through, and of course, the mall was filled quite nicely. In this little bubble, not many seemed to be teeing the effects of the meteor showers, and the strange happenings.

In the North Star mall, in San Antonio, everything was normal. Everything was as it should be. A girl with striking blue hair works the counter at Big Belly’s Pork Stew, and she watches closely. A boy with light brown hair sweeps the crumbs from beneath the tables. A girl of Hawaiian descent with long, black curly hair, argues with a customer at Potato Corner who demands another serving because they dropped their own.

These people have keen eyes. They know what’s coming.

ELY, NEVADA

Mason didn't know how long he'd been driving. Days, likely. He just kept going. City after city, state after state. If he didn't have those.. new.. powers... he might not even pay attention to where he was at all. But he could feel the stars with every turn he took. He knew exactly where he was, but that didn't mean he was looking properly ahead of him. His mom would be ashamed of his poor driving practices.

Left foot. Right foot. Another step... Just... another... step.

Miles passed into days and yet Crow kept walking. Step by step she fled farther from her captors, farther from the nightmare that had been her life. She glanced around, wondering vaguely where she was. It didn't matter much, not until she was safe... But where could safety be found? In a daze, Crow continued walking, drawn to a light across the street.

Sleep. His mind begged. His eyelids fluttered, and he shook himself awake. Fall asleep at the wheel, Mason, huh? That's gonna be great for your already failing health. Shit. He needed to stop for food or something soon, cause --

Someone in the middle of the road.

He didn't press the brakes until it was too late.

She could feel it, the tug at the edge of her psyche. Crow blinked, fighting against the urge. She could feel it, her eyes burning amethyst and then... Her force field exploded around her. It solidified itself just above her skin, protecting her from the onslaught of metal. The impact took the breath from her lungs, brought stars to her hazy vision, and the release of such power drained the last of her mental reserves.

"Ugh." Crow managed after a minute. She groaned again, her cheek pressed tightly against the tire of some truck. "W-what the fuck was that?"

The car shook and groaned, and Mason was left gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles were white. Had he just killed someone? No way. It was just a little bump. A little dent in the road, right? At worst, a squirrel. Yeah! A squirrel.

Why couldn't he move, then?

Finally he mustered up the courage to unlatch the front door and step out the truck. No blood. Already off to a great start, right? No death. He checked the front of his car. Dented, but not bad. He could fix her right up. So what did he -- hit ..

Underneath the car looked different. Slowly, he bent down, making it so he could see beneath the car, and found himself staring back at a pair of eyes.

"Why the f-fuck did you hit me?" Crow growled angrily, already on her elbows and knees, attempting to crawl from beneath the truck. Her amethyst eyes flickered and a wave of dizziness overtook her. She growled again, this time from pain, and eyed the stranger with normal grey-green eyes. "Are you going to, uh, move?"

Mason blinked, astonished as he stumbled back. How was she alive, much less practically unharmed. Her eyes flickered, a bright purple, and he found himself getting even more choked up. My eyes glow like that too, He thought."I-I-I -- didn't -- s-see you ---" He stuttered pathetically.

“Well, that’s kinda’ obvious.” Crow coughed out, crawling out from underneath the truck slowly. Her head felt heavy, hazy, and it throbbed with a budding headache she could feel within her temples. She bit back a moan and finally free, sat back against the dented bumper with a relieved sigh. Closing her eyes for a moment, she breathed in deep. Inhale. Exhale.

Everything’s okay, Crow. Everything’s okay.


“Where am I? You have any… water?”

Mason’s eyes were soft with worry. She looked young, maybe his age, but beat to hell. She was walking across an empty desert road; what even made a girl travel the desert? He felt bad about not helping her out from under the car, and inched closer to her as she propped herself against the hood of the car, wondering if she was going to collapse, bracing himself to catch her.

You almost killed someone, Mason. The thought was an awful one. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself knowing he’d run an innocent person over. How had she survived? He was driving fast enough to obliterate someone.

Oh, right. The glowing eyes.

He jumped to action at her question, reaching back in from the driver’s side and grabbing a bottle of water for her. “We’re, uh..” He looked up at the pale sky, waiting for the stars to give him answers. His eyes flickered a brilliant azure blue. “We’re about two miles south from a city called Ely, Nevada.” The answer came effortlessly to him, and he looked back at her with a bit of an astonished look on his face. “Maybe I could offer you a ride? ‘Least I could do. Are you.. Headed there?”

“I’m headed… anywhere, really.” Crow replied, accepting the bottle of water with an expression of longing. She unscrewed the lid with shaky fingers, barely able to keep the water from sloshing out. The liquid washed away the taste of dirt and sand. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Crow gulped down the rest of the water she hadn’t managed to spill, looking almost devastated when it was gone.

Deliriously, she looked at the guy in front of her. “Where ar-re you heading?” Crow asked after a minute or two. “And who are you?”

Mason would have been lying if he said he wasn't staring at the girl while she all but drank the water. If he had to say anything about her, Mason thought she looked like some sort of fugitive. An escapee. What, or maybe even who, had she run from? Or was she still running? You're running too, you know. A voice pecked at him. His brows furrowed at the question. His answer was the same as hers; Anywhere. Away. All he had to do was get away.

“I guess I'm heading to Ely.” He murmured, and suddenly blushed, his cheeks turning scarlet. He awkwardly stuck out his hand. “Oh, I'm.. My name’s Mason. ‘m from Oregon. I'm.. on a road trip.” The simplest of terms. “You are..?”

Crow glanced at his extended hand wearily and opted to rest her chin on her knees, arms wrapped around herself tightly. Her head was spinning and it grew harder to stay focused. She hid her face, her exhaustion and weakness. Crow only raised her head when… Mason’s voice became an irritant. What was he even asking? Oh, right.

Frowning, she looked at him and wondered how much he’d need to know. It was safer that way, she supposed, not saying much. The less he knew the better. “I. Uh.” Crow coughed out, her words clashing with the look of fierce focus upon her face.

“You can call me Crow.”

Her stomach growled then and she was half tempted to ask him if he had any crackers, maybe a donut or two. But it was time to get going… How long had it been, since he hit her with that damn truck of his? Crow made to stand, her knees wobbly, head spinning, and reached out to steady herself against the dented bumper.

He caught her before she met the bumper, grip gentle against her arm. “Crow,” He murmured worriedly, propping her back up. “I don’t even know how you’re alive right now. Please, let me take you into town. To a hospital? I -- I don’t have any food, but..” He sighed deeply. “Just let me help you, alright? C-come sit down or something. Don’t faint. Please.”

She shied away from his touch. Crow heard his words and understood them clearly and yet her body didn’t care. It reacted instinctively; she flinched, snapping her arm away from his touch furiously. She hadn’t meant to. Crow glanced up at Mason, eyes wide and unfocused. It took her a moment and then she nodded a few times. It took a minute for the words to flow from her mouth.

“No hospitals.” Crow replied, her voice just above a whisper. “No hospitals. Food though, th-that sounds nice.”

Mason was taken aback by how negatively he responded to her touch. He looked hurt by it, even, like a puppy who’d just been told to go away. “No hospitals.” He echoed, looking her over, hoping that she actually didn’t need one. “We’ll drive to town and get some lunch.” I’ve been driving for days. There’s no way the Lab Coats tracked me. A short stop won’t hurt. He gestured to his truck. “Er… sorry.. Again. About the..” He patted the dented hood, letting it explain his actions.

Crow climbed into the truck, the edges of her lips rising ever so slightly. Sorry about hitting me with your heavy ass truck, maybe? She buckled up and brought both her legs up to her chest again. Ignoring her erratic reaction entirely, she let her mind ponder the risk that she was taking. It wasn’t that she was… worried about getting hurt by Mason, but her life hinged on getting as far away as possible. Could she put even an ounce of trust into this stranger?

She shook her head, listening to her angry stomach instead of the paranoia that constantly plagued her. “Yeah… I think lunch sounds nice.”

⌽⌽⌽


The town of Ely, Nevada was so small, you could see all of it in one picture. One, pretty little picture, portrayed the quiet little city in White Pine county, houses that all looked the same, stacked up next to one another, suburbs running as far as the town did.

Nevada was hit with it’s fair share of meteors, but Ely was left untouched. If Ely had been hit, however, the place would surely be dead, for one petty meteor would wipe half the place out. But Ely was, as always, safe and sound and snug tight in it’s little corner of the world. All those who lived there surely wanted a simple, quiet life. And they got it.

There was not much bustle within the streets and since it was barely new year, it was still of moderate weather. The only place with any commotion seemed to be Shelley’s Diner, a retro 80’s diner where the waitresses used to rollerblade, until one of them sprained their ankle and sued.

After that, there were no more rollerblading waitresses. But the burgers were still tasty, and people liked the fluorescently lit juke box. It had a vibe unlike the rest of the simple town, and perhaps that was why it was fairly popular.

Mason felt a strange peacefulness when he entered the town. The ride was smooth and silent and quite uncomfortable, but there was nothing to be done about the stale air within the truck. But the town was quaint and homey, and though Mason had an adventurous heart, there was always something appealing about the promise of a quiet city with a picket fence.

And a.. Girl in his car. That he’d hit. With his truck.

He hadn’t actually known where Shelley’s diner was; he’d just.. Ended up there. He’d simply known he needed to drive this way, and that way, and then stop here. Mason pulled into the parking and twisted the keys out of the car, but kept his hands on the steering wheel.

“Uh,” He said softly. “This place.. Okay?”

Crow rode in silence, taking equal turns glancing in the rear view mirror, the landscape passing by, and staring at boy in the driver’s seat. He didn’t say anything, but then again neither did she. Though it was dangerous, Crow let herself relax… closed her eyes and soon she was asleep. His voice broke her shaky slumber and she stared over at him with wide eyes.

“Um. Sure, yeah.” Crow replied with a shrug of her shoulders.

He stared at her momentarily, trying to understand the girl that sat next to him. Where she had come from, who she was. The fact that he’d just driven a stranger through the desert and was now planning to buy her lunch baffled him a little. He’d never thought he life would end up looking like this, but here he was.

“Alright then,” Mason said, nodding his head as he unlocked his door and stepped out of the truck. He waited for Crow to exit the vehicle before starting up the steps to the restaurant. Even from the outside, the place was so brilliantly neon lit. It seemed like a disco party all the time. Mason chuckled as he put his hand on the door. “You coming?”

Millennium
For now, your day goes on as normal. You received a message from the anonymous L30 a week ago. Do what you will with it. There has been no response.
San Antonio
Everything is fine! You’re at the North Star mall, havin’ a good time. The three NPCs I have set up for you are free for you to interact with, as well as your fellow players.
Ely
Shelley’s diner is open for biz! Best burgers in town. Practically the only burgers in town. Not actually, but… you know.
All
The spoiler in Ely, Nevada is Mason and Crow’s first meeting! WE’RE LIVE PEEPS! And all is good for now! B)
 
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Red Thunder

A Warrior in a Garden
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Both/Either
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, SciFi, Modern, Magical
Patrick O'Malley
Millennium City
the Projects

"Tha fuckin' pigs again! I swear teh bleeding Christ, the goddam Bizzies have gotta stick their fuckin' noses inteh every stickin' goddam thing people do! Weren't hard enuff teh walk through this bloody wrecked city; we gots teh be shoved around, too!"

Tommy O'Malley slammed the door behind him as he entered the small apartment, causing the woman in the kitchen to flinch. It was a meager dwelling, lacking much in the way of luxury within or without. The wallpaper had seen better days; it was peeling ever so slightly in some places. The living room into which Tommy entered bore the most care with what small expense the family could spare. A short loveseat squated against the outside wall, its faded brown surface at something of odds with the dark green of the armchair that sat across the room. Between them, pushed against the back wall and propped upon an old lamp stand, was a small television. It's remote sat on the armchair, and an opened beer stood ready on the side table next to it. Tommy was many things; for better or worse, predictable was one of them.

Unceremoniously he kicked off his boots, dropped his coat, and stomped to the chair, flicking on the tv and falling into his seat. In the kitchen, Margery continued her meal prep, dicing potatoes and frying the ground chuck with a focus that belied careful practice. She was a small woman, thin and tired. The washerwoman's apron was still tied about her waist; there'd been no time to waste when she'd arrived home from work. Tommy didn't appreciate a late supper, and Patrick would be home soon.

At least, he should be. The young man had promised as much. School hadn't reopened yet, with so much of the city's finances needing to go to the clean up of the destruction and the recovery of the bodies. He said that he'd been looking for a job, something to help. Margery smiled at the thought. It was so nice that her boy wanted to lend a hand; he was always so happy to serve.

"How's dinner coming?" The ambience of the sizzling beef and the murmuring tv show was interrupted suddenly by his grating brogue. There wasn't much good that could be said of Tommy O'Malley, but he did provide for his family, and he never mistreated his wife. Rough around the edges. It was honestly more than the edges that were rough; his drunk tirades proved that. But Margery tried to comfort herself in the thought that her husband did as well as he could manage, and in the end, how could she ask more?

"A few minutes more," came her reply, and he grunted in acknowledgment. Carefully she dished out three servings, setting aside Patrick's for when he returned and wondering as mothers are wont to where he was.

~~~​

Patrick slapped his friend on the arm, grinning as he slipped his jacket over his sweaty shirt.

"And maybe you'll even score a run next time!"

"Fuck off, ya limey."

Fred looked unhappy. He always did when he lost a game of rugby against his token Irish buddy. But then, you had to be unhappy when you lost. Otherwise, how would the others guys know you wanted to win so badly?

Patrick's laughed, wrapping a scrapped and bruised around around Freddie's shoulder. The young Irishman had promised to practice their game with his friends if their joined him volunteering with the Aid Groups for a little bit. It was supposed to be a quick game, but they'd lost track of time. Glancing at his watch, Patrick grimaced. He'd hear about it when he got home.

Fred noticed. Slapping Patrick in the chest, he pulled away.

"It'll be alright, man. You're welcome to sleep at my place. Put the ass chewing off for a night."

But Patrick shook his head.

"Nah. Better get it over with. Drunk is better than hungover."

Smiling, he waved goodbye and stepped off toward the apartment complex. It was just one more bout of screaming to bear. It might have troubled him, had it been unusual, but it had become normal. Expected. His father was, after all, predictable; one way or another, the yelling would have come.

But something else occupied his thought. L30. Who the hell was that? And why the hell had they contacted him? Patrick had no powers. Nothing had changed from that night, save that school had been put off indefinitely while the city recovered. And how had this person even found out his email address?

Sapphire would know. She always seemed to have some kind of answer. Or at least a response, even if that response was to kick in some heads. But he'd not seen her since before Christmas break, and she hadn't answered his texts. So he'd just have to wait.

Shaking his head, he kicked a small rock down the street, anxious to get home but not looking forward to it.
 
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Doctor Jax

Lord of the Mice
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, Chat Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week
My Usual Online Time
3PM CST - 9 PM CST
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Androgynous, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Aggressive
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Scifi, Urban Fantasy, Horror
Genre You DON'T Like
Romance
h a n g || d a o

Hang flipped through her phone with boredom as she sat in North Star's food court. To her left gabbed two girls from her prep school: Yuri, a Russian idiot with just enough brain cells to keep her breathing and gossiping, and Melanie, who could probably dig up dirt if she were out in the open ocean. She was well aware why the two lackeys were here with her. They were what she called leeches, sometimes to their face -- they were here for the unlimited credit card in her twelve hundred dollar pocketbook, ensconced in Swarovski crystal and Coach leather.

To her right was her "nanny" -- a man who made the Rock look like the Pebble. His job? Make sure Uncle's Precious didn't make trouble, didn't get into trouble, and came home exactly at midnight. She'd dubbed him Bibbity for his tentative connection to Cinderella's helper. He hadn't appreciated it, but what was he going to do? A word from her, and his career would end up twelve feet down a septic tank.

She was well aware of the irony that these two groups -- nanny and leeches -- were hers to command, yet they seemed to stick around regardless of her will.

"Oh come on, you don't think Deb couldn't fit that many in her mouth?" Yuri giggled.

"I don't know, her mouth's not as big as yours, Yuri. I think you could beat her," Hang said without looking up from the news on her phone. Millenium City, demolished by meteors... Old news. Next.

"She has a point. Didn't you do Mitch--?" Melanie asked with a gasp.

"Shut up, Mel," Yuri hissed, and Hang's gaze slid over to the girl, who sullenly sipped her drink.

"Hey, Mitch is worth ten regular sized guys, I think. I'm not surprised. Your IQ's combined might actually break double digits. Gotta have something going for the both of you," Hang stated, putting her feet up on the table while grabbing Melanie's boba tea right out of her hand and taking a sip, before making a face at the flavor. Almond. Disgusting. She subsequently tossed it into the trash as Melanie whined, "Hey, I wasn't finished with that..."

"Hey, I paid for it. Next time, get something that tastes decent," Hang muttered with a huff. Leeches were hardly even good for company, but it was an excuse to get out of the house and keep out of Uncle's way. Hang was perhaps one of the few people who couldn't wait for Christmas break to end. She hated her dorm, the teachers, and the cafeteria, but it wasn't the lonely mansion in Terrace Heights. Suddenly deciding she'd had enough of the charade, she stood up and pocketed her phone, brushing off her clothes.

"I'm getting something to eat, Bibbity. You want something? No? Kay," Hang stated to the man, a slight smirk on her face as the bodyguard glowered at the name.

With that, she left them behind, hearing just out of earshot, "God, she's rude. Why has she got to be so rude? Like, totally uncalled for..."

A couple steps took her over to the Potato Corner, and she stopped in front of the counter as the serving gal argued with another customer. Fed up with being ignored, she snapped her fingers at the girl and said, "Hey. Over here a minute. Yeah, I'm talking to you, don't play like you can't hear me. I want two number fives, a number two with ketchup on the side, and your animal house fries."

"Lady, I was--" the customer snapped at Hang.

"I wasn't talking to you," the Vietnamese girl drawled with a stare, standing her ground with arms crossed and feet planted firmly. "Paying customers only. And I'm paying."
 

Elle Joyner

I guess...
DONATING MEMBER
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
Several Posts a Day
My Usual Online Time
8:00 AM - 4:00 PM
Writing Levels
Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Probably a mix. When I GM I tend to prefer mostly aggressive, but with input from my players. I like to offer ideas and receive them. I don't like when people just take the reins and run with it though...especially in a 1x1.
Favorite Genres
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
Genre You DON'T Like
Anime. Ever. Just not my jam.

Smut. Romance as a main plot. Horror. Grimdark.
.
The world was crumbling to pieces, meteors falling from the sky, devastating the United States and people therein, but for one young girl in Ely, Nevada, there was only Shelley's-Burger-Friday. Traditions were an imperative staple of life to Dakota Jennings - as much as oxygen and food and she was, if nothing else, very good at coming up with wonderful new and exciting traditions to drive Levi 'London' Lancaster out of his mind.

She had met Levi at, of all places, a nightclub. It was a funny place in general for Dakota to end up, but when you put a kitten on a band flier, funny things happened. At least in Dakota's book, they had hit it off immediately. As she was wont to do, she asked roughly ten billion questions, mostly pertaining to his tattoos, and because apparently he was possessed by some patron saint of patience, Levi had answered to the best of his abilities. After that, Dakota was hooked to Levi's side... inseparable.

Within weeks, Shelley's-Burger-Friday was born, and nothing... not even an apocalyptic event (or darn near one) was going to stop her. She arrived outside of Levi's apartment at exactly 11:35, and by noon, they were seated in their booth at Shelley's by the hostess, Ginger. Dakota knew just about everyone in the diner, and made it a point to greet each person by name before settling into her seat. Despite ordering essentially the same thing every week, she still looked at the menu for roughly ten minutes, and when she set it down, their waitress, Beatrice, and elderly woman with stark white hair, a broad build and a penchant for calling her guests 'hon', arrived.

Grinning, Dakota looked up, fanning her fingers out over the plastic bi-fold, "Hey Bea!"

"Hey, Hon, Same old?"

"Yes, ma'am. For me, anyway."

"Double bacon burger, sweet potato fries and... side of syrup?"

Her smile brightening, blue eyes lighting up like a gaslight fire, she nodded as she avoided, pointedly, looking at Levi, across from her, "Yes, please!"

After all this time London still wasn't sure if he regretted entertaining Dakota that evening in the club. In the moment, he was thankful that she was there. The band was godawful at best and telling her about his ink was a welcome distraction. But had London known she'd show up to the parlor the next day with coffee not only him but for all his fellow artists... he might've stopped earlier than the twenty sixth question.

But like every Friday since then, London let the tiny woman drag him to Shelley’s with little more resistance than a grumble and his normally soured expression. Despite the face he made as he walked through the diner doors, London knew the more time he spent with the sugary girl, the harder it became to tell her no.

Between that and the fact that he had managed to tattoo himself the night before without a needle, well… he had a feeling that both problems were going to come back and bite him in the ass sooner or later.

London sat opposite to her in the booth, resisting the urge to lean back and kick his boots up.

“And the same thing for you, hon?” Beatrice turned to him. Wondering if her and Dakota got a memo he didn’t about repeating the same conversation every Friday, he answered with a quiet nod and waited for the old woman to leave before finally speaking.

“Have I ever told you that this place is straight out of some teenage tv drama?” London mused lightly, pausing to take a sip of his bubbling coke. He shot her a grin. “It’s terrible. You’re terrible for making this the place of our ritual get together.”

Dakota's laughter was definitively contagious, a silvery, bubbly sound that probably would have belonged to a pixie or an elf if her life were a cartoon.

Aside from London, she had many friends, but there was something decidedly special about the tattoo'd brit - something that kept Dakota coming back, even when they were about as opposite as apples and mack-trucks. And for some inexplicable reason, London had yet to shed himself of her presence...

"You shoulda seen it when they still roller-skated! It was magical, London. Just magical!" Pulling her straw free and popping it into the strawberry milkshake before her, she fiddled with the paper, twisting it into the shape of a heart, "OH!" Suddenly, as though pinched on the backside, Dakota darted up onto her knees and leaned across the table, pointing at his chest with all the mannerisms of an overexcited child, "Is this new??"

His eyes trailed downwards, the steel blue washed with regret the moment it landed on the makings of a geometrically drawn lion. He hadn't meant to show her but there it was--peeking right from behind the neckline of his shirt.

London's eyes moved back upwards, stopping to stare blankly at Dakota's jarringly youthful face for a moment. Ah shit, he thought.

"Really new. Last night, actually." The brit admitted, his hand tugging the neck of his shirt to fully display the lion now placed underneath his collarbone. The skin surrounding the tattoo remained flawless, no swelling or red marks to be seen.

London let go of his shirt and bent down to sip more soda, hoping Dakota's mind would go to some brand new topic all together.

"Oh man! Ooh man... That is..." With little concern for whatever personal space London might have preferred, something he was no doubt begrudgingly used to by now, Dakota hooked her fingertip in the collar to peek at the figure again, her eyes widening, "...Hey. How come it's not all red and swollen like us-- OH! New people!" Swiftly flopping back into her seat, she pointed in what was probably meant to be a surreptitious fashion (but was, in fact, quite blatantly obvious) to the couple wandering in through the door.

"Should we say hi? We should, right? It's only polite..."

His eyes widened with hers and London caught his breath. Whatever he had discovered himself newly capable of these past few days... he was far from ready to share it.

A sigh of relief escaped him when the duo entered and Dakota turned, but he was quick to clean up his act the moment she spun back around to ask about their next move.

London cracked a grin and kept his tone playful. The brit began to slide out from inside the booth. "You can say hi for the both of us. I'll warn them afterwards to run away from you while they can."

Grinning, Dakota slipped out after him, and hooking her arm through his, shook her head, "Oh no, you don't. I want everyone to know how totally charming you are, London. Pretty accent, and all."

And so, half tugging him along, Dakota made her way to the pair and with a beaming smile, wiggled the fingers of her free hand, "Hi! Welcome to Shelley's! You guys new? You look new... I can usually tell, cause people walk in all wide-eyed and a little scared lookin'... It's the neon, right? It's so cool, but super bright. Like New York or something! Anyway! I'm Dakota and this is Levi, but you can call him London, onacounta his accent, which I guess kinda makes sense, 'cept that's not where he's from, but it's close enough and it definitely sounds better than-- oh! You should sit with us! We got the best booth in the whole place and Bea is the best waitress there is..."
 
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Aero Blue

he hears his master's voice
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One Post a Week
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Give-No-Fucks, Adept, Advanced, Douche, Adaptable
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Switches have more fun
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Cassandra Muninn; the Faux Shepherd
Red Thunder Red Thunder



Modernity could be hard on the hungry. The developed state often proved difficult for the famished, as the famished could only see the less famished around her. Mothers and sons who had turned to fat, supping on fast food burgers and New York slices. Suits and ties who callously, thoughtlessly ingested protein bars and shakes, sustenance packaged into a single, efficient form. And all the while, the hungry one trudged through it all, with nary a crumb to her name.

Oh, yes, Cassia was hungry, as she carried her shell of a body across ruined Millennium City streets. She could see through the windows of meager abodes, mothers and fathers, boys and girls looking to gleam some fulfillment from canned creamed corn - decades past their prime - and Easy-Mac. The fellow destitute man approaching from the opposite side of the street chewed on an apple core with empty, toothless gums.

Hunger, real hunger, was never just hunger. It was thirst, it was a tired mind, a tired soul, a beleaguered body yearning for release. It was sadness. Hunger was sadness. So often was the case that one who had no food, also had no home, and no love in her life, no sanctuary in which to retreat. All Cassia had were debts, money-owed to drug-peddling superiors, and cryptic warnings from questionable names. Thirty, L-thirty. How suave.

She thought of L30 and those warnings, all the while hoping for something more substantial, at the very least edible, from within the garbage can.

They had been useless warnings, Cassia recalled, her hands digging along a surface of black plastic and the grimy oils of sloppy tomato ketchup. L30 said ‘they’ would take her; but one who belonged to nothing earthly could not be taken, as she was in the possession of no one tangible. And that she would never see her family again? Eminently true, and infuriatingly redundant. Her family was dead. Both mother and father, and the poor drug-addled sheep that she had taken under her care. And if those ‘evil men’ had been the traffickers? Well, then, they were dead, and good riddance.

“Oh Heavens, thank you.” Cassia rejoiced, as she felt the give of hot dog flesh within the trash.
“Oh Heavens, fuck you.” Cassia bemoaned, as she saw the bluish-purple tinge of rot upon it.

She turned her head as she discarded what resembled a necrotizing finger, catching a glimpse of the boy, dejectedly kicking a rock down the street. First impressions: not particularly happy, likely lost in thought, but at least his flesh wasn’t sloughing off the bone from the decay of hunger. And so Cassia’s form glided towards him, a hungry specter in black garments, an impeccably dressed zombie.

Cassia forced herself to prostrate before him, as if having collapsed from hunger. “Oh, good sir, kind sir; I’m hungry, I’m thirsty. You do your good deed for the day yet…?

I could really use a Coke. And twelve Bagel Bites. I also need to pee.”
 

Eru

"It's dangerous to go alone."
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Millennium City, New YorkEvan Rowell
The sharp intake of breath, and a muffled gasp in the night. On her bed in the dim light, Evelyn Rowell moved weakly, causing Evan to look up in concern. He rose from his seat across the hospital room, walking as fast as he could, though he hardly moved at all. He could now hear the beeping of her vital monitors, piercing and eerie as he tried to push his limbs faster.

Evan needed to get to her. But, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't cross the room, as it grew larger and larger and ever larger. Evelyn's bed was drawn away from him, even as he broke into a run, panting in pace with the increasing beeps from so far away. Evelyn's voice came to him, from beneath her oxygen mask, calling his name in growing panic.

"Evelyn! I'm coming, I'm right here, don't be afraid!!"

Evan couldn't tell if his sister heard him. She was rapidly being drawn away across the room, even as it splintered and exploded into the sky in a million shards of the memories they had together. Evan charged past them all, across a meadow, across a mountain, across a trail of falling stars. And yet Evelyn was nearly out of sight.

"E.. Evan!"
Evelyn shrieked in an unearthly tone one last time, and then she was taken from his sight. And Evan woke up.
It was still before dawn. Evan was startled out of his thoughts by the screeching of his alarm clock, and he quickly slammed his hand on the 'sleep' button.

It was just another dream.

He passed a hand over his face, not surprised to find it wet from tears. He shook his head, and began to slowly get dressed for the wintry atmosphere of Millennium City.

After the meteors hit, the city had been in something of a mess ever since. Fires raged through the night, and rubble still lingered in the streets. The Rowell family had the fortune to live away from the darker precincts, but not quite 'middle-class', not these days. Not with the hospital debt.

A bit later that morning, Evan quietly edged out the front door, taking a route on the back streets to reach his daily warehouse job. It took the better part of an hour to get there most days, and today Evan arrived a few moments before nine. Many, many thoughts had been revolving in his head this morning. The fresh image of Evelyn; the mysterious message from 'L30', whoever that was supposed to be; the derelict and half-destroyed homes of many former neighbors, crushed and burning.

It's not like any of this is connected. It's just... still too soon.

Evan jolted back to reality as the morning bell rang. He sighed, and wandered into the warehouse to begin.
On his lunch break that day, Evan again re-read the message from L30 over a steaming bowl of potato soup, trying to focus on something else. Anything else.
If you receive this message, then the meteor shower changed you. We both know there’s no escaping from it. I know for certain, ‘cause it changed me too.
Evan rolled his eyes. He hadn't been changed. Well, at least not on the inside. Still, it was strange what L30 said. Somehow, they had learned that Evan now possessed unnatural powers, although maybe they didn't know for certain what these were. Evan himself still barely understood them.
There are bad people in this world… People who want to use you for the new abilities you’ve been given. It’s not your fault, but it doesn’t matter. Whoever you are now. That’s all they care about.
Sure. Of course. And L30 definitely wasn't part of their organization. Evan rolled his eyes the other direction, taking a spoonful of soup and burning his tongue. Whatever, he thought, slipping his phone away. If anything like that were the case, his life was about to get a whole lot more interesting. But of course, it wouldn't. For a few minutes, Evan absentmindedly spooned soup into his mouth. And then, a text message arrived, from his mother.
We are going out to dinner tonight. Will you be home by 7
Evan just looked at it. He had neither a reason nor a want to go anywhere tonight. And his parents ought to be saving money, for bills and house repairs, not spending it on dinners.
the warehouse is keeping us late tonight. i can't get off before 8 anyway. who are you going out with?
He didn't expect to receive a reply before that evening, as was typical.

L30's message nagged at him. Although he'd been warned to caution, Evan was starting to grow curious, in spite of his own feelings. Could he make a difference with his new powers? Did he even want to try? He couldn't do anything for Evelyn while she was in pain... it just didn't feel right to even be living without her, much less being able to take on the pain of others. What kind of supernatural irony was this? Somewhere, a cruel angel must be laughing at him.
Evan had lied. The warehouse let out at six o'clock in the evening. He just couldn't bring himself to attempt enjoying an evening out. Not without her. Not yet.

It was payday, and Evan was at least looking forward to seeing his savings go up a bit more when the transactions carried through. He usually felt accomplished, just a little, and a little more carefree on these days. But, still... it just wasn't the same.

Evan left the warehouse, padding through the city as he always did, avoiding the main roads and people in general. He only interacted with one person, a streetside sandwich vendor, to purchase his dinner. Eating his warm ham sandwich in the slowly dying light, Evan sat beside a cold fountain to watch crowds as they hurried by. He saw people in bandages, on crutches, even a few on stretchers. But he didn't want to interfere. So what if he had the power to heal others? It only hurt himself. And if Evelyn couldn't be alive, Evan didn't want to hurt himself just so others could keep going on. Why should they deserve that? Why not Evelyn?
As the evening drew on, darkness began to creep on faster and faster. Many alleys led to the fountain square where Evan sat, lost in thought, bundled up against the elements. Maybe he would stir and go home soon. This wasn't the best of neighborhoods, at any rate. There were always bound to be scroungers and wanderers coming in from the outskirts of Millennium City. Evan simply didn't care enough to get up just yet.
 

Red Thunder

A Warrior in a Garden
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The Shepherd and the Sheepdog
O'Malley residence
~ Millennium City ~
by Aero Blue Aero Blue and Red Thunder Red Thunder

Patrick pulled up short, his last step sending the small stone skipping away across the pavement before it planted itself. Beggars were not unusual; it was unfortunate, but they had become something of a norm. Not to say Millennium City was free of their presence before the meteor shower. The homeless had always seemed to find a sense of unity within its spacious and oft unpoliced back streets. Patrick did his best to avoid them, feeling a sense of helpless guilt. There was nothing he could do for them, for if he helped one, he’d have to help others, but that didn’t mean he avoided feeling bad about his inability. The O’Malley’s barely made enough to feed themselves, and even the only child could see that. When a windfall did come, it was almost always swept away by repairs to essential appliances; the refrigerator had seen its unfair share. At least, he thought bitterly, trying to be grateful for even the smallest boon, we don’t have to worry about leaks. Roof repairs were expensive. Living on the ground floor had its drawbacks, noisy upstairs neighbors being a significant one, but the advantages more than made up for it.

Regardless of his living condition, it was a roof over his head. Which was more than this young woman could apparently say. With a muttered curse, Patrick ran to her side, trying to lift her off the ill-kept ground.

“Oi, why the fallin’? Get teh yer feet, lass; we migh’ could spare yah some manner of eatin’. And-” He shook his head, considering her oddest request. It was very possible this one was a bit touched in the head. “And, aye, likely a bathroom, too, though yah have me as teh why yah havnae used a public one yet.”

And although it was perhaps far from the accepted norm of the world, Cassia had an unusual response to the boy’s kindness; she recoiled. Not because Patrick had done or said anything particularly wrong, but because the accent struck her like a thousand bricks. She took a moment to steady herself, slightly disappointed in her lack of composure. If it were not for the delirium of hunger, such a matter would not have been nearly as funny. After all, she was a loon who could move water, and he merely talked a little strangely.

“Germs and bacteria - devil’s work, mind you. Sometimes women miss and get it all on the toilet seat. Don’t know how, functionally, but... happens.” Cassia allowed herself to come upright, her eyes peering into Patricks, with the full severity the subject of public bathrooms warranted. “But yes, oh yes, thank you, kind sir. Let’s go somewhere and talk more about this manner of eating business.”

Patrick's face twisted in confusion. There was a real discrepancy he couldn't explain, between her appearance and her phrasing of things. What beggar said ‘kind sir’? Hell, why was he even helping at all? What made her different from the scores of other poor souls on the street? Was it that discrepancy that drew his curiosity?

Perhaps.

He helped her up to standing, bracing her against him if she needed it.

“No need teh talk about it; I'm nae far from here. Just, eh. So yah know. Me da likes teh hit tha bottle and is probably already drunk. He migh’ be a tad grumpy.” Arms around her shoulders, he pushed forward, continuously glancing at her to ensure she didn't fall. “Name’s Patrick.”

“Mine’s Cassia, and I’ll suffer any drunk ‘da’ for a bite to eat.” She murmured, confused at just how easy this had been; Cassia had been expecting to pull the “You’ll-go-to-hell-if-you-let-me-starve” card. It dawned on her that she had hit the jackpot, so to speak, a kind soul hidden beneath a rough accent and an alcoholic father. Wondrous. “God will reward you for this, Patrick. I know it.”

Obviously, she didn’t.

But Patrick didn't know that. He gave her a look as they picked their way down the sidewalk, unsure as to what this Cassia might be referring. ‘God’ as such had always been a vague presence in the background of his life; like so many Irish, he'd grown up Catholic. He'd followed the steps, done the rituals, and gone about his life without further thought. Only the priest had ever claimed knowledge of what God might do, but Cassia was clearly no priest. God wouldn't let his priest live on the street. Yet he said nothing; her viewpoint was not causing him trouble, so why should it bother him?

They rounded a corner, bearing left, and Patrick immediately stopped before an old wooden door. The brass knob was faded and dull, and the paint was peeling.

“Here's me.” He smiled, trying to instill some amount of confidence in his guest. Gripping the knob, he turned and pushed and walked into the house.

Cassia followed, apprehensive. This was a new world, of chrome floors and glass skyscrapers, but there remained a nervous magic that surrounded a ‘home’. Peeling wallpaper spoke of history - tragic and otherwise - as heavily as it did of poverty, and to be quaint was oft synonymous with being cozy. But more importantly:

“Excuse me, Patrick. I… forget. Shoes on or off?”

“Er-” Who took off their shoes before coming inside? “Doesnae matter. Da kicks his off, but mum leaves hers on.”

“Patrick? Your dinner’s cold.” A female voice, vaguely chastising, found its way to the doorway as they entered the dwelling, and the young man looked up, a warm smile on his face. His mother turned the corner, seizing up immediately when she laid eyes upon Cassia. Her eyes grew wide, mouth drawing thin and wide. After a moment of assessment, Margery looked to her son. “Patrick. Who is this?”

His shoulders slumped a little in reply. As if food wasn't tight enough, here he was bringing home another mouth.

“She needed food, mum. And...the loo.” Margery’s look was disapproving, though a bit of confusion filled her eyes.

“The- loo? What abou’ public restrooms?”

She looked to the stranger, distrust in her gaze.

Cassia found relief in that she had left her shoes on, hoping that the mother would appreciate the shared habit (unlikely in the current scenario). “Oh, um, hello! Public ‘loos’ are very… well, I always thought that there was a layer of hell sculpted in the image of a women’s restroom. Your son and I, actually, had been discussing the phenomena of uri-.”

She stopped herself. The mother was likely a prudish short, she thought, and this line of dialogue likely wasn’t helping her cause, “The phenomenon of good samaritans in a world of absurdity; your son is truly a blessed man, and this is a blessed abode. I promise I won’t intrude for much longer… I’m just - ever so hungry, you see. I do apologise…”

On self-reflection, she was probably milking it a tad. Yet audacity had its place in the world. Some would mistake it as genuine and find pity, while others would find it awkward. Interestingly, the latter scenario often yielded the greatest dividends, as the ‘victim’ would be all too willing to remove the strange one, through any means necessary.

At the moment Cassia said the word ‘phenomenon’, Margery was silent a moment. She stared at the stranger unabashedly, clearly aware of the social faux pas yet showing little concern as the explanation was delivered. As soon as the guest fell silent, she put her hands on her hips.

“I'll get yah a san’wich,” she replied slowly. “But yah need tah take it an’ leave.” The O’Malley matron turned and disappeared around the corner. Patrick shrugged apologetically to Cassia.

“Sorry, Cass. Mum’s a bit … protective.” He still wasn't sure that she knew of Sapphire. Probably best to keep it that way. “Won't really have time for tha res-”

Margery!” A harsh voice echoed through the dimly light hallway, gravelly and slurred. “Tha boy home ye’? Patrick! The hell have you been?”

The young man’s face fell.
 

Joan

"You'll never be alone."
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I do like to have a hand in the plot if I can, but it doesn't matter that much.
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OC Fandom (ask about my fandoms!)
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Sex-centric
Furry
Trope-y anime
Fandom with canon characters
Plain slice-of-life
Joan Ardent || San Antonio, Texas

Joan sat alone in the food court, picking at the edges of a Subway sandwich and wondering why she was here in the first place. This week was supposed to just be a week of staying in, like all the other weeks. College prep, figuring out the strange new abilities she had discovered just a couple days ago...that had been the plan. So how did she end up going out with her high school “friends”?

”You need to spend some time out and about with people besides us,” her mother had said yesterday. ”You’re going to college soon, for pity’s sake. You need to relearn how to socialize before then, or it’s going to bite you in the ass later.”

Maybe I don’t need to interact with people who don’t really care about me anyway,
she thought to herself as she reluctantly took a bite of her sandwich.

Her classmates had dragged her out to the mall, of course. First they had taken her around every store they could think of until she wasn’t sure where she was anymore. There had been questions about why she hadn’t come out with them in so long, but she managed to fend them off for most of the afternoon. Finally, she had managed to break off from the rest of the group by staying in the food court longer than the rest of them, and now she was here, with her nearly finished sandwich and a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

I don’t want to try and find them again, or wait for them to come back here...I just want to get out of here. She looked down at the end of her sandwich and sighed. She had been picking at this sandwich for long enough, it felt like, but she still didn’t want to get up…That was life, though, and she was just getting up to toss what was left when she tripped over the boy who was sweeping up.

“I’m sorry,” she managed to stammer as she tried to pull herself back to her feet, picking up the sandwich she had dropped. “I didn’t—I mean—I wasn’t looking where I was—“ She could barely get the words out, she was so flustered. "I'm so sorry," she managed again as she finally stumbled back to her feet. "Are you, um, alright?"
 

Artorias

Highlord of the Tal'Darim
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Slice-of-Life
Leon Rojay | Millennium City, New York

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Two weeks ago he was just another faceless kid lost in the crowd of potential, but he never aspired to be something. His mediocre upbringing in Millennium City never paved the way in a bask of golden light to show him that he does have a chance to do something, be something. He let the city dictate his life and future until that fateful night when the meteors rained. After that night something changed inside of him, or changed him. He was able to transmute solid objects into something else of his choosing by just willing it to change. It all started with that diamond ring he sold to the pawn shop, it was a fake diamond when Leon had it outside the store, but very real when he was inside selling it.

A week after he had learned of his gift, and found out his can and cant's he received a message from someone named L30, who knew about his gift. It scared him that someone had found out who he was and that he had this new-founded gift, a week after it had happened. It made him paranoid to say the least but he couldn't let someone hiding behind a username scare him.

An old office chair creaked as the back was tipped, smoke curling and puffing into the air as a lit cigarette was between the young male's lips. All the lights in the apartment were off, with the corner lamp being the only source of light currently on. Illuminating the desk that Leon sat in front of, a pocket knife open and resting on the desk with a wooden ring carved. Shavings dusted around the circular piece of wood. It was all wood now and the detail was rather lacking, but Leon could add all that in and then transmute the wood into gold, diamonds, emeralds or whatever he wanted really. He saw this power as an opportunity for him to make money and he damn well wasn't going to be afraid of something he couldn't get rid of. He had to accept this....gift and make the best of it--and he was making the absolute best of it.

The jewelry he made was taxing on his mind and body, feeling faint after the ordeal was over like he had been running a marathon all day.

Pulling the cigarette from his lips he put the bud out in the ashtray and pushed himself out of the office chair and walked over to the beat up couch. He plopped down onto the mud brown cushions, bouncing on them as he did so before rolling onto his back as he stared up at the empty ceiling. The white paint needed a new coat, dust and grime had been building up and the paint wasn't as fresh anymore.

It was the middle of the day and Leon should be at work but he called in sick even though he planned on selling off the jewelry he was making from wood into real jewels. It was some crazy shit to be able to do something like that, even if he wasn't using his powers in a "good" manner.

Pulling the cellphone from his pocket, he opened up his messages and went to the one sent from L30, rereading it again to make sure nothing had changed or he didn't misread anything. Maybe a clue?

He needed fresh air and to stop being paranoid over some message. It had no threat, in context or in blatant words but he was overthinking about it all. Someone may have just been messing with him. Getting off the couch he pulled the black hoodie from off the coat rack and slipped it over his upper body. Grabbing the keys off the end table, he left the apartment and locked it behind him before hitting the streets of Millennium City, hoping the air would clear his head.
 

Sairento

-Not my art. Never my art. I can't art very well.-
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Can't think of much. Really depends on who I'm writing with, to be fair.
Alexander Summers - San Antonio, Texas

Alexander stood on the second floor of the North Star mall, fiddling with the coins in his pocket as he leaned over the railing. Truth be told, he didn't need to be there. After he moved onto blackmailing, he'd managed to acquire more than enough "funds" to help his family survive on a weekly basis. Still, did that mean he did not occasionally feel nostalgic for the side of crime with a more...personal touch?

Of course he did. It's why he was scouting out a business man, dressed in a tailored suit, perfect pinstripe blue tie to complete his outfit.

Timing his mark's pace for a few seconds, he soon made his way towards the escalator, standing idly as he neared the bottom, before walking into the decently-sized crowd, mumbling apologies as he moved against the current of people. Not two seconds later, he was bumping his way past the business man, and gave him a particularly sharp bump, his hand slipping in and snatching his wallet.

-----

After extracting the money (a nice, solid 243 dollars) and dropping the wallet in the bathroom (no cameras, and lots of people went there. Also a half-decent spot to wipe the wallet for prints. He was careful.), Alex himself went to the food court. Pickpocketing had made him a bit peckish, and say what you will, but the nachos at the mall were actually half decent. Making use of his newly acquired funds, he soon after sat down in the middle of the cafeteria, idly munching away at his nachos as he did some more people watching.

Not to try pickpocket, oh no. He did people watching to try pick out who to follow for blackmailing as well. And there were a few people of interest…but nothing that demanded his attention immediately.
 

rissa

the clairvoyant pterodactyl
DONATING MEMBER
Shelley's Diner
Mason felt as if he were herding Crow into the diner like lost cattle. The bright lights were off putting and almost like it was putting the two on a pedestal. For some reason, he felt it his job to protect her, after the whole… hitting her with his car thing. Maybe this wasn’t the best place to be. Too bright, shiny. Visible. Couldn’t have gone anywhere more… hidden.. Couldn’t you have, Mason?

And then little sugar gal popped up. Sure, the welcome was nice, but she was so… she was so hyper. Like a little kid. Well, she definitely had a baby face. Honestly, that level of excitement wasn’t normal. Really, it couldn’t be. Maybe she was hyped up on something? For her whole speech, Mason angled himself in front of Crow, brows furrowed as he listened with intent to try and understand the girl in front of him, and the much more sullen boy behind her. Dakota and Levi. Or, London. What kind of a nickname that was, he had no clue.

Mason snuck a peek at Crow behind him, and let out a small sigh. It felt almost impossible to say no to Dakota at her request to sit with them, but he supposed it couldn’t be that awful. What was wrong with a little company. Though he still felt it strange she had already asked them to join their table without even knowing their names.

“Uh..” He shrugged. “Sure, I guess. My name’s Mason, and this is Crow.” He gestured to the girl behind him. “Yeah, we’re.. On a roadtrip. Christmas break stuff, you know.” Mason grinned anxiously.

"A roadtrip huh? I guess there are worse places to end up for dinner." London leaned forward, speaking with a disinterested tone. He looked down at Dakota and then exchanged glances with the two newcomers before offering a nonchalant shrug. “Dakota here is a bit much, but you’ll get used to it.”

Grinning, far too pleased that her invitation had been accepted to concern herself with London’s snark, she gestured extravagantly to the booth, “A road trip sounds amazing! We should totally take one, London! How neat would that be?” Sinking into the seat beside London, Dakota looked between the two, “Crow is a super cool name. Most people don't like them, cause they're kinda spooky lookin’, but not me! You know you can train them to talk? Just like parrots! I always wanted a parrot, but my dad’s scared of birds. We went to the zoo once and he just about died in the bird house. Never heard a grown man scream that loud! Oh! Hey Bea.” She trailed off at last, as the waitress returned to their table, with little more than a brow raised at the new company.

“What can I get you, Dolls?”

“Some water.” Crow said with a shy glance towards the waitress.

Everything was too much: the lights, the noises, the people. Crow looked tense. On edge. She was both afraid and angry. Her hands were clenched into fists beneath the table and she glanced up at Mason before deciding against answering Dakota’s many inquiries.

“Th-thanks… I guess.”

London leaned back into his seat and wondered why his pixie like companion felt the need to bump up the awkward of their Friday night. He cleared his throat at the Crow’s discomfort and nudged the little blonde. “C’mon, Dakota. The two of them just came off of the road… the last thing they want to do right now is talk up a storm.”

“It’s - it’s alright,” Mason said with a gentle smile towards Levi and Dakota, after offering Crow a quick reassuring look. He sat up in the booth and glanced at the waitress. “I think water for the table would be good, yeah?” He seemed very calm on the exterior, but inside Mason was more nervous than he had been in a long time. He swallowed anxiously. “And I think I’ll just have a normal cheeseburger with fries.” He had barely taken a second to look at the menu, but he wasn’t feeling very adventurous. Mason leaned back in his seat, pleased that he had gotten his order out of the way and was done with it.

"Oh gosh! No... London's totally right. I'm so sorry. I have this habit of rambling. It's just... Meeting new people is always so exciting. And you two seem so nice. Don't meet a lot of nice folks in the world now a days. And--"

Whatever she might've said next, however, never came. As she was speaking three things happened in the span of roughly six seconds. First, the boy, Ben, sitting with his mom at table eight dropped one of his crayons. Then, Karen... who was decidedly a good waitress, but not better than Bea noticer Mister Davis at sixteen was out of coffee. Next came Bea, returning to drop off their drinks and Dakota and London's orders. Like the old game Mousetrap, a triangle of disaster was set...

Taking the pot to Mister Davis, Karen hit the crayon with the ball of her shoe and rolling forward, barreled into Bea. Instinctively, she twisted, but as she did the pot of coffee did as well and with the force of her movements interrupted by Bea's steadying grab, the pot swung from her grasp and cracked against the coat post on Dakota and London's side of the booth. Dakota, near the edge of the booth and in the direct line of the shrapnel barely had time for a small squeal, folding into herself as glass and scalding coffee rained down on them.

There it was again… That pull at the edge of her psyche. Crow felt the energy solidify even as her arm raised to shield the coming onslaught of hot coffee and broken glass. A wave of dizziness came next, followed by a sharp pain in her temples. But no heat, or liquid for that matter, came into contact with Crow’s skin. The same stood true for the glass. A stream of apologies spewed from both waitresses, yet Crow paid no mind.

Glancing up at Mason with a frown and then over at the two sitting across from her, Crow spoke softly, with more than a hint of annoyance leaking through.

“Is… Is everyone alright?”

London stood up as an attempt to dodge but the only thing he accomplished was banging his knees on the table. He had cursed more than a few times, making the situation even more of a show then it already was. When it was over his eyes flicked across the table and he growled pointedly towards the new girl. “My jacket smells like goddamn decaf.”

But that annoyance quickly faded into concern when he realized that Dakota must’ve been in a way worse condition than him.

“Dakota are you--” He turned to her, perhaps a little too concerned and a little too fast for his taste, and reached out before pausing in confusion. “...Wait what?”

Mason had spent more time staring in shock as the scene unfolded than he had curled up to protect himself. Scalding coffee had landed on his jacket and he shrugged it off in a hurry after the damage had been done. Luckily the rest of him had been protected fairly well despite being front and center for the mess, except for a few bright red scratches on his cheekbone and forehead where the glass had caught him.

After he had pulled his sopping jacket off, he looked at his companions. London looked quite pissed, doused in as much coffee as he, but Crow and Dakota were entirely intact. Likely the same force field that had protected Crow from his car had protected her now, but he.. Couldn’t quite say the same for the cheery girl across from him.

“..uhm.. I’m alright, it seems.” He said, staring at Dakota. “..guess you had quite a lucky streak, huh?” He murmured while looking at the girl.

Blinking, her eyes staring at the puddle of coffee of the table, Dakota sat perfectly still for a moment, after uncurling, and as both waitresses rushed off muttering about finding towels and dust pans, a first aid kit, the manager, a new job... she turned her gaze to London, a rare frown on her lips. Irrationally, she had the urge to apologize, which, even for Dakota was ridiculous.

"So... Okay. So. This thing happened. You know how like... all that space junk came down, right? So... I dunno, but like... somehow, I just... Well, I think I'm magical?"

”I think I’m magical.”

“I’m outta’ here.”

Crow’s eyes were wild and her hands gripped the edge of the booth so hard you could see the wood beginning to dent. The sudden anxiety clashed with the pain in her head and she let out a soft moan, hand raising to put pressure against her temple. Glancing up at Mason she shook her head, trying to tell him without words that they need to leave. She tried standing, moving, but it was no use - she sat on the inside and save pushing the poor kid out of his seat, Crow was stuck.

With eyes that flickered amethyst, Crow glanced over at the girl, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. “None of you are safe.”

Last night with the ink was not normal. Dakota being unscathed was not normal. Whatever the fuck he just noticed in the new girl’s eyes was not normal. London swallowed hard, his own eyes wide as he felt his stomach sinking at Crow’s words.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Dakota had straightened at Crow’s exclamation, and shaking her head, her expression on of concern and confusion, she waved her arms, as if to ward off the other girl’s concerns, “No, no! It’s fine. I’m not… I mean… I’m not dangerous, or contagious or anything. I mean, I don’t think I am. Honest! It’s just this crazy thing with like… my skin or something. And it’s not like it comes up all the time… Just that time with the car, and… well, and now. Oh! And that morning when I slipped in the shower… But I’d never hurt anybody.”

Mason’s face had already started to become a sickly shade of pale before Crow’s outburst. He could see that scared look in her eyes, that we need to run gaze. Mason could feel the apprehension. He swallowed, heart falling into his stomach. Was he really going to run right now? Was Crow right? Maybe they weren’t so bad. Maybe Dakota wasn’t even as magical as she thought she was. Maybe it was just a joke! But Crow looked increasingly worse, and he was so worried that maybe he had hurt her, or something else was hurting her. Something was wrong, no matter who’s fault it was. I can save this. I can calm Crow down and we can pretend like nothing happened and I’ll laugh about it. I’m just about hungry enough to keep sitting here and wait for that burger. It’s fine. It’s fine.

Then her eyes flickered that brilliant amethyst, and he knew they were both fucked.

As Dakota talked he was already assembling himself, grabbing his coffee-soaked jacket and scooting out of the booth. He wiped the back of his hand on his forehead, surprised at the blood that came off from the small cut. “I’m -- I’m sorry. We .. have to go. Now. I’m really sorry.”


Collab with @Bear Enthusiast CloudyBlueDay CloudyBlueDay Elle Joyner Elle Joyner rissa rissa
 

Radio Jelly

Galactic Gadabout
Austin's eyes danced along the frame in front of him, intently scouring every curve and edge with a mix of apprehension, uncertainty, and a little worry. His lips were pulled into a tight frown, and his brow furrowed with every passing second that he stood motionless. He knew he had to make a decision--and soon--but in that moment he felt the familiar despair of a lifetime of indecisiveness welling up inside of him.

Somewhere behind him, a pair of eyes burrowed into his shoulder-blades, and though he couldn't see her expression, he could feel her mounting impatience. Austin tried to focus on the frame, but the more he looked at his options the less convinced he was that he was making a solid decision. To his right, a plain copper wristwatch ticked ever onward--the subtle sound of the second-hand unceasingly punctuating his thoughts.

Austin grimaced, spun on his heels, and faced the woman behind him.

"Do you, like, maybe have this same one in blue?" The young man tugged at the edge of the hoodie's sleeve absentmindedly with one hand, and compulsively scratched the back of his head with the other. It wasn't that he minded a red hoodie, but it did seem a tad flashy for his tastes. There was, of course, the other issue of the lining. "I'm also more of a wool fan. The weird synthetic fur stuff has never been my jam, so..."

The look on the clerks face screamed "Are you kidding me?" but instead of voicing her displeasure, she wordlessly stood with palms outstretched as Austin wiggled his way out of the coat. Somewhere behind her, there stood a pile of would-be prospects that was beginning to reach impressive heights. Austin did feel embarrassed, of course. If his old, swamp-green hood wasn't as badly frayed, and pock-marked as it was he probably would never have bothered the clerk to begin with.

A moment later, the girl re-emerged from behind the rack with another hoodie. It wasn't completely blue, but the lining was right, and he didn't mind a little grey here and there. With a pensive look, and eager hands, Austin snatched up the hoodie and quickly shuffled his arms into place. He had managed to zip it about half-way to his stomach when he realized without a doubt that he had found the one. A weak, lopsided smile stretched across his face for but a moment before he spoke again.

"T-thanks. You've been awesome." The girl rolled her eyes, and turned around to leave. She made it four feet before Austin called after her, "Wait! W-where do I pay for this?"

***
Outfitted with his new jacket, Austin emerged sometime later from the clothing store, his eyes focused on two ten-dollar bills wedged between a paper-clip. It was all he had left to his name at that point, and though he had hoped he'd find a new pair of shorts--or perhaps some decent sneakers--that would fit the budget, he had always known he was kidding himself. It had been weeks since he'd managed to scrounge together some cash in San Marcos, and though he dreaded the thought of having to go looking for more odd-jobs, he knew it was only a matter of time. In the interim, however, he resolved himself to at least enjoy a weekend to himself, for once.

Within North Star Mall, his attention was pulled in a hundred directions: between the menagerie of outlet stores, and hoard of mix-matched strangers, Austin found it difficult to focus on just about any one things where there was just so much of everything. He had managed to find the clothing store at least--that was a victory in his book for sure. His next endeavor would be a jaunt to the food-court if he could manage it.

Was it a particularly far walk from Macy's to the food-court? Probably not, but then again Austin oft found himself drifting along with the ebb and flow of the crowd irregardless of its destination. More than twice, his attention came back into focus and he found himself farther from the court than he had been when he started walking, which on any other day might've been irritating.

For a long time he was content to listlessly drift through the halls of North Star, but a sense of mounting urgency plucked at the back of his mind with every passing moment until he had an irrational desire to simply be somewhere. With a sudden sense of purpose, Austin weaved back through the crowd--his eyes scanning the occasional wall-map or signage for direction. It didn't take an exorbitant amount of time to find the small, circular setting wherein a variety of fast food options operated. Once it came into view, he let loose a small sigh of relief, only to once again go grow weary; the idea of having to drag himself through yet another conversation with a total stranger was less than appealing, but just as soon as he began to worry he tried to steel himself.

You're not a kid. Just focus on the food--not the people.

Focus on the food he did: Austin's stomach began to growl beneath his sky blue jacket. Instinctively, the boy began to nod in agreement with his own thought process before taking several steps forward. He ran a hand through his mess of hair, took a deep breath, and compulsively pulled the sleeve of his hoodie over his wrist-watch before entering the seating area proper. Of course, it was worse than he thought.

His eyes had drawn him towards the Potato Corner, but some sort of heated confrontation seemed to be happening there. Just as quickly as he had walked towards it, he made a sudden swerve to the right. He tried not to pay attention to what was going on, lest he somehow get involved, but he couldn't help but spare a speedy glance in the cashier's direction.

Scary school girls and free-loading jerkwads? Gee, that sounds fun.

Austin sniggered softly at his internal thoughts' impeccable sense of sarcasm. It only took a couple wayward looks from some customers nearby to shut him back up.

He paced back and forth between the lines of a few other outlet restaurants before settling at the Big Bellies. His eyes settled on the young, vibrantly colored cashier who's focus seemed to be elsewhere, though not without purpose. Austin moved towards the counter, all the while trying to clear his throat and stop his hammering heart.

"Hey." Austin's right hand shot up in the air for what was undoubtedly his best interpretation of a friendly wave. Instead, it looked a little more like a salute, and probably not a very good one at that. He shot his own palm a dirty look before trying--a little unsuccessfully--to hold eye contact with the cute girl at the counter. "Um, so like, h-hows the pork today?" Somehow it hadn't crossed his mind to lower the one hand, and with the other he procured his crappy, paper-clip wallet. "Do you guys, like, have something good that's not too expensive?" The minute the words left his mouth, he felt a pang of embarrassment for having said them.

Have you considered reading the menu, moron? Wait... am I still waving?
 

HerziQuerzi

Failures don't get into paradise
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Hedieh Redding // Millennium City

(Draft)
To: L30
From: so.so.hedieh@outreach.com
Don't email me.

Hedieh's finger hovered over the Send button, phone held up over her head as she lay in bed. Over the past week she'd managed to write numerous versions of the straightforward message, but had yet to send even one. She couldn't decide between forcibly rebuffing the enigmatic L30's promise, and ignoring it until it hopefully went away on its own. For all she knew, it wasn't even real. Likely wasn't real. Just some asshole sending out spam at random, hoping they'd eventually snag a fish.

Sighing, she let her arms fall back down to the bed, with it's sheets stiff and wrinkled from lack of washing. Picking at the, Hedieh scolded herself for being so lazy with cleaning, while simultaneously knowing it'd be another week or two yet - if not months - before she felt suitably motivated enough to take them off and run them through the wash. Above, the ceiling fan drifted in circles, driven not by it's own power but by the draft caused by an open window. She'd propped the window open last summer in a desperate attempt to beat the heat, but sometime in the following months, it had become jammed. Now deep into winter, her room was buried under a chaotic assortment of thick blankets.

Throwing a couple of them off of her now, she sat up and pinched the bridge of her nose. She'd been laying in bed for close on two hours now, alternating between barely awake and vaguely asleep.

Letting the cold air brush over her, Hedieh slid off the bed and into her slippers, making her way into the kitchen. Tossing her phone aside, she got to work putting together a peanut butter sandwich to tide her over until lunch. Except the clock read 11:34, which meant it was closer to two-thirty, after accounting for the clock's ever increasing drift.

With a brief grimace at losing her entire morning and then some more on top, Hedieh pulled out another pair of slices of bread. She'd have breakfast and lunch in one go.

Once the ingredients were put back away and the knife placed off to the side for reuse tomorrow, Hedieh grabbed one of the sandwiches, propped her elbows on the counter, and got to eating. As she did, she mentally played with the bangs hanging in front of her face, letting them drift in and out of reality. Each use of her power was accompanied by a faint popping sound as air was continuously displaced.

When she grew bored of that, she slid down into a sitting position, back resting against the cupboards. Making sure to drag her phone down with her, she unlocked it in preparation for more fussing over her unsent message to L30 when it buzzed. Startled, she nearly dropped it, but instead managed to drop the remaining half of her sandwich into her lap. Cursing under her breath, she quickly scooped it up and dumped it blindly on the counter above before returning to her phone. Worried that she'd waited to long, and that L30 had decided to reach out again.

It's just a scam, she told herself sternly. Not that it mattered, the message awaiting her being from a coworker.

charlie l.: hey
charlie l.: can u cover my shift tonight
hedieh: no, sorry
hedieh: have a dinner with my mom this evening

A lie; Hedieh had no plans for the rest of the evening. Or for the next day either, for that matter. Nothing until it was time to head in for her next shift in a few days. Generally, Hedieh didn't have an issue with taking extra shifts. Just as long as she had at least a day's warning, so as to mentally prepare herself. Once she'd woken up to a day expecting to do nothing, it was difficult to break that initial mindset.

hedieh: i can cover tomorrow? if you want
charlie l.: np np
charlie l.: ill find someone else
charlie l.: enjoy your dinner

Minor crisis avoided, Hedieh settled in for a relaxing day of nothing. A time to destress and recharge before diving back into the real world once her weekend passed. Fiddling with the lock button her phone, she decided to settle one last outstanding issue before truly withdrawing from everything.

(Sent)
To: L30
From: so.so.hedieh@outreach.com
Don't email me (unless you're a Nigerian prince)
 

Tyrannosaurus Rekt

What am I even doing anymore?
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Genre You DON'T Like
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★ LISAH KHOURY-SMITH ★
PLACE San Antonio WITH No One MOOD Perturbed​

Lisah tugged at her bags of fabric bolts as she made her way through the mall. It was, of course, the sort of sale that Sew You would have. She paused in front of a shoe store. She stared longingly at a pair of bright pink kicks. Her eyes then moved to the attractive shop boy that hovered outside the entrance. Fine. She’d look.

She walked inside, discarded her bolts of fabric to the side, and had said attractive boy help her. He took her size but brought many different styles towards her. Was he trying to make a sale or did he find her attractive? Lisah didn’t know. He wedged the pink kick onto her foot and she smiled. It was then that her power activated. It’d been a few weeks since she knew she could control gold. While she’d practiced, she was an amateur. Yet, now, looking at the boy before her—she knew he had a gold piercing. There was nothing on his form to allude to it otherwise. So, she tried to ignore it. She laced up both the shoes and walked around in them. There was no way she could take sixty dollars out of her account. She approached the shop boy who smiled wildly. Lisah got a bit interested. She bit her lip. It was then that they boy flushed and put a hand on his crotch. Oh shit, she’d activated her power. Honestly, she didn’t think he’d have a piercing there.

“I would love these,” Lisah said, easily paying for the weird arousal she’d just caused.

So, she ended up in the foot court with a few bags of fabric and one with bright pink sneakers.
 
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CloudyBlueDay

consistently inconsistent
Original poster
Roleplay Invitations
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I am generally not a huge fan of RPing Fandom, but it can depend.
MILLENNIUM CITY, NEW YORK

It’d taken fourteen days, seventeen hours, and thirty-two seconds to finally, finally figure out how to connect to all the devices in Millennium City. The time had come… The clock read three-twenty-five and with a deep breath, heart beating out of his chest, L30 clicked on his webcam and began the broadcast.

The light on his webcam flickered once and he leaned over, making sure the duct-taped connections were working. “Is this- Ah okay.” He cleared his throat before continuing, the quilt hanging over his bedroom window cast shadows that covered the lower half of his face.


Every device in Millennium city burst to life. L30’s broadcast would force itself onto every screen, right in front of the watchful eyes of all those who carried a phone, stood in front of a computer, or lounged in front of a TV. L30 would be heard, but not just by Millennium. His broadcast reached the entirety of the United States, stretching far and wide, to every person’s device.

“I have a message for the people of Millennium City.” L30 said softly. “I’m L30… A few of you might recognize my name, good. I told you I’d return.”

A knock on the door would cut through the TV’s blaring in Patrick’s home, as well as Heideh’s. The broadcast did not halter, but a voice from the other side of the door would distract those watching.

“Is this the residence of Patrick O’Malley?”

“Is this the residence of Heideh Redding?”

An unmarked white van would park in front of Leon’s apartment complex. Evan left the warehouse not far off at all. A scholarly looking man would exit the van, a photo in hand, squinting at it inquisitively. He wore a white lab coat and was cleanly shaven; not a hint of stubble.

“Ah, excuse me, sir,” The man halted Leon. He looked rather sincere, and pushed his thick black glasses up his nose. “Do you know where I could find someone by the name of Leon Rojay? I believe he lives in this building.”

A second man exited the car, dressed in a similar fashion, minus the glasses. He approached Evan in the street and straightened his white lab coat. “Sorry to bother, but are you Evan Rowell?”

“Our city was terrorized by the meteor shower and parts of our city still burn.” With every word the passion in his voice grew. “But that should be the least of your worries. The meteors did more than wreck our city… it changed us. Turned us into something more.

Every person who L30 had previously contacted received a text.

·
Run.


SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS

“Ma’am, you did not drop your fries. I can see them with your daughter right over there.”

“Excuse me?! The audacity! I’d like to speak to your manager.”

“Ma’am, please--”

"Hey. Over here a minute. Yeah, I'm talking to you, don't play like you can't hear me. I want two number fives, a number two with ketchup on the side, and your animal house fries."

The employee’s lips pursed. Her brown eyes inspected the new customer warily, wondering which one of them was worth the amount of trouble.

"Lady, I was--" the customer snapped at Hang.

"I wasn't talking to you," the Vietnamese girl drawled with a stare, standing her ground with arms crossed and feet planted firmly. "Paying customers only. And I'm paying."

The previous customer puffed her chest in anger as she stormed away, and the employee let a silent breath of relief. The plastic name tag stated Makoa as she turned around and began to prep Hang’s orders. She moved with a certain gracefulness that seemed unbefitting of a job like this. “Sorry about that, miss,” Makoa said solemnly as she brought all of Hang’s orders to the counter and began to ring it up on the cash register. Makoa glanced at the watch on her wrist, and after doing so, raised her eyebrows quizzically at Hang, as if the watch had told her something about her. “That’ll be $17.32, miss.”

While Joan had ended up on the floor, the boy who had been sweeping up seemed intact. He had barely flinched and still held the broom firmly in one hand as he offered the other to help her up. He had a devilish smile on his face and a flirtatious air about him, though it seemed very strange how unbothered he was by the fact that someone had just tripped and fallen onto him. “Hey, no worries. I’m fine.” He had a slight drawl, but it wasn’t very prominent.

“Are you okay? Anything I can get you? Maybe another sandwich?” He said with a smirk, gesturing at the sandwich she had retrieved from the floor. In a similar fashion as Makoa’s the name tag read Archer. After helping her up off the floor, he humorously dusted off Joan’s shoulders and leaned against the broom, waiting for her response with a glimmer in his eye. Archer’s eyes were entirely different colors - one was a hazel green and the other was brown.

The blue haired girl seemed entirely unfazed by Austin’s rambling. She stared at him without the slightest trace of emotion as he waved, without halting, and asked her what the cheapest menu item was. Her name was Sapphire (despite her name tag stating it was “Jill”), and she seemed to take pleasure in watching him sweat it out, which she let him do for the next painstaking minute or so.

“Yeah. I’ll get you a Belly Burger. Four bucks good for you?” She deadpanned, tapping away at the screen without sparing him a glance. “By the way, I have a boyfriend. Just thought you should know. Anything else?”

But before he could tell her if he wanted a side of fries or a coke, Sapphire took a glance at the watch on her wrist. “Fuck.” She hissed. “Archer. ARCHER!” She shouted past Austin, leaning over the countertop. “IT’S 2:51! ARCHER!”

The brown haired boy’s attention snapped away from the girl in front of him. For a moment, he looked serious but resumed his cheeky grin when he looked back at Joan. “Hey. Duty calls. See ya in a minute.” He said with a wink, his different colored eyes momentarily glowing a brilliant yellow, and with a gust of wind he disappeared, the broom falling to the floor in his sudden absence. On the palm of her hand, Joan would find a phone number loosely scrawled in sharpie, signed with “CALL ME”.

Where Archer had disappeared too would be lost upon those surrounding him. But what came next was clear as day. Deeper into the south exit of the food court, a rumbling began. Then, smoke. And after that, the crackling of fire. And then, boom.

Suddenly, the North Star mall was hot. Scalding. Burning. In the center entrance of the mall, one floor below the food court, easily seen from the balcony at the south exit, someone had burst into flames. An explosion of heat climbed through the air and engulfed the walls.

The North Star mall was burning to the ground.

In this moment, as the flames grew bigger, every phone in the mall lit up. Every television screen stuck in a corner came to life before being melted by the flames. L30’s broadcast played on every device before it burnt to ash, the strong words battling the blazing heat.

“There are things we can do… Things that shouldn’t be possible. But now they are and there’s no going back to the lives we once had. To those who recognize my name, I ask you again for your help. There are men and women, at this very moment, hunting us down one by one. And if they catch you, you’re doomed.”

ELY, NEVADA

Mason was already standing. He held his wet jacket in his hand and he expectantly stared at Crow, eyes wide, waiting for her to get the hell on with it. There was a tremble in his hands. Why was he so scared? What was he scared of? Dakota? Please. That girl was the manifestation of a unicorn. He was scared of Them. The Lab Coats. If she was “magical”, what’s not to say the Lab Coats were on their tail?

He kept his gaze trained on Crow. What if he was scared of.. her?

Click.

A small TV set hung above the counter. Up until this point, it hadn’t been on. Suddenly, it burst to life. Mason’s attention snapped away from the people sitting at the booth and to the TV screen, as the person named L30 continued to make their case.

“We were given these abilities for a reason. To protect ourselves and the people we love. Alone we don’t stand a chance against them.

A car parked outside. No, multiple cars. Mason heard it in the back of his mind. His eyes were glued to the screen.

“We have a visual.”
“Is that Zetith with her?”
“The other two with them are metas as well.”

“Every meta must be captured. Let’s finish this as quickly and efficiently as possible. ”

His eyes flickered cerulean blue, just as Crow’s had. “They’re here.” He whispered. “The lab coats. They’re here.”

Together, we can fight them! I need your help and you need mine. We need to unite, to fight side-by-side and destroy the real enemy. S-"

Mason slammed his hands down on the table, staring Dakota and Levi down with a terrified look in his eye, at least, when it wasn’t flashing blue. “Listen. I’m magical like you, okay? Crow and I both are. We’re all magical.” He exasperatedly pointed at his continuously flickering eyeballs. “There are people that are trying to hurt us, okay? Lab coats. Evil guys. Really really bad. And they’re coming right now. I know they’re here. So we have to go. Crow and I have to go, and I… I think you should come with us right now.

An odd look came across L30’s face and idly he reached up and touched his neck. Through the webcam everyone could see the tiny dart sticking out of his neck. He blinked twice and the broadcast ended as he slumped out of his chair and onto the floor.


All
RUN

L30 written by rissa rissa
The last text by L30 is only seen by those in Millennium who were contact previously. The broadcast is available for all.
 
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Doctor Jax

Lord of the Mice
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h a n g || d a o

Hang barely paid a glance to the girl in front of her. After all, she was a fast food grunt. There were another fifty million like her. It wasn't worth her time to pay attention to someone she'd forget in a few moments. As the cashier rung up the total, Hang fished in her pocket for her wallet, pulling out a platinum card. With boredom, she swiped the card readily, eying the food on the tray hungrily.

It had been like this for the past two weeks or so. For some reason, she was voracious. Now and again, she wondered if it had to do with...
the incident at the gun range, but that made no sense to her. Nevertheless, she had been packing down a good 5000 calories a day nonstop for two weeks, and there seemed no sign of stopping it. Her friends joked that she was going to end up gaining a ton of weight,
and that they'd go cannibalizing her walk-in closet of all her clothes.

Over her dead body. Some of those outfits cost her thousands of dollars. Besides, she had stayed a spry one hundred and ten the past two weeks. In fact, she might have lost some weight since. Eagerly, she grabbed hold of the tray, eschewing all decorum as she began to walk away from the girl at the counter without a second glance or a "thank you".

And then, all of her hair seemed to stand on end. Each nerve seemed alive, and she frowned as she stared around the bustling food court.
A girl with blue hair was yelling at some kid named Archer about the time, and the television screens around her were suddenly displaying a young man talking. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to make sense of the situation, still walking towards Bibbity and the Bimbos. Maybe... maybe it's nothing.

The floor rocked underneath her and she was thrown to the ground, food spilling across the tile as an explosion rocked the second floor. The heat washed across her skin from the blast, and her heart beat frantically in her chest. She placed a hand over her heart as if that would still it, her eyes wide. No! Not here! Too many eyes!

Still trying to make sense of the sudden shift in the world around her at North Star Mall, she saw Bibbity headed towards her at a fast jog.

"Ms. Dao, are you-- eugh!"

Bibbity flinched back. Hang glanced at the side that had faced the blast and was disgusted and fascinated by what she saw.

Teeth. Rows and rows of molars dotted her skin down her left side, all of them moving and undulating as if to respond to whatever threat was near. They shone with an odd, sparkling moisture, pearly and new, before finally popping out of her skin with small plink, plinkplinks on the tile as Hang picked herself up. The skin underneath was raw and pitted where the roots had dug in, but with a concentrated thought to the pain of raw nerve endings, the holes began to close as the skin grew over it slowly. She looked up to Bibbity, but the bodyguard had already fled, his allegiance to his neck more worthwhile than to his monstrous charge. She glanced over at the table where her two lackeys had sat, and she found that the table was empty, the two abandoning their cash cow the moment danger arrived.

It was then that Hang realized, in the burning mall, that she was completely, utterly alone.
 

Eru

"It's dangerous to go alone."
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Millenṉ̲͢ị̰u̦̳m͖̱ ̡̠C̟͍̰̯̠i҉t͉̦̺̤̫̞͎́y͕̻̯̬̮͋ͮ̕ͅ,͇͚̫̎̓̕ ̇̔͑̃̄̆N̮͙ͣ̊̓͛͑́ͬ̕e̗̪ẅ́̈̀̽ͤ͛ͩ͏̴̛͚̳͎̠̯̠̗ ̧̟̻̺͙̥̝̉̑͛̇̋ͤ͜͟Ÿ̲̠̠̅̋̾ͨͮ̚ͅo̪̗͔͙͓͔ͩ̅̒̋͂ŗ̷̨̱͕̙̲̮̮͍̩͋̀̌͛͒ͧ͟ͅǩ̵̢̫̬͙̣̻̒͂̾̚ͅEvan Rowell
Sitting in the chilly afternoon weather, Evan had absolutely no idea how upside-down his life was about to become. All of a sudden, a voice boomed from Evan's pocket, and his head shot up. He yanked the phone out of his pocket in time to hear the beginning of L30's message, as his face came into view. Evan tried to catch what he was saying, even as a voice in the street made him look up.

“Sorry to bother, but are you Evan Rowell?”

L30's broadcast went on, and Evan gave the man in a lab coat a once-over, keeping an eye on the screen of his phone. He turned his head, to see the same image of L30 being shown on a window TV across the square, and again from an advertising billboard nearby. It was a long moment before Evan turned to look at the newcomer again. He had opened his mouth to reply, when L30's text came through.
Evan swallowed, hard. There was no time to even think.

"No, you've just missed him. Too bad."

Standing up slowly, Evan pointed behind the man. Then, he tore into a sprint, running toward anywhere but here.​
 

Sairento

-Not my art. Never my art. I can't art very well.-
Roleplay Invitations
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Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Mostly Passive
Favorite Genres
Mostly everything.
Genre You DON'T Like
Can't think of much. Really depends on who I'm writing with, to be fair.
Alexander Summers - San Antonio, Texas

Alexander was idly eating his nachos when the blast happened. Thankfully, due to either luck or unbeknownst foresight, he'd been quite a ways away from the fire and explosion, and was left relatively unharmed except for a bit of rocking and shakes from the ground.

The same, however, could not be said for the Asian girl, who had fire come spitting at her from the floor beneath.

Shaking his head as he expected her to be screaming and rolling on the floor in a few seconds, he was soon sorely mistaken, and watched in quiet fascination as her skin grew back before his eyes. His camera out seconds after he'd seen the skin begin to heal, he snapped one photo (flash off, obviously) before tossing it back into his bag, next to his laptop. More blackmail to use later, if need be.

"Of course, you can't use it if you or the target is dead," he thought, standing up as he munched his nachos, taking a few, careful steps to glance down from the balcony at the fire. He didn't need to slip and fall to his death; that would be too unfortunate. Hence careful steps.

"The centre exit is definitely blocked," he called out to no one in particular. Anyone who was still in the food court, who either didn't have the reaction time or wits (or maybe will) to try escape the fire. And him, of course, but he was in a group of his own. And he doubted if there were many more blackmailers waiting around on a flaming balcony. "I can't tell if the others are either. I'd rather not risk it. So fire exits anyone?" he said, walking over to the nearest map to outline his escape route.

It would be easy.
 

Aero Blue

he hears his master's voice
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One Post a Week
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Give-No-Fucks, Adept, Advanced, Douche, Adaptable
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Androgynous, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Switches have more fun
Favorite Genres
Superhero, urban fantasy, space opera, crime thriller, supernatural
The Coats
O'Malley residence
~ Millennium City ~
by Aero Blue Aero Blue , CloudyBlueDay CloudyBlueDay and Red Thunder Red Thunder

Patrick!

The voice called again from down the hallway, deep and loud and most definitely inebriated. The boy paled, turning to face the hallway from whence the voice came.

“Aye, da; I’m home.”

“Shite! Boy, yer late for dinner! Yer mother doesnae slave away on tha’ stove so yah can eat it at yer own time!” A figure rounded a corner and advanced, cleverly agitated. Tommy was red faced, likely from a mixture of anger and alcohol, and his body was tense. As he drew closer, the burly Irishman pulled up short, bloodshot eyes falling on Cassia.

“Who tha fuck’r you?”

Something told Cassia that empty flattery would pose little effect on the walking embodiment of rage and rum. Frankly, Cassia wasn’t sure anything in her repertoire short of scurrying away would; a shame, as she had worked hard(ly) for the promise of a sandwich. She measured her words, trimming the fat and frills, “I’m Cassia. I’m just… hungry. I can, I can go, of course.”

But not empty-handed. “I just…” It didn’t take too much deception to line her voice with a veneer of frailty and weakness; she really was quite famished. “The kind woman said I could have a sandwich… may I please…?”

But old man O’Malley wouldn't care; his life was hard enough, providing for his own family with meager funds. Had he been sober, Patrick might have been allowed to merely hand her his own dinner and go without that night. But wasted as the man was, Patrick knew it wouldn't end well, particularly when the old drunk’s eyes flashed in anger at the question.

What would Saph do?

“It’s fine, Da. Givin’ ‘er my share.” The boy stepped between them, drawing the old man’s attention. And his ire. “Not much hungry after volunteerin’, anyhow. Bes’ it goes teh someone who apprec-”

He was cut off as a strong hand gripped his shirt and yanked him forward, drawing the young man close to the old. The strong scent of hops wafted out from Tommy’s breath. But more; there was a sweet smell of liquor, too. Patrick’s heart fell farther. His father only got into the whiskey after an especially hard day.

“Yah shut yer mouth! I've worked too fuggin’ har’ teh le’ some stree’ bich eat from mah table!”

“But Da-”

“Shut up, goddammit!”

Faster than Patrick could follow, Tommy brought up his hand and backhanded his son across the face. It was perhaps not with the strength he might otherwise have, though whether that restraint was due to his inebriation or his reluctance to harm family was unclear. What was clear, however, was the cry of shock and pain that cut through the air, to the distress of all present. Still holding Patrick’s shirt tightly, Tommy turned. Then he turned pale. Margery lay on the ground, thrown back by the wide arch of her husband’s blow that had caught her in the head as she entered the hallway, and the promised sandwich lay at her feet on the floor. He yelled in distress and self-loathing and, releasing Patrick at last, knelt beside his stirring wife, sobbing apologies. Their son wasn't too far behind, and he moved to join them. Through the whole scene of chaos, in the far living room, the television was blaring, and Patrick’s flip phone, nestled deep within his pocket, vibrated urgently, desperate to get its owner’s attention and relay L30’s message. But nothing reached him.

Not even the sudden knock on the front door. It was only when he heard his name uttered from an unfamiliar voice did he pause, thinking it odd.

Yet perhaps not the oddest thing happening. For, surrounded by a crisp and slowly darkening bruise around his eye, his irises had begun to glow a bright golden light.

And amidst the strain and struggle of an ailing family, Cassia simply chose to be elsewhere, in mind if not in body. Every unhappy family was unhappy in its own special, troublesome way - rough essence of Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina. And each of those little ways led to chaos, of which Cassia was at least somewhat culpable.

So she felt shame, but not the kind of shame that drove one to redemption; the kind of shame that makes one loathe their place and role in the world, and continue doing the same thing over and over again. God never intended for this family to be happy, and if Cassia’s intrusion was the back-breaking straw, then so be it. She had been a peddler of drugs - the ruin of people and families was not a new sensation for her.

Yet still Cassia looked on in piteous empathy... before taking the time to pluck the mother’s offering of a sandwich from the ground. A bit shameless perhaps, but there was a whole slab of meat in between those slices of bread. It was good - rather, it was excellent. She allowed herself a few more bites of rare pleasure, before deciding that her imminent departure was the optimal choice.

The matter with the person at the door was a bit troublesome, granted. It’d be unseemly for Cassia to greet the man when she clearly was not ‘Patrick O’Malley’, and it’d be doubly unseemly, if not catastrophic, to expose the tragedy within to anyone. Which, unfortunately, made her course of action clear.

“Hrm, looks like I’ve gotta stay until the knocking stops. Now...” She mused to herself, amidst the ambience of the television broadcast, “Where exactly is that bathroom…”

The knocking became increasingly more aggressive. “Hello? Sir? Anyone? You need to open this door now.” The knocks were harsher. Someone was practically pounding on the door. “We have a warrant. Please open up.”

Suddenly the knocking stopped. Whispers came from the other side of the door. “There’s a detected presence of two, sir. Not one.”

“Better for us, then.” The same voice now became louder. “If you do not open this door now, we will have to break it down.”

YEH WILL DO NO SUCH GODDAM THING! WARRANT? I’LL GIVE YEH WARRANT, YEH PIECES OF SHITE!

Margery had sat up since Cassia had nicked the sandwich from the floor, nursing a bright red spot on her cheek but seeming otherwise unharmed. At the declarations made by the men from without, Tommy had shot up, fists balled, face beet red, and head vein close to bursting. Without so much aplomb, inspired by copious amounts of poor quality alcohol, he strode to the front door, yanked it open with shocking force, and smashed the first figure he saw in the face with every bit of strength he could manage.

Patrick remained with his mother, holding her as best he could to ensure she didn't fall back to the ground. He looked her over, eyebrows raised as he checked that she was okay.

“Mum? Are- are yah- how yah doin’?”

Margery shook her head, trying to clear the fog and pain from her head. She glanced up, finding her son and smiling on gratitude.

“Aye, m’boy. I'm fi-” Her eyes went wide, shock filling them. “Patrick! Yer eyes!”

Yet not only his eyes glowed gold; beside him on the wall was a golden circular disruption, its edges sharp and crisp but its interior was blurred and unclear. But he only blinked at his mother’s exclamation, confused.

“You know, this is probably a bad moment,” Cassia resurfaced, floating into the scene like a particularly socially inept ballerina, drawn by Tommy’s promises of mayhem, “But I’m having a surprisingly hard time locating your bathro- oh wow, oh Lord. Good Heavens, I think you might have a condition.”

And I do too.

Synapses flared and fired, as Cassia drew the connections necessary. The strange broadcast from the Television, L30, warnings of change and threats of the hunt, and those men at the door. They had inquired about Patrick, and they’d claimed they had a warrant, yet…

Cassia moved with increased urgency. She had drawn the connections, but couldn’t decipher the line art; something was amiss. She approached mother and son, taking care to maintain whatever arbitrary distance from Patrick she thought was ‘safe’. “Patrick, you don’t seem like the type of person who’d do something that warrants… a warrant. If I’m correct, that means whoever’s out there is full of shit and…”

... someone should probably hold your father back before he gets hurt. But she didn’t say that, because a drunken rage-aholic would be a wonderful distraction.

“You wouldn’t happen to have heard from an L30, have you?”

Two stately men dressed in white lab coats waited for the door to be opened. As Tommy O’Malley barged through, the taller man’s arm shot out, entirely avoiding the clobbering and he jabbed a taser into the man’s torso, holding it there for a good few seconds. Tommy O’Malley, though drunk and angry, fell to the floor in a matter of moments. The two men shared a glance, and the one who had not previously held the taser cocked a gun.

They stepped inside the home, the scientist with the gun keeping it tightly pressed to his side and hidden in his coat.

“Hands in the air!” The other one announced as they made their way into the house.

Patrick spun, face paling and guilt flooding his heart. This had all started when he brought that girl home. And here he thought it would be his blue haired girlfriend that caused trouble in the O’Malley family. She was asking him something, that girl. Cassia seemed insistent, oddly giving the intruders little attention. Yet he couldn't find it within himself to break his focus away from the coats. They'd already dropped his father; what would they do to his mother? The disc, still glowing against the wall, flickered and vanished as he stood up, and his eyes lost their glow. He balled his fists, mirroring his father’s earlier stance.

“Warrant, me arse; yeh ain't cops. Wha’ d’yeh wan’?”

Groaning, Tommy pushed himself to his elbows, still sprawled across the floor. Looking back, his red eyes met Margery’s, and an understanding seemed to pass between them. Tommy was loud and angry and often abusive, and Margery dealt with his immaturity with quiet strength, leaving any disagreements for when their son was not present. The strike the old man had dealt to wife and child had been the sole instance of physical abuse he'd ever committed, and it tore at his heart. And Margery ever sacrificed for Patrick, heedless of cost. So they would do what they needed to.

It happened at once. Tommy sprang up with agility his inebriation belied. He hooked an arm each around the intruders’ necks, trusting his weight to pull them down or at least occupy them. As he jumped up, Margery grabbed a fistful of Patrick’s shirt tail and yanked backward, flinging him into the hallway behind her.

“Run!” she screamed. There was no rhyme nor reason for these men to be here; it made no sense. Yet her motherly instinct blared danger in her mind, and she would not let her son fall to it. Patrick shot his arms out, trying to brace himself against something to break his descent. But there was nothing, and instead he fell heavily into his back. Margery narrowed her eyes at Cassia. “Keep ‘im safe. We'll be even for tha san’wich.”

Cassia looked back, her eyes betraying the slightest hint of alarm; for she could not be trusted with such a task. Only God protects… Yet the meek mutterings of ‘I… yes, ma’am’ escaped from between her lips.

“God be with you...”

She forced her eyes away from mother and father alike, shifting her focus onto her newfound charge. The Shepherd. She was the Shepherd. Yes, of course I am. She imbued her voice with the bluntness of direction, “I’m going to grab your hand, Patrick, and pull you back up. You’ll feel an urge to pull away from me, to go towards them, to yell. Resist it.”

Her hand folded around Patrick’s, “Because neither of us can help them. Only God can, do you understand?”

She pulled.

Utterly confused, adrift in this chaotic mess that had suddenly descended upon his unenviable if still stable life, Patrick obeyed. A memory flashed into his mind, recent in creation but feeling so long ago.

He'd taken a rougher tumble than usual, hitting the bare dirt square on his back after he'd taken a hit. The rugby ball remained cradled in his arm, secure from fumble, and it made the miscalculation he'd made that led to the tackle in the first place a bit more bearable. Paddy lay on the ground, groaning and wheezing, struggling to retrieve the air he'd just lost. Fred stood over him, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment.

“You're getting sloppy, Limey. All that time helpin’ the Rubblers. ‘Volunteering’. Makes you too tired for practice.” Sighing, he looked off to the sky, looking at apparently nothing. “But somebody has to do it, I guess; God can make use of anyone. Might as well be a damn foreigner.”

He extended his open hand, smile on his face.


Before Patrick’s eyes, Fred’s short brunette dissolved into long jet, his masculine European features twisting into feminine Asian ones. Yet the grip remained, steady and unwavering. Paddy looked into her eyes, his own glowing once more. He did feel the urge as Cassia had warned, the desire to stay with and help protect his family. But they were here for him, and he needed to go.

To go.

Anywhere.

Getting his feet under him, the boy shoved up, trying to stand. But he overcompensated, and he fell forward, crashing into his guest with his full weight bearing them to the floor.

They never impacted it. Instead they continued falling, passing through a ring of shining gold that had appeared suddenly on the old vinyl flooring of the hallway. Immediately they found themselves outdoors, standing in an empty dirt lot Patrick and his friends had occupied some hour or so previous. Behind them, from the point they'd just come, the golden circle vanished without a trace, and the Irishman’s eyes went dull again. He stumbled forward, managing to regain his footing and apologizing profusely to his companion, apparently clueless as to their new surroundings.

“So sorry, Cass! Didnae think t’would ge’ up tha’ fast.”

Cassia’s reply came in the form of a sharp drawing of breath, a scream interrupted by Patrick’s momentum and resumed in silence. Something approaching shellshock dotted her gaze, as she stared blankly back at the Irishman. “No… no problem. No problem at all. Never been quite so grateful for the sight of dirt, truly. And you…

You must be truly blessed.”


The two scientists fell to the floor under Tommy’s great strength, but did not stay down for long. The one with the taser took the chance to use it again on the man’s arm, keeping the taser on the skin, waiting until Tommy was incapacitated. The one with the gun rushed to his feet after Tommy’s grip loosened, trying to grip onto the boy and his passenger before they made it away. He had seen the glowing portal and the boy’s shimmering eyes - and he knew what would happen if they stepped inside.

But he was too late.

Muttering curse words, he pointed the gun at Margery, a bored look upon his face.

“They can’t be far. Seems like it was damn near the first time he used his powers.”

“We’ll have the area searched. And as for these two?”

The scientist sighed and cocked the gun. “We have some cleaning up to do.”