#reposting for threadtracker!

[billie-brogan]

wcrldend

Silence rests between them as Odie finds her composure after the shock of seeing she isn't alone. The line of her shoulders goes rigid, she feels the need to disappear rear its head and she clamps down on it. The roaring in her ears becomes quiet soon enough and she forces herself to relax, regarding the stranger with a cool, disinterest. "The steam." She says, in lieu of a long explanation. "Are you lost?"

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Swing and a miss, apparently. Which is a shame, because she's just Billie's type. Oh well! You win some, you lose some. Seems to be more of the latter for Billie, though. "Nah. Just not really my scene in there. Wanted some air. Not that there's much to be had out here, either. You from 'round these parts? I'm not sure I'll ever get used to this summer in December shit." The weather feels like a safe enough topic to move on to. Maybe it's a bit pathetic, but she kind of wants this woman to stay, at least for a bit. Billie's very quick to fall into loneliness. @wcrldend

[theo-turner]

All of Caspar's worry dissipates when he sees Theo. The funky little mime man would never tell on him. He even manages to laugh as he watches his performance. "Fuckin' brilliant, Mr Mime." The other man stops, and Caspar can't help but feel disappointed. He had expected a grand finale! "Don't hold back on me now, Red. Show me the big finish! Razzle dazzle me! I'll clap and take you back to my place for beers after."

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Theo thrives off the laughter! It only encourages him, allowing his arms to sweep in wider motions. A lot of people don’t appreciate the art of miming, so it’s always a thrill when people are so enthused. So as requested, they will be razzling and dazzling to the best of their ability! Caspar is someone to impress; Theo has always thought that, even from a distance. Something about him commands respect.

So, Theo digs first in one pocket – it’s empty! His face contorts, mouth open with the edges turned down, the very picture of sorrow. And then he digs in the other pocket, and – ta da! The frown is turned upside down, expression lighting up with joy. Theo cups a hand around this invisible thing, then ‘opens’ the ‘matchbox’, carefully picking up a single match. They hold it pinched between two fingers, up in front of their face, and they show it carefully to Caspar – though of course, ‘it’ is just thin air, just an invisible matchstick.

Still, when he ‘strikes it’ against the ‘ignition strip’, and then drops it carefully upon the corpse, a grand fire roars into life, and it is very much real! The corpse is surrounded in flames, going up like a bonfire, and Theo turns beaming to his audience of one, taking a grand bow with one arm to his stomach and the other flung out to the side. @animusvenenatus

[tiffany-chiba]

@haleandhorns​:

Hale’s expression softened, a hint of a smile now visible. “Thank you. Not many people outside of my job seem to think so.” Her horns had caused many problems throughout her life. People often associated her with the Devil. Little did they know that her heart was soft, and filled with love. Not that she’d care to admit that to anyone. “You should see them right after I’ve fed. They glow so brightly, and they’re a beautiful neon blue colour.”

Being a personable young woman (nosey, some might say), Tiffany immediately has a lot of questions. Like what this woman does for work that specifically has people liking her horns, and what she feeds on because the phrasing makes it sound like she doesn’t just mean food. She’s always curious about people’s mutations, though she does try not to be too forward about it because it’s obviously a sensitive topic for a lot of people.

"That does sound really pretty! Like how flowers get brighter when they get all the nutrients they need. If it’s okay, can I ask what you feed on?” There’s no judgement or dubiousness in her expression, just open curiosity. Tiffany doesn’t believe in the inherent goodness or badness of mutations, she just believes in the people behind them -- and Hale seems very kind, on first meeting.

[yaren-avci]

@laviniahq​:

    what a joke. lavinia was sure that she could take most of them out if she wanted to yet her personality didn’t fit the mold enough for xavier to recommend her for the team. she wasn’t good with people but if she could efficiently ‘save’ them by casually interjecting then what was the issue? in her opinion, it was just another old man trying to take control over the world and she wasn’t about to entertain it. frowning, lavinia blinked. “who? i thought he was called elliott.” she deadpanned. “no, i had this friend. well, not friend but someone who i kept running into and he greatly annoyed me and now he’s not around to annoy me anymore… and his ‘friends’ were on oprah.” she used quotations for that word as she didn’t really have any - the only one she had really had was with yaz and she had chosen to distance herself from it. “listen, lady. i’m just trying to enjoy myself. bit of a pointless party considering recent disasters but i’ll leave them to it.”

Yaren begins to suspect she’s going to develop a bit of a ‘don’t you know who I am?’ personality, because that’s sort of her response when this woman calls her ‘lady’. She’s sort of torn between feeling ruffled (like, this is Yaren’s party, and this woman doesn’t know who she is?) and amused, because... how can she have missed it? Or maybe she is aware, and just wants Ren to know that she’s not actually as important as all that.

Either way, Ren’s going to act unphased.

“Oh, right, the Essex House thing?” Okay, this woman’s kind of a psychopath if a not-friend has died and the main reason she’s upset is because he’s no longer around for her to be rude to. “Well, hey, if fighting is more your scene than skee-ball and balloon popping, I can hold my own in an arm wrestle. Be nice if everyone could have some fun today. What’s your name, by the way?”

[kip-whitmer]

New Kid On The Block || Arvo & Kip

@thecolony-arvocovey​:

[Arvo’s smile doesn’t dim at the tone. She knows that she can be a lot, especially in the morning. He doesn’t need to know that she’s already been up for a while. That her sleep schedule can be quite off sometimes.

She shrugs.] Guilty as charged I guess. Some mornings. Start as you mean to go on, and all that? [She drops her head to her hands with a groan and a wry smile.] Oh god, that’s cheesy. Sorry I know I’m tired when I start to talk to in catchphrases.

[Looking back up at him she gestures towards the seat.] I promise, no more clichés. On purpose. [The amendment is necessary. Some phrases are just so ingrained in her.]

So, is 22 not the place to be then? [She grinned, leaning forward a little.] Or would you rather eat in peace? [She waved her hand in front of her face, as if waving the question away.]

I promise I can be quiet.

[She feels like… a lot. Not necessarily in a bad way. Obviously Kip never resents chirpy people their chirpiness, it can just catch him off guard sometimes. He’s always been quite committed to his image, trying not to get too visibly excited about things -- he got sick of the older kids at school ‘aww’ing him all the time, so he formed the habit and never quite grew out of it.

It’s nice in an odd way, though, not exactly soothing to his Empatheia, but certainly an unexpected shock to the system. Like suddenly downing an energy drink after a week of decaf coffee. It’s pretty hard to resent, though; despite his attitude, Kip is generally quite difficult to really piss off. He can be moody, but isn’t really a bad person. He can already feel himself soften at her goofy cliches and promise that she can be quiet. Kip shakes his head, waving a vague ‘no worries’ at he reaches for his coffee cup.]

Nah, you’re fine. I’m just a ‘grumpy bugger’, as they say. [It’s hard to be called a grumpy bugger and not find it a little whimsical, which is his experience with all British insults so far. He’s been called a muppet, a doughnut, a grumpy bugger, a fanny, and none of it really feels like an insult.] I was just as grumpy at 4, and out in the Wastes, so I don’t really have a ‘place to be’ that I’d recommend. So what’s your experience? I’m used to AP trainers being a little… bulkier.

[He gestures at her slender frame with his fork. Thus far every AP trainer Kip has worked with looks like they could throw him over their shoulder with ease. Arvo has an unexpected sort of delicacy about her.]

[ajay-benitez]

Friday Night Blues || Dylan + Adrien

@dylan-meir​:

ajay-bennett​:

[Most people mistake Adrien for a social creature; himself included. For the most part, he enjoys company when he has it, he’s easy going when it comes to meeting new people, and he’s pretty outgoing. 

That said, he spends an inordinate amount of his personal time on his own. For a while there, he’d sort of convinced himself it had something to do with the klepto thing. A nifty side effect of being a Bad Boy. But that was definitely a lie to make himself feel cool and suave and debonaire (although not really), because it was definitely a lot more to do with the Being-Trans Thing and the Social and General Anxiety thing. T-to-the-fuckin-M. 

Anyway, he doesn’t mind his time alone or anything. Half the time he doesn’t even notice. It’s just, when he thinks about it, he supposes it’s a little weird. He’s like a… lone wolf. He wanders the Colony on his own until someone crosses his path (accidentally or accidentally on purpose), for him to bother (he’s not an evil wolf, just an irritating, marginally lonely one). But he wouldn’t say he seeks company. Just… stumbles across it from time to time and enjoys it. He could look a little deeper into why he still hasn’t made any deep, lasting connections at the Colony, or even in his life, especially post D-Day but he…. won’t. Maybe Dr. C will force him to at some point but that’s… Future Ajay’s problem. 

He’s solo-wandering again this evening (let’s call it Han Solo Wandering because that’s automatically cooler, right?) and he’s definitely drawn towards the kitchen at the smell of baking bread. Ugh. UgghhHhHhhhh. Nothing like the smell of fresh bread. And they smell it so rarely these days. Not that it’s even hard to make fresh bread. It’s one of the basics. The Prairie People had bread, they ground their own wheat for fuck’s sakes so, they could totally have fresh bread now at the Colony every day if they were so inspired—as long as no one goes and fucking contaminates hundreds of pounds of flour again, mind you. 

But they eat a lot of canned stuff these days, and frozen stuff, and whatever meat they bring in from the hunting trips (which have seemed painfully sparse lately). He figures the lack of fresh bread thing is honestly just plain laziness. The fuckers. (Though, has he done anything to change that personally? Of course not. He’s a lazy fucker, too.) 

He doesn’t know what he’s expecting to see or find, but he’d definitely not been expecting just one, pouty looking girl and an offer to join her. He’d figured some sort of stealing or abuse of his power would have to be involved. But this is much simpler.

He grins, stepping forward, stomach already rumbling.] Um, does a bear shit in the woods?? [He pauses, winces a little.] Sorry, horrible Dad Joke I got from my father. I never even laughed but he said it so many times it’s like, stuck in there like a fucking sliver, [he intones, gesturing loudly at his head.]

[He approaches the counter she’s standing at, flopping into one of the stools.] So what inspired this? If you’re offering it to me, some nosey rando, I’m assuming it wasn’t a special occasion? I’m Adrien, by the way. But you can call me Ajay, if you want. Most people do. 

___

[One of the reasons Dylan has always loved Friday nights and, in close relation, challah was their ability to bring people together. When she was little, playing out in the fields with her cousins, the smell of challah against the setting sun would always bring them running back inside. When she was on the road, on a drive with her aunts and uncles or, after D-day, running supplies between colonies, she’d bring a chunk with her. Even stale and without any of the usual trappings, it tasted like home.]

[The man in the doorway sounds like home, too. Not in any identifiable way- he couldn’t be less Australian, and he doesn’t sound like any of her relatives. But the way he answers so automatically, with that cheesy joke all father-figures are almost legally required to make. It’s such a familiar song and dance, Dylan knows it by heart. ‘What time is it? Time for you to get a watch.’ ‘I’m hungry. Hi Hungry, I’m Uncle Henry.’ His answer, and her own memories, are enough to make her smile with all the warmth of the steaming bread.] I know exactly what you mean. And most people call me Dylan. It’s short for Dylan.

It’s kind of a special occasion. Shabbat. It’s been a while, but since the holidays are coming up… but we used to do this every week, and my aunt would drag in anyone who happened to be at the house, so I think it’d be worse if I didn’t offer you any. Besides, do you really need an excuse for fresh bread?

☀

[It takes him a beat to realize he hadn’t misheard her—she’d just made a very quick and dry joke. The kind that’s not really a joke as it doesn’t have a punch line, so much as it is a quippy and wry remark, playful but subtle. Ah, good. He likes a gal with a sense of humour. And an affinity for baking and sharing those baked goods. 

He shifts her an amused look and a grin.] Cool. Alright then, Dylan. A comedian too, I see. [He smirks, but his mouth waters as the smell of the bread wafts even closer, and his stomach actually growls. Oh hell yes, this is gonna be good.] But no, you’re right, definitely need zero excuses for fresh bread. Bring on the good stuff. I could stuff my face with fresh bread all day. In fact, throw me a beret and call Jean-Pierre, because I could live off this shit. [He’s clearly not a comedian, but in his defence, her ‘not-joke’ hadn’t been that funny either. But the point of ‘not-jokes’ are to be a smart ass, not to be funny. At least, in his books, that’s the case.] 

What holidays are in March? Or is that what you mean by Shabbat? Forgive me my ignorance, but I’m not exactly up to speed on religious holidays. At least not outside the commercialized ones with the Hallmark overlords, [he adds with a grin.] 

[prince-wen]

@lorenzs​:

Ah. His laughter, the immediate reaction to an innocent, but surprising question—one that he himself had never had cause to ponder—had been understood as laughter directed at the young man. Young prince, he corrected himself mentally, the bearing and costume of the man indicating his rank. Lorenzo nodded as the prince immediately grasped his meaning, if perhaps a youthful understanding, and not the studied one that philosophers’ and theorists’ held. “Precisely, yes! It is a form of remembrance, also, for the sacrifice made by Christ for mankind, and in consuming it, we remember, and realise it.”

Rising, he shook his head. “Not at all, Your Highness. I know what it is to be unfamiliar with a way of thought; why, my first meeting with… your own sister, the Princess Yicheng, was on a day such as this. It is where I learned much of what I know today of your own peoples’ religion, though to this day I know less of it than I would wish.” He looked around at the high-raised windows of the church, its curving walls, and gestured to them. “Many would agree with you, Your Highness, including myself. The very walls of cathedrals are meant to elevate the singers’ voices.”

.

It still seemed to Wen quite a barbaric notion; remembrance is a wonderful thing, but is it necessary to consume some simulacrum of their saviour’s flesh in order to do so? But it was not Wen’s place to make such comments. Should these Westerners travel to China, they would surely find many of Wen’s own customs odd. 

As Lorenzo rose to his feet, so Wen followed in kind and allowed his gaze to search curiously around the rafters and the jewel coloured glass depicting strange scenes far above them. As different as this cathedral was to the temples of home, it inspired a similar feeling in his heart: awe, at the scale of things and the vastness of the universe. How small we all are! Wen thought. Emperors and kings may rule by divine right, but it follows, then, that in the grand scheme of things an emperor is not so mighty after all. It was a matter of scale, he supposed.

“Perhaps one day China will be honoured with a visit from you, and you will experience our faith just as I have been so fortunate as to experience yours,” Wen offered. “It is my belief that art and culture is the greatest thing our countries can share. Indeed, being exposed to such unique works of art here -- from the structure of the buildings to the music -- has broadened my mind greatly.”

Amidst the homesickness, he was enjoying parts of this journey. Wen had a bright, curious mind and was pleased by all of the new experiences he came across here. He truly thought that, beyond money, beyond power, it would be a wonderful thing to share the different forms of beauty that bloomed in each country. He was also somewhat trying to make up for how clearly appalled he was by this one strange ritual in Lorenzo’s religion, but he still very much meant what he said.

[anayadolmen]

troubled greens | kip & ana

@kip-whitmer​

[He’s more amused than insulted by the sharpness of her voice. It’s not as though they know each other, so he’s not going to take it personally. He’s never actually seen anyone gardening around here before; as far as Kip was aware, the soil was pretty thoroughly fucked by D-Day. Then again, he wasn’t an outdoorsy type. He only came out to get some air, having spent a few hours that morning poking around his PDD to try and see how it all worked.]

Yes, sir. [He grabs the trowel that lays a few feet away from her, offering it over with a vaguely amused smile.] Digging for gold? I heard in history class that they dug up some old Roman shit here years ago, pottery shards and stuff. If you’re lucky maybe you’ll find some centuries old coins. Not sure what the antique sestertii-to-credits exchange rate is right now, though.

[Anaya wants to be annoyed at being called 'sir', but when she looks up to find a kid who looks like he couldn't have bad intentions if he tried, she softens. Shoulders slumping, she blows at a stray hair that has fallen over one of her eyes when she takes the tool from him.]

Huh? Really? That might be a better idea. [Maybe she's better off turning herself from botanist to literal gold digger while she still can. By the way things are currently going, it's probably a better job than trying to save the planet. How sad. She digs into the dirt with more force than necessary, even though her posture is nothing but melancholic.] Archaeology is still a thing, but fuck the plants, I guess. I should just change careers. [She doesn't expect a response from the poor kid, the bitterness just slips out of her unannounced. Her eyes shift towards him, apologetic.] Sorry. Thank you.

[lorenzosal]

@cambieandrews​

[As most of her house is aware, Cambie isn’t a natural disciplinarian. It’s not because she’s afraid to speak out or anything, it’s more that she feels that being needlessly aggressive only ever makes things worse. If she sees rule breaking, she always prefers to deal with it by talking things out, figuring out why someone feels the need to break rules.

And, okay, she’s a bit of a soft touch. It’s something she’s working on, since Delma does seem to be the trouble house.

That doesn’t mean she relishes it, going into the music room to see someone smoking. She’s going to have to say something, since there’s no other Elites in the room. Her search for chips with decent dance music would have to wait, she supposed. The smoker is new, she thinks, because she’s not seen him around before, and not in Delma or else she would be aware of him. It’s possible he’s just not familiar with the rules – or common courtesy – but the aggression in his immediate defence suggests otherwise.]

Bit chilly to be going outside for a smoke, yeah? [Cambie offers him a smile. The weather is miserable; if she were a smoker, she’d not want to go out either.] But, rules are rules I’m afraid. Can you put that out please, finish it outside? [Her tone is gentle, but firm.]

[You see, Lorenzo has a big problem with authority figures. And by the way this woman looks at him, the way she holds herself and how she smiles so politely, he can tell she’s someone with a higher rank before she even speaks. Everything in her mannerisms screams 'condescending' and it almost makes him roll his eyes.

She’s the soft type, it seems, and it makes him wonder how she’s held up in a position of power for long. She sounds like she’s done this for a while. She’s gorgeous, in a way that doesn’t attract him personally, but he can acknowledge it. Maybe that’s why she’s in a position of power in the first place, he can imagine people probably feel inclined to listen to a woman with a soft voice and nice features.

He does, too. The first instinct is to please, to oblige, but it’s quickly overpowered by the need to be a confrontational idiot, which means he only takes another drag of his cigarette once she speaks. He makes it deliberately slow, breathing in as much smoke as his lungs will take, before blowing it out the side of his mouth, towards the window again.

He lets the silence linger a moment too long before he speaks.] I’m on the window, [he reinforces, even though they both know she knows, and doesn’t care. He gestures towards the outside vaguely.] Practically outside, sitting here. Don’t see the difference. [He doesn’t need another drag so soon, but he brings the cigarette back up, out of spite, and breathes it back in.]

[cvnstantin]

@trig-balker:

Books and Bindings || Trig & Constantin

[As the other man comes around the corner and speaks in a halting voice Trig glances up at him, trying to place the face and uneasy English with a name but he can’t quite get there. He seems nice enough, though, which calms a little bit of the embarrassment he’s feeling as he gathers up the books.] Yeah - I mean, of course. I wasn’t - [Shit, does this guy think Trig fears the safety of the books? Of course he’d rather not be responsible for bent pages and creased bindings of property that isn’t his own, but it’s not like a fall to the ground could really hurt a book. Of course not, books didn’t have feelings or emotions, they just carried stories with them along the way. Plus he made a valid point, they had survived asteroids…] 

I uh, I just - you startled me - I guess. I didn’t know anyone else was here… [He hesitates before straightening up, carefully returning the books back to their homes on the shelf while retaining the one he’d originally been attempting to retrieve. For some reason he wants to ask the guy if he’s okay, which doesn’t make any sense because of course he would be. He clearly doesn’t startle as easy as Trig. So he lingers a moment, feeling awkward as he searches for more appropriate words.] So uh - you’re clumsy too, then? [Yeah, good conversation starter, Trig.] I mean…with the - the dropping…things…thing…

[It always makes him melancholy to meet younger people. They just never stood a chance, never got to live their potential out. So many dreams unfulfilled, their lives an imperfect cadence. However much Constantin has struggled, at least he knows he got to fulfil his life’s goals. He got his degree, he moved to the big city for a while, learned to fly with the airforce... he went to the stars.

Every time he sees someone this young, he just thinks of all the untouched stars. This young man must have been only a child, when D-Day hit. No wonder he seems so nervous. Barely a chance to begin to understand the world before it was ripped out from under his feet. He nods in response to Trig’s question: clumsy is probably a kind descriptor of Constantin’s current state.] 

I did not used to be clumsy, but I vas in space since after asteroids come. Now I find that gravity play tricks on me. Nothing ever is going vhere I think it goes.

[He knows Ana rarely brings up their time in space. It’s too difficult for her to talk about. For Constantin it is the opposite: his years in space have formed such a large part of who he is now that it’s difficult not to think about it, not to talk about it.]

[kaya-yildiz]

@aprilshoney​:

Someone offers her a hand, and she lifts her face from the snow. She’s always been an emotional person – her swamp mom says it’s a good thing, April disagrees. It feels silly to be so upset over plants. She looks up to see who the voice belongs to, and she sees a man standing there with a baby that’s pointing at her. He sounds French, and she does not trust the French. She’d like to keep her legs, thank you very much. Still, he’s kindly offered his help, and it’d be rude to reject him based on his accent alone. 

“Yes, please.” She could easily spring up from the ground. However, he looks like he could use a chivalrous win. April extends her hand towards him and takes his, letting him pull her up from the snow. She glances at Jeromio, then wipes her eyes. “Sorry for blocking your way, I’m a botany student and just wanted to admire the plants.” She looks down at the baby girl, giving her a smile and small wave. “She’s sweet.”

She seems to hesitate before accepting his offer, for reasons he can’t fully tell, but eventually she acquiesces, and he helps her up. She’s really upset by the situation, visibly -- and apparently it’s not the frog that’s the problem, at least not in the way Kaya had though.

April waves at Jane, who waves a chubby little hand back. She’s just started doing that in the last month or two, and Kaya feels a swell of pride every time. “Aw, clever girl,” he says, kissing her cheek before addressing April’s compliment (the babies do always come first). “Thanks. Her name is Jane. Are these flowers very special, then?” he asks. Kaya isn’t usually one for hanging about chatting, but April is refreshingly sweet. He needs more of that in his life, he thinks. It’s nice to meet someone that just seems... nice.

[sabbioneta]

@chomiyoung​​:

“You say that, but if Death really came knocking, would you still wish that?” Mi-young knows Leo has been alive for centuries, and she imagines that at a certain point, you’ve seen everything you want to see and you’re ready to rest. It must be exhausting living through so many historical events, outliving everyone you grow attached to, and knowing that even if there was an apocalypse, you’d still be alive at the end of it all. “The last time I slept for a solid nine hours without waking was when I left the military.” Six long, long years ago. Mi-young watches Leo as she takes a seat in the chair. This obviously isn’t going to be a quick visit. “I sleep between my shifts. I get a couple of hours here and there. If I feel mental anguish, I pass it onto someone else,” she shrugs. “Then they go and sleep it off.” Transferring mental and emotional wounds comes in handy, but she tries not to abuse her mutation too much. 

“Oh, goodness yes. I’m so ready to rest.” Whenever He’ll have her. Leo doesn’t moan about it too much because what is the point? But she does pray that some day, she’ll have done enough that she can stop.

“Why don’t you give it to me, then? Whatever is bothering you just now. It can’t hurt me. And if I can’t heal it, time will. I really don’t mind, you know, I used to be a sin-eater for a while. I quite enjoy that sort of thing.” It feels like the only thing she can do, sometimes, to make her time more meaningful. Alleviate burdens. And Mi-Young seems to carry more weight than most. Leo knows most people prefer not to have their burdens shared, even by someone who cannot be harmed by them. Often it’s a wish not to inconvenience anyone else. More often, Leo suspects, it’s simple self-flagellation. Carrying their burden is their punishment for obtaining it.

[seven-c23]

𝙷𝙾𝙻𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙳

          As  much  as  Holland  didn’t  want  to  work  with  the  general  public,   she  wasn’t  sure  what  she  could  do  as  a  job  to  get  enough  to  pay  for  her  rent.   The  rink  was  one  of  the  best  places  for  her  to  be  though  since  it  typically  put  her  behind  a  counter.   Still,   these  days  she  had  to  be  careful.   Some  people  were…   subtle  mutants.   And  as  long  as  she  didn’t  know  if  a  person  was  a  mutant,   she  wasn’t  safe.   Holland  didn’t  know  how  to  control  it.   Not  yet,   not  that  she  was  working  on  it.   Sometimes  she  wished  she  could  make  it  go  away.   She  didn’t  want  to  be  this  way.   It  wasn’t  fair.   

          Today  was  awful.   The  cassette  breaking  was  icing  on  the  cake.   She  barely  realises  that  she  spoke  aloud.   Holland  looks  up  at  the  voice,   doing  everything  in  her  power  not  to  jump  backwards.   “Don’t!”   she  exclaims  and  presses  herself  closer  to  the  wall.   “Don’t  touch  it.   I  can…   I  can,   I  can  fix  it  myself.”   She  had  no  idea  how  to  fix  one  of  these  things,   but  she  couldn’t  get  this  one  easily.   “You…   you  know  how  to  fix  these?   But  you’re…   you’re…”   she  can’t  say  it.   

The young women reacts with fear. or, from the way she recoils and presses herself back against the wall disgust. Seven stops in place, hands dropping limply, disappointed. Don’t! His instinct was to apologise but lately... he’s tired of always saying sorry for his very existence. Seven lets her stammer through it before getting to a very inelegant ‘but you’re—y-y-you’re’ (which he almost feels bad for mentally mocking).

“I’m what?” he isn’t cruel or confident enough to let the question hang, make her say whatever she’s thinking. “I’m not actually a fish, you know. I am a person.” Rather than shrinking away, he simply stands tall, stands still, “I listen to a lot of cassette tapes.”

@hollandbright​

[tiffany-chiba]

@hinahqs​:

         having a job at the institute was interesting to say the least. hina was someone who wasn’t ashamed of her gift, only when it hurt others or embarrassed her. the main issue was that her students could read her like a book and then they would try test her patience. the woman had a reputation for being the naive professor but her positive was forced to prevent disaster. she had learnt early on that if she didn’t have a positive attitude, she’d cause havoc for those around her and maybe even wider spread destruction. she didn’t know how powerful she could be but she didn’t want to find out.

     “oh, thank you.” it was the thought that counted. “for every bad person, there’s got to be a good one, right? with the balance of the world. thank you for quickly restoring my faith in people.” a little eccentric but she wasn’t about to tone that down. “i’ll be fine in a few minutes. things tend to sort themselves out. i’m a science professor but could not tell you how it works.” she admitted, a chuckle escaping her. “are you okay?”

Tiffany smiles, shy but a little toothy, at Hina’s rambling. It’s nice. She seems really open and sweet; maybe a little weird, but in a good way. Like she just says what she thinks, but the thoughts are kind so you can probably trust her. At least, she has the sort of energy that Tiffany immediately feels safe around.

“Mutations aren’t always like, easily explained with science,” she agrees with a nod. There’s so many and they’re often so unique. Tiffany was never super smart or anything, so she tends to just take mutations at face value and not question them. At Hina’s question, she hesitates, shuffling her feet. She kind of wants to lie, but she knows her face would betray the truth anyway. “Um, kind of. I don’t know. Just having a weird day. My parents are both... pretty respected here, but I’m human, so it just always feels weird being here when I come to visit.”

It’s like the opposite of being a chosen one. The stars were all aligned right for Tiffany and then she just emerged a damp squib. Sure, not all mutations are great -- a dark cloud raining on you when you’re down is probably super annoying -- but she just always feels like she should be more.

[yaren-avci]

@adamrhm​:

“Don’t you think I might just lose to you?” He questions her, he knows of her ability, and he’s not quite sure if he can handle her extreme strength or not. “Let’s see if you can send me bleeding,” He then gestures for her to lead the way. 

“Yes! Let’s do it!” Yaren claps her hands together, leading them down the corridor in the direction of the training room. “I think you might have a fighting chance, you know? I might be an unstoppable force, but isn’t your whole shtick being an immovable object?” She’s never fought anyone with Adam’s mutation before, and she’s excited to see how he fares against her.

[ajay-benitez]

clean getaway | nadia & ajay

@nadia--chasen​:

[They make their way down to the docks, Nadia keeping pace with his longer strides but careful not to dog his steps too closely, in case he suddenly stops or wheels around and catches her unawares. The February wind cuts in across the water at a fiercer speed here, clipping over the waves, and it picks at her damp hair and tosses it about her shoulders in a way that’s sure to knot, given time. Irritating, but her attention’s on the young man, so she doesn’t stop to fix it for the time being. It does leave her shivering slightly, and wishing she hadn’t left her heavier coat behind at her hidden nest in the chapel.] 

[With that in mind, she keeps her eyes open for anything that might work (temporarily) as another layer—a scarf, maybe, or an abandoned jacket would be perfect. But on breezy days like this, it’s less likely for people to leave their belongings where the wind might snatch them up and drop them in the ocean. She resigns herself to simply pulling her sleeves tighter around her shoulders for now, and hurries after her new friend.]

[He is definitely not here to send a letter—he seems to be looking for something specific, now that he’s here. She watches his eyes trail up and down each area they pass. He’s not watching the faces around them, so she can’t imagine it’s a person that he’s searching for. Nadia shivers again. She may have to consider turning around and going back inside where it’s warmer, leaving him to his own devices (whatever they are).] 

[But she is so very curious…] I hope you find what you’re looking for, before I freeze my tits off. [She whispers under her breath.]

[He starts to pass one of the arms of the dock—then pauses and doubles back a step or two. It’s got significantly less traffic on it. And... well would you look at that. Crates half-unloaded at the base of a rickety ramp off one of the ship decks. Ajay wanders down slowly, peering around. He takes his time, not eager to be caught standing to close just twiddling his thumbs like a totally suspicious asshole. There’s gotta be someone around here, right? Seeing no one is riskier than seeing a distracted couple of someone’s. When there’s a couple of someones, at least you know where the danger lies, and how much time you have before said danger is right on your ass. 

That’s when he hears a laugh, and spots a guard much further down the dock having a smoke, and grinning at his PDD. Oh, Christ. What a classic, ‘you’re so funny, phone’ meme moment, only phones don’t exist anymore and so the best thing he could be looking at on his PDD is knock-knock jokes from some other brute guard friend, presumably. How embarrassing. 

Ajay smirks, still a ways away from both the cargo, and the guard, and as he glances around to asses his options, he turns his head back to the way he came at the sound of footsteps—two sweaty looking Merchants heading up the stairs towards the Colony. Lunch break, piss break, fuck break, who knows. Either way, they’re making it way too easy for Ajay. 

Still, he has to assume the guard will see him once he wanders into his peripherals, so it’s best to play it safe. Ducking into the shade of the ship overhead, he squints down past the guard. The guard seems to be standing between two open ship holds. Oh, those budget cuts. Making a quick decision, because he’ll lose his opportunity if he doesn’t, he holds an arm out, braces himself for a moment, and makes a smacking motion in the air—he uses more physical force and movement than he might usually because of the distance—often, he thinks using his hands to help with his ability is nothing but a placebo effect and has little actually to do with the use of the ability—but if it helps, it helps, and he’s not going to complain. Besides, now is not the time to start testing that theory.

Just as he’d hoped, the plank leading down to the docks from the ship behind the guard lifts right off the edge of the deck and falls to the docks with a loud thud. The guard jumps almost two feet in the air, and spins around with a loud curse. With his back turned, and his attention now turned to the other ship to try to address the fallen plank (caught up in a very dramatic gust of wind, on this rather mild-weathered day, obviously,) Ajay sneaks forward to the crates, pulls open one of the lids with a yank and—yes! Liquor bottles. Thank you, sweet baby Jesus. He carefully pulls one from the crate, and stuffs it inside his jacket sleeve—feels it slide down from his shoulder to his elbow and stop. Making a mental note to keep his elbows at least a little bent on the way back, he does this on the other side as well, then shoves one in each of his deep, jean pockets, one in the back of his waistband, and takes off. 

He’s about to round the corner when he realizes he’d left the crate lid open. Fuck. A glance over his shoulder and the guard seems to still be at least a little distracted, but he’s mostly got the ramp set up again and it’s too risky to go back. So he hastily sweeps his hand, sliding the crate lid back on top—though it’s a little askew—and spins on his heel to high tail it out of there. And by ‘high tail’ he means ‘walk with hasty purpose’ because the last thing he wants to do is draw attention to himself.]