We Might Be Hollow (But We're Brave)

In a world where people with enhanced abilities exist, society has turned its back on those gifted with abilities, forcing those with gifts- "deviants" - to hide away their abilities in order to blend in with society.

For the most part, people fear deviants. If someone is found out to be a deviant, they will be alienated and pushed away from society. If their families try and support them, they will be isolated as well.

There is a very high death rate of those individuals who are deviants. Even higher if they are found out.

For this reason, deviants find it safer to hide. Deviants can have just about any enhanced ability, and each seems incredibly individual. No one knows how these people are born with abilities, although many scientists theorize it is due to random genetic mutations from outside forces- new chemicals, medicines, etc. that the pregnant person is exposed to while pregnant.

Deviants can sometimes have outward signs that have to do with their abilities that can make hiding their abilities that much harder. These individuals are usually immediately put into the foster care system- or worse.

Deviants are, for the most part, solitary. Many are homeless, relying on their powers to keep themselves alive. Sometimes, a particularly powerful deviant will have enough of everything and take on an antagonistic role as a sort of "revenge" against society. This, as expected, only makes things worse for the community.

Though there are "heroes," they are few and far between, as being a hero- aka, a vigilante- and using powers in any way that affects other people is illegal. This only makes life harder for deviants, especially those who do not have a good grip on controlling their powers.

However, this doesn't mean that they're all alone. In many places, especially big cities, support systems are set up in secret for individuals who are young or suffering on the streets. These "underground railroads" are mostly made up of deviants who are able to get away with hiding their powers, individuals who have lived on the streets for a long time, using their powers to keep them safe, and those people who sympathize with deviants. There are lots of signals, secret messages, and even organized movements used to keep their own safe and fed.

The main adversary against deviants is one that very few "normal" individuals know about- the Corrvis Corporation. This is a secret corporation, backed by the government, that specializes in kidnapping deviants off the streets (especially the most powerful or dangerous ones) and putting them in "camps." These camps can be just about anywhere, disguised in plain sight. The main goal is for the Government to find out what makes individuals deviate from the norm and to eventually utilize this power to make a specialized group of soldiers with certain powers.

Deviants in these secret, underground railroad systems sometimes ban together to raid these facilities (if they are able to find them) and save the individuals taken.

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Set in a modern alternate universe, this plot begins in the city of San Fransisco. It's late March, and the weather is for the most part rain-filled and cloudy. Moisture is thick in the air, and windows are usually fogged over. Spring is here, as the last snows finished falling earlier in the month. It is starting to get warmer now, with temperatures up to the sixties (F.)

The time of day is 11:00 AM. The city is awake yet sluggish, students and employees alike yawning as they work through the day. It's a Monday. In only an hour, the streets will be filled with bustling people looking for lunch. The skies will be partially overcast, and the temperature will be at 59 degrees Fahrenheit.

In this reality, there is somewhat more technological advancement. Things are more efficient, but it isn't so technologically advanced it could be considered sci-fi.

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Songs:

-- Sinners and Saints by Adrea Wasse --
-- Burn The Witch by Shawn James --
-- Die Trying by Michl --
-- Muddy Waters by LP --
-- Razzmatazz by IDKHBTFM --
-- Buzzcut Season by Lorde --
-- Float by Call Me Karizma --
-- Elephant in the Room by Confetti --
-- Despicable by Grandson --
-- RIP To My Youth by The Neighborhood --
-- Hungry Like The Wolf by The Hidden Citizens --

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-Rules:
(Since we broke the original forum with our long-ass responses, we've come up with a way to prevent it from happening again! [Please don't strike us down, Eve. We're so sorry.])

- All posts must have a word limit of 2500 words. If the response goes over that, it must be put into separate replies.
- The make sure someone is done with all of their replies, at the end, we must specify that we're done (with parts, symbols, etc.)
-To show that I am done with my posts, they will end with "《 ♧ 》"
- If it is incredibly close (like thirty words over) then don't bother putting it into parts (unless you want to.) 2500 is just a guideline in case the posts get too big

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Characters:

Acton - bartender and owner of Raven’s Bar. 28. Secretly a deviant. Cold, distant, and done with the world, but was raised to be kind, and so he helps deviants, especially children because they remind him of his younger self. A bit too desperate to keep Raven’s up and running, resulting in him being easy to manipulate if the bar comes into play.
Emilia Larsen - Warm, authoritative woman who runs a bakery and is part of the Underground. 36. Long brown hair and heart-shaped face, with shrewd, brown eyes. It is not known whether or not she is a deviant.
Michael Meere - Responsible, circumspect, and introverted man of 22. One of the main leaders of the Underground. Dating Piper Holt (or, was.) Is a deviant with the power of phasing through solid surfaces.
Naomi "Bliss" Keay - Shorter girl with dark brown skin and thick dreadlocks that fall messily to her midback. Intelligent brown eyes. Fiery, idealistic, and just. 11. Is a deviant that can make bubble-like shields to protect people.
Margot Tenner - 19. Responsible, courageous, impulsive. Very caring. One of the higher-ups in the Underground. Is very protective of Taevion (has feelings for him.) Has caramel hair, usually in a braid, standing at 5'10. Willowy and tan. Is a deviant. Born July 7th.

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(You know the drill- if you aren't me or someBOdy, don't post. Feel free to follow along, though- if you think you can stomach both the 6,000+ word posts and panic attacks. Aha, yeah, be careful with this one- it can be a bit dark.)

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The Story So Far:

-- 3/27/21 --

- Taevion heads to Emilia's Bakery to inform her of the recent, assumed loss of several deviants. She closes early to send a sign to other deviants in the Underground to stay safe and hidden. Taevion plans to sleep at her bakery for the night.
- Blue wakes up with a nasty hangover. He goes to a nearby laundromat to wash his clothing due to a night of rain and falls asleep. When he wakes up again, it's about 6:30 PM. He heads out to a bar, Raven's bar, which is closed early and blackmails the owner, Acton, into giving him free wine. Then, at about 8:00 PM when he is somewhat drunk, he gets chased by a person with a tranquilizer gun who he thinks could be Corrvis. In order to stay safe, he uses his gun to break a car window and earns the attention of the others on the street he is now on- the street with Emilia's bakery.
-Taevion dreams of a time in the past and wakes due to a car alarm. He heads out and finds Blue, with a bloodied hand and gun, somewhat drunk. Believing him to be a deviant, he rescues him, tricking the owner of the car into letting them go and taking him into Emilia's bakery. He then heals Blue's hand (covertly) and introduces himself, asking if the other is a deviant.
-Blue is, in fact, a deviant, and proceeds to be a menace. He ends up touching Taevions' face (while monologuing) and decides, promptly, that Taevion is his new obsession and is as good as his property now. He then notices some delicious German dessert and begs Taevion to give him some, the erratic fucker.
- Taevion has a life-changing moment as he realizes he can, in fact, touch Blue, and as he is incredibly touch-starved, he plans to experiment with this in the future. He gets Blue some bienenstitch and other pastries from the kitchen, instructs the other to eat, and that when he comes back they are going to bandage his hand then 'talk.' He then goes and calls Michael, a friend and another deviant of his, and tells him about Blue. Michael tells him to be careful, Blue has a bit of a reputation, and they should keep an eye out for Corrvis, in case they observed Taevion taking Blue into the bakery. He explains that he will pick them up that next morning if they can manage to stay alive for that long. Taevion agrees and heads back to the foyer where Blue is eating, taking a first-aid kit with him.

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Current Relationship Status: Strangers Blue thinks that Taevion is interesting. Taevion is mistrustful of Blue, and yet he is... curious. And touchstarved

Defining Moments: - - - - - - - - -

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Taevion Aaron Holt (Taye - VEE -uhn) "Your reality is based on the options you give yourself. Dream bigger." "What we think, we become." "Sometimes I'm terrified of my heart; of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants. The way it stops and starts." "The helper seeks to help because he knows what it is like to be helpless." ︽ 《 ♧ 》 ︾ Nickname: Tae, Taevi, Vi Age: 17 Gender: Masculine (he/him/his) Sexuality: Pansexual Birthdate: March 3rd Species: Human (Deviant) Alignment: Somewhere between True Neutral and Chaotic Good. ︽ 《 ♧ 》 ︾ Character Overview: "The flower that blooms in adversity is the rarest and most beautiful of all." -Walt Disney "Don't mistake my kindness for weakness." Personality Traits: + Agreeable + Amiable + Balanced + Benevolent + Calm + Caring + Charismatic + Charming + Cheerful + Compassionate + Considerate + Cooperative + Courteous + Creative + Curious + Duitiful + Ebullient + Elegant + Empathetic + Energetic + Fair + Flexible + Forgiving + Friendly + Generous + Gentle + Genuine + Honest + Humble + Imaginitive + Intelligent + Intuitive + Kind + Loyal + Modest + Open + Optimistic + Patient + Perceptive + Relaxed + Respectful + Scupulous + Selfless + Sociable + Sweet + Urbane + Warm + Youthful + ~ Absentminded ~ Confidential ~ Cute ~ Emotional ~ Guileless ~ Monastic ~ Mellow ~ Obedient ~ Private ~ Pure ~ Quiet ~ Romantic ~ Sensitive ~ Softspoken ~ Trusting ~ Unagressive ~ - Anxious - Cautious - Childish - Clumsy - Closed-off - Complacent - Delicate - Dependent - Desperate - Discouraged - Dissacociative - Escapist - Emotional - Fearful - Fickle - Foolish - Forgetful - Gullible - Hesitant - Indecisive - Impressionable - Indulgent - Insecure - Irrational - Mechanical - Melancholic - Miserable - Misguided - Naive - Odd - Offhand - Opressed - Overly Self-critical - Paranoid - Passive - Procrastinating - Repressed - Secretive - Shy - Submissive - Tactless - Timid - Transparent - Unhealthy - Unhappy - Unrealistic - Vague - Vunerable - Weak - Weak-willed - Wishful - Appearance: Taevion stands at 5'10 (177.8 cm), with warm ivory skin, tanned just a shade deeper by exposure to the sun. He is short and somewhat average in build, if not being a tad too skinny. He has small hands, wrists, and ankles, and weighs about 132 pounds. Freckles spatter his fine-boned face, and a single, pale scar runs from his upper lip to his bottom in a small, diagonal line going to the left on the right side of his mouth. He has thick, dusty-brown eye-lashes and striking, honey-gold eyes that get lighter closer to the pupil, sending lines of pale gold through the irises like sunlight streaming through trees. His brows are golden, and not well-defined, and fall in gentle slopes, giving him a more peaceful look. He has a fragile sort of elegance around him, an alien beauty. His chin slopes down softly, meeting to make a surprisingly angular chin. He has a smallish nose and fluttering, sleeping eyes. His bones are very visible through his skin, especially his collar bones and hip bones, as well as some of his ribs. He has a delicate, thin-boned form, almost bird-like in its simple frailty. His hair is light honey-brown, with paler highlights, that get slightly darker at the edges. It is surprisingly curly, with defined waves that fall to just below his ears in sharp curls. He stays clean-shaven for the most part, though when he does grow facial hair, it comes in light and is hard to grow out. His ears are both pierced, with his right ear having another piercing on his helix. On his lower back, in the middle, a tattoo sits. On one side, a small, pale yellow canary flies, hold a strelitzia flower in its beak. Across from it, another bird flies, a small white dove, with a small sprig of baby's breath clamped in its beak. The two are angled towards each other and separated by one last image, a simple, white club symbol, with golden vines of ivy ensnaring it, crossing up and around its form. One final tattoo can be found on his left shoulder, just above his heart. it is small, but it symbolizes another bird, a chickadee, standing on a twig of birch with a small, yellow begonia held in its beak. On its leg, a ring of laurel leaves sits, golden and hard to notice from far away. On the middle finger of his right hand sits a worn, golden band. Its surface is scratched in some places and smudged in others. Small ivy-like vines have been inscribed into it, running in a circle on the top and bottom of the band, leaving just enough room in the middle for a small inscription. On the inside of the ring, initials have been pressed: PLH. Taevion's left leg is missing from his mid-thigh down. He usually prefers to cover up his prosthetic with long pants, but not always. He lost it when he was young and has had a long time to get used to moving with it. Still, he is a bit slower than others and has a slight, barely noticeable limp when he walks. The prosthetic is quite well-made but still needs to be well-taken care of and oiled occasionally. It can be taken off, though he usually doesn't unless he is cleaning it. It is attached to his leg through a magnet that sort of sticks to a metal plate embedded in his leg when his leg was first lost. The prosthetic itself is of interesting design. It is not made to look like a human leg- he has an alternate one that he will wear if he wants to fit in- but instead is pale gold, with a three-d printed "exoskeleton made up of lots of tiny wires connecting to each other in random, shape-like patterns. The inside is occupied by many cogs and the like across a sturdy, bone-like structure. They are mostly there for decoration and support for the knee mechanism, as the "mesh" is strong enough to support Taevion by itself. Attire: Taevion is the kind of person that you might expect to wear lighter clothing, with stylish and trendy wear and artistic, bright color combinations that make him pop. This couldn't be more incorrect, however. While Taevion does wear some certain colors, he usually only wears one or two articles of clothing with that bright color on it, while the rest of his attire is darker, muted colors, like browns, blacks, and greys. He doesn't look good in those colors (besides brown, sometimes) but he isn't aiming to look good- he is trying to fit in. Taevions' clothes are usually quite loose, ad very long. He owns almost no t-shirts or shorts, and many of his shirts are high-collared. He has an array of different sweaters, most of which are turtlenecks, which don't look good on him in the slightest but still do their job. Whatever that job is. Taevion has a large brown leather jacket that's just a bit too long for him that he often wears. Besides this jacket, he has two others- a long, dark aviators jacket that falls to just below his knees in a shade of black that is almost blue, and a heavy winter coat that he wears more than he should- including during the summer. This is large and black, with buttons going up on either side. The bright colors that Taevion does wear long with his usual dampening attire are lots of yellows, golds, and whites. He also wears a lot of warm and coral pinks, seafoam greens, blues, teals, and soft shades of purple every now and then. He usually doesn't like to draw attention to himself, however, so he wears these colors sparingly, one on his person at a time. Taevion is always wearing gloves. It seems a bit obsessive, how he hides away from the sun. Not to mention the fact that he is still infuriatingly tan, even when it seems that shouldn't have been humanly possible. Taevion has several pairs of gloves, though the ones he can be found to be wearing the most are sturdy, yet warn pair of brown, leather gloves that come up his forearm and resemble that of falconers' gloves. They might be. Besides that, he has a pair of simple yellow-brown, knit gloves, and black pair of knit gloves, and a pair of black, leather gloves that he only wears if the brown ones are unavailable. The last pair of gloves is a pair of dark brown leather, fingerless gloves, with openings on the backs exposing his hands. He does not like to wear these and dreads the times that he has to. Finally, there is the matter of his shoes: Taevion has three pairs of shoes in all, all of which are very worn and dirty from use. The first is a pair of hiking boots, light brown with black laces and black soles. These are the ones he wears the most, as they give him an extra boost to his height. The second is a pair of ratty old tennis shoes, grey with pink, that he may or may not have found while fishing through a garbage can. The last is a pair of high-topped red converse which, in comparison to the other pairs of shoes, is in surprisingly good shape. Taevion has several pairs of earrings as well. He has two pairs of simple, cubed stud earring that is silvery-gold, one pair of little bells that hang from golden chains, and several small cuff hoop earrings, all in gold. He then has a single golden pair of earrings, set with small white gems, that show the symbol of the Pisces zodiac. His final pair of earrings are two simple crimson rubies set in cubed stones on silver backs. These are the most expensive things he owns. He also has a pair of old headphones that are neither comfortable nor aesthetically pleasing but are instead, blocky and black. The go with his small, golden MP3 player (which he has gotten very good at pirating songs on.) They can usually be seen hanging around his neck. Voice: He has an appealing, silvery voice, somewhat higher than the average mans' voice. It is warm and can be somewhat musical when he uses it. He doesn't talk a lot, and when he does, he is soft-spoken and careful. However, his voice still has a strange depth to it. While it is higher in pitch, it is rich and warm, and when he speaks, he sounds like caramel- slow and warm and thoughtful. Background: ??? Likes: Sleeping, music, cooking, making people laugh, physical affection, feeling safe, taking care of those he cares about Dislikes: Being alone, cruelty, being looked down on, being excluded, being used, being lied to, being let down, being touched without permission, not being able to touch people Strengths: - Easily gets along with others despite differences - - Is very good at making others feel included and cared about - - Has a sort of magnetism about him that make others enjoy being around him - - He is quite humble and never brags - - He is quite astute and intuitive, making him very perceptive - - He is quite careful, and makes sure to think things through before rushing into them - - Despite his fragile looks, Taevion can weather a lot without complaint. He has a very high pain tolerance - - He is incredibly selfless and always puts others ahead of himself with no expectations of reward - - Taevion may hate lying, but he is very good at it when he does - Weaknesses: - He isn't particularly physically powerful - - He is insecure, and hates being the center of attention - - He is very timid and can be very indecisive - - Taevion doesn't seem to particularly care about taking care of himself, and can be somewhat self-destructive - - He is a very private person, despite all of his connections and relationships - - He is quite passive and submissive, even when he disagrees with something - - He will step over all of his boundaries and limits in order to make others like him/impress others - - He can be entirely too trusting, and if you earn his trust, he is easily deceived - - He hates being openly vulnerable and will act as if everything is okay, even if he is in incredible pain - - He hates asking for help, as he believes it will make others perceive him as weak - - He will hold onto something for as long as he can, even if it is detrimental to him - Fears: Cruelty, losing those he cares about, being alone, helplessness, deep water More Logical or Emotional: Emotional Right/Left-Handed: Right-handed Allergies/Disabilities/Etc: - C-PTSD - - Anxiety - - Panic Disorder - - Insomnia - - Chronic Major Depression - - Loss of left leg (wears prosthetic) - ︽ 《 ♧ 》 ︾ Character Stats:* (out of five) Dexterity: 4/5 Luck: 3/5 Composure: 4/5 Charisma: 4/5 Stealth: 2/5 Wisdom: 5/5 Agility: 2/5 Perception: 5/5 Resolve: 2/5 Strength: 1/5 Flexibility: 4/5 ︽ 《 ♧ 》 ︾ Parents: Mandy and Joshua Holt (status unknown) Siblings: Piper Holt (21, status unknown) Other Notable Relatives: N/A Friends: Emilia Larsen (36), Margot Tenner (19), Michael Meere (22, Piper's bf) Love Interest: Blue Enemies: The Corrvis Corporation, Landon Whailer ︽ 《 ♧ 》 ︾ Abilities: Midas' Touch (will be fully revealed through RP) -Being around him give others(especially other deviants) a certain boost- if people are around him a lot, they will generally be more healthy and less likely to get sick, more energetic, and can feel more alive. -The opposite is true for him- the more people around, the more drained he feels -He has a level of regeneration that makes him heal much quicker than others, and he ages just barely slower than others - He can "absorb" damage from others that he is near. He will do this subconciously. Theme Songs: - Ghost Town by Chloe George (cover) - - Bloom by The Paper Kites - - Youth by Daughter - - Youth by The Glass Animals - - Marjorie by Taylor Swift - - Mr. Loverman by Rick Montgomery - - Karma by AJR - - All I Want by Kodaline - - Soap by Melanie Martinez - Other: Background will be revealed through RP. Fun Facts: -Regardless of his assumed naivety, Taevion isn't actually innocent- he's just gotten very good at dissociating enough for it to not matter - - Taevion actually has a very dark sense of humor, that mostly shines through in offhand remarks. This is only known to people who are very close to him - - Although Taevion doesn't get angry, he does get frustrated- and when he gets frustrated, he cries. However, since he hates crying in front of people, we will simply shut down and disassociate until he has time alone where he can hide away and cry. - - Taevion literally cannot partake of any mind-altering substance (alcohol or drugs) without throwing up, having a panic attack, and generally just having a bad time. This is for ~reasons~ - - Taevion doesn't seem to swear a lot. In fact, most people could argue this means he doesn't swear at all. These people are incorrect. - Some colors he wears a lot of: #FFE08B – Crayola Yellow #FFAFAF – Melon #FCE8D1 – Champagne #B8D8D8 – Columbia Blue #7ACCC9 – Pearl Aqua "Never be so kind, you forget to be clever. Never be so clever, you forget to be kind -- Never be so polite you forget your power. Never wield such power you forget to be polite."

poofed.

might change this to a terminology???? thingy??????

p o o f e d

Monday: 27th of March, 2021 -- 11:00 AM

- San Francisco -

The streets were damp and wet from the rain the night before as Taevion made his way through the city, hands pressed into his pockets as he walked. His eyes were lowered, tracing the cracks on the ground, though they would occasionally glance up to check his progress. He had walked these streets enough times to know his way, and his pace was brisk, yet not purposeful, as if he didn’t know where he was going, but needed to get there quickly.

He did know where he was going, though. Taevion didn’t like going out if he didn’t have to, so calm walks through the city streets weren’t an option for him. Too many people, especially around noon.

His gait quickened further at the thought. He had an hour to get where he was going before the streets were filled with crowds of people, never making eye contact as they hurried on their way, usually intent on finding a place to buy food. Taevion could handle a couple of people passing him now and then- those ones he didn’t even notice. But streets filled with stressed and weary people, desperately reaching out for comfort, no matter if they realized it or not? That he couldn’t do. He could practically feel his body slumping in the tired weariness of overuse just by thinking about it. And when that happened, he was more prone to panic attacks.

He didn’t want that to happen. So he kept walking.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help people- being near him usually made them feel better, one of the few perks of his ability. Knowing he was helping people feel better just by proximity made him feel better about himself- or, at least, it used to, before helping others became second nature, and that same joy began to diminish as it was replaced by absolutely nothing at all.

The smell of freshly baked cookies drew his attention and he looked up, blinking slowly. On the corner of the street, he sat in a small bakery shop, its windows lined with baked goods. One of the windows was open to let a new platter of cookies cool, spilling the sweet scent of chocolate out into the streets. Taevion’s lips twitched into a soft smile, it seemed he had been right. Emilia was early today.

He hurried to the shop, pushing the door softly open, making as little noise as possible. The bell above the door jungled merrily and he flinched, even though it was a familiar sound.

He held the door until it was fully closed, until padding up to the counter with open ease. Emilia Larsen was already in the kitchen if the sounds of clanging pots and spoons scraping the sides of bowls were to be believed. Taevion smiled, humming softly as he leaned forward into the counter, throwing his arms up over it in a loose cross. He didn’t bother to call her, he knew that she was already aware of his presence, due to the fact that he did not bother to announce himself. She would come out when she was ready.

In the meantime, he looked up at the menu, breathing in deeply and letting the scents of the bakery wash over him. This was one of those places where time seemed to freeze, a warm little shop with an even warmer little woman running it.

As he waited, he continued to hum, vocalizing thoughtlessly as he let his eyes roam the shop. It was such a cozy little place, with comfy couches pushed up against the walls of a sitting area and a hearth that was always crackling and warm. It felt more like home than any place he had ever lived in before had. On nights when he couldn’t make the trek to Michaels’ place, he would sometimes crash here, taking the key out from where Emilia carefully hid it and sliding inside. The fire was always there. Always. He would lay on the comfiest of the couches, throw a hand over his eyes and think. Sometimes, he would even be lucky enough to sleep.

“Taevion,” came a warm voice as Emilia padded out of the kitchen, a fresh tray of baked goods held in gloved hands in tow. “I should have known it was you.”

“You did,” Taevion said in place of a greeting, and the woman just laughed.

“Yes, I suppose,” she agreed, placing the new rack of rolls onto the windowsill and picking up the tray of cookies with one hand. “You always are quiet.”

Taevion shrugged in response. It was true.

Emilia was an older woman, about 35 in age, with long brown hair that was already greying on the edges, despite her age. Her face was kind and heart-shaped, and she was short (though still taller than Taevion himself) and thick around the middle.

“You were humming, though,” she mentioned as she padded into the kitchen. “I always like it when you hum- it’s just like everything else you do. Gentle, careful, with the intent to comfort others.”

Emilia was very good at reading him. He laughed softly, but it wasn’t much more than a puff of breath that escaped his lips. Once again, she was right, so he did not bother to comment. Instead, he tilted his head softly to the side, eyelids fluttering.

With some hesitance, he murmured, “Nightingale Street went dark yesterday. They were supposed to report back about the suspected facility, but we never got the signal. Margot’s gonna send some people out there to scout.”

Emilia paused, and the warmth and levity in the room began to seep out of the room in time with the sinking of her face. “...You don’t say.”

Taevion studied the counter, picking carefully at his nails, and nodded once.

Emilia let out a tired breath, and slumped against the counter, setting down the cookies. “I told them,” she muttered darkly. “I told them it wasn’t a good idea.” Then, looking up at him with a pair of cinnamon-brown eyes, she queried, “Who was lost?”

“Delaware,” Taevion told her. She stiffened, eyes widening, but he continued. “Lacie, Rider, Jaydyn- Ollie, too.”

“No,” she murmured, but her voice was already resigned. “And- are we sure they're gone?”

Taevion sighed softly. “We don’t know,” he admitted. “That’s why Margot’s sending out some scouts.”

“I’ll be damned if we lose more to Corrvis,” Emilia hissed, anger transforming her face into something unfamiliar. Taevion continued to study the counter.

“I wanted to go,” he admitted, “but Margot convinced me to remain behind.”

“Good,” Emilia said with a simple nod. “You’re better use to us here than with them.” Her words were harsh, but Taevion knew what she really meant. He nodded but did not agree. Now, there was much to say, but he still bit his tongue.

There was silence, for a bit, as Emilia allowed herself to take in the news. They could hope all they wanted, but they both knew there was little chance they would ever see any of those that had been lost ever again.

“I just can’t believe they got Delaware,” she finally murmured. “He was always one of the strongest of us.”

Taevion nodded wordlessly. Delaware was known through the streets for his ability to clone himself and others and be able to make the clones do his bidding. Losing him was a big blow to the Underground.

Not that the others that were lost weren’t important. Each of them had their strengths and talents, and each of them would be missed. More and more deviants were being snatched off the streets- it was worrying. Many of them the other Deviants didn’t even know were enhanced, and the fact that Corrvis did- it didn’t look good.

“Michael wants me to stay here for tonight,” Taevion said, glancing up. “He doesn’t feel safe with me walking the streets alone with everything that’s been happening lately.” All of the disappearances- the members of the Underground were getting fewer and farther between.

Emilia nodded. “That’s smart,” she said. “You can stay in the backroom, too- just in case.”

Taevion nodded tiredly. He didn’t like the back room as much as the foyer, it was always colder, but he wasn’t going to argue. He had his headphones, after all, and his MP3 player. That was all he needed to feel comfortable.

Not safe. Never safe. Taevion hadn’t felt safe in a very long time.

4:00 PM -- 27th of March
Emilia’s Bakery

Usually, the store stayed open until 6:00 at night, but on nights where Emilia felt it was unsafe for deviants to be out on the streets, she closed the store early, a secret way of communication throughout the Underground. The news would spread quickly, from deviant to deviant, until the entirety of the underground knew it was better to stay hidden away.

Sometimes, a few others would come in on these nights, looking for a place to hide until morning. Emilia always welcomed them, and Taevion would watch them until the morning. Most of those without homes were younger deviants who were less experienced in the fields of taking care of themselves. One of them, Naomi “Bliss” Keay, had formed a special interest in Taevion and his powers.

Taevion wasn’t very open about his abilities, believing them to be more trouble than they were worth. Sure, there were certain perks, but for the most part, Taevion opted to ignore them. As long as he didn’t use them, they couldn’t harm anybody. Not to mention the fact that it was harder to justify catching a deviant if you never saw them using their powers.

But Bliss was of the mindset that everyone had their abilities for a reason. Taevion couldn’t say that he agreed, but he didn’t mind the younger girls’ company. She was chatty, sure, but she was only ever trying to be friendly, so Taevion couldn’t fault her for that. Tonight, though, it didn’t seem like she was coming around.

Taevion watched as Emilia locked up shop, putting away all of her goods, hanging up her apron, and washing her hands for the night. She moved through the kitchen quickly and efficiently cleaning up. Taevion joined her, scrubbing and drying the dishes, and putting away the supplies in the big cupboards. After, Emilia locked up all of the cupboards and the like, handed Taevion the other spare key to the shop, and told him to be good, before breezing out of the door with a jingle of the bell.

And Taevion was alone.

He sighed, letting his shoulders slump, and found his way to the foyer, turning off the main overhead light and relaxing on the couch. His hands migrated downwards to his pockets, where he fished out his crappy old MP3. He turned on his headphones where they were slung around his neck and randomly chose a song from his “Low-key Songs'' playlist. He didn’t care what it was, really. Just something he could get lost in.

He let his hand fall back as he relaxed into the couch, his eyelids shuttering closed. He would get out the blankets and make his make-shift bed in the backroom soon. For now, though, he just wanted to stop thinking about everything.

That was a good way to not go insane, he reasoned. Just stop thinking.

《 ♧ 》

San Francisco

There is a steady pounding behind his left eye, a familiar pulsating ache that only comes after he has had one too many. The pain is cutting, fierce in the way it wraps around his head like rusted barbed wire. It’s as if the mush that once was his already lifeless brain has been replaced with so much wool that his skull is on the verge of bursting open. He knows, then, that functioning throughout the day will be a challenge, and he promises himself, for the fifteenth time, to never drink more than a bottle of whiskey ever again, though he knows he’s likely to drink more the next time he stumbles back into a bar.

Awaking is a process Blue is unwilling to take part in, but one he knows he must get through before the street he’d drunkenly collapsed in fills with hungry members of society. He forces energy back into his muscles, forces his stomach to hold in whatever vile thing he’d dumped in it, forces his eye open to face the bright new day. Too bright new day; as light floods into his abused brain, the throbbing spreads, festers, to his right eye, growing fervid when he starts processing whatever the hell is going on around him.

Not much, it seems, but he doesn’t quite yet trust his clouded judgement to simply conclude that his surroundings are calm. He registers more pain--his hip bone, on the side where he’d been laying down on cold, rough concrete; his back, because a bed of manmade stone isn’t exactly a good way to evade arthritis; his torso, where his stomach complains non-stop about how he satiated his hunger with alcohol--before he registers the still shadows at the back of a dark alley, the green of a dumpster, the sweet smell of petrichor after a night of rain. His neurons trudge along at the speed it takes him to get to his feet (several minutes, after much floundering), analyzing sensory inputs for longer and slower than a baby can reach the other end of the Golden Gate Bridge.

...Strange metaphor, but he’ll take it.

He leans two-thirds of his full near nonexistent weight against the corner of the wall where the alley feeds into the street, massaging his fingers against the fabric covering his eye as he tries to remember the events of last night.

First thing’s first: what the fuck happened to him?

The answer is simple enough and straight-forward: he got drunk. Very drunk. That’d make it the fifth night in a row. He’s on a roll this week.

He’ll apologize to his liver when he’s dead.

Secondly, where the fuck is he?

When the world failed him once more by not killing him in his sleep, he found himself halfway in/halfway out of an alley, having succumbed to blissful unconsciousness the moment he turned the corner. The alley looks familiar enough; if he had the strength to lift his head and squint at the street sign up ahead, maybe he could figure out--

Mistake, mistake, mistake. A broken record goes off in the back of his mind. He flinches back, face twisting as sunlight shines directly into his visible eye.

He forgot that these street signs were made of metal, and that metal is very much reflective. And that hangover + light = not a very goddamn good idea.

He heaves out a far too exhausted sigh. He’ll have to wait here ‘til the sun stops being a bitch before he can wander back out to the alley he actually needs to be in, the alley that has all his shit in a duffel bag hidden somewhere underneath a dumpster--

Oh!

Upon turning around, his eye zeroes-in on a barrel duffel stuffed underneath the green dumpster at the back of the alley. He’s almost proud of himself; he’d actually made it back “home” despite almost seventeen full shots of whiskey swimming in his veins.

Alright, well. Problem solved. That was oddly convenient.

Now: what the fuck does he do?

He runs through a set of plans, all of which involve him getting a move on, and so he discards them immediately, one by one, in the time it takes him to ruffle through his belongings in a quick check to see if anything was stolen (everything's still there, thank the unfair Lord). He can’t do much with a debilitating hangover, after all.

His brain, brilliantly idiotic thing that it is, comes up with: What are your priorities, failure? The voice sounds suspiciously like his always-disappointed eldest brother, Twenty-Three, and the delivery of the tacked-on so-called nickname “failure” only proves it. Which, geez, he’s got a headache, dammit; he’s trying here, Twen.

But…, well, he feels disgusting, for one. His skin is all clammy and damp, his socks are wet, and his jacket weighs heavier than it should, likely because it’s fucking soaked.

Exactly how much did it rain last night, anyway? Blue will just assume it was a downpour.

Regardless, he needs to get himself cleaned before he loses his mind. Hygiene is a priority, as his annoying older sister, Tuakana, never stopped reminding him.

A trip to the laundromat is long overdue, then.

________________

Because Blue is a lucky bastard, there’s a laundromat just across the street. And because Blue is a very lucky bastard, not only is there no one in the laundromat, there’s also a restroom, albeit one that isn’t entirely clean, but this is San Francisco and he doesn’t really give a fuck anymore. He has free range to strip and change into Emmy’s, his youngest brother’s, sweater and Joshua’s, his older brother’s, long-ass jeans. He rids his jacket of whatever shit it has in its pockets (he never knew he had this many knives. Really, he didn’t), stuffing them alongside his siblings’ clothes inside the duffel bag. All the pocket watches that he’d put inside the jacket’s pockets (because he’d never wear them out in the open when he’s getting drunk in a bar with people who are very unsubtle in the way they eye the glinting silvers and golds) also go inside the duffel bag. The empty holster he has strapped to his thigh (the tactical leg-strap exists for the sole purpose of holding Joshua’s pocket watch, not to house his beloved Sally) goes in as well, and the aforementioned handgun stays with him, gripped in his hand--where it belongs.

Oh, and, yes, he likes putting way too much inside the poor duffel bag. It’s his way of abusing it.

After he spends nearly a full minute trying to zip the thing shut, he finally makes his way out of the restroom and throws in all his filthy-as-hell clothes in an available washing machine.

When all is said and done, he pulls himself to the bench seats, arbitrarily picking one to crumple in. He curls up, hugging his bulging bag close to his chest, pressing his hand that holds Sally against his chest and underneath the duffel to keep the weapon hidden, and allows himself to all but deflate. The back of his head hits the glass window behind him with a loud thunk, which… Well, nothing he’s done this past hour has helped his hangover, so filling in the blank should be easy enough.

He need only stay here for thirty minutes. He might as well rest his burning, bloodshot eye in the meantime. He has Sally; he’ll be fine. It’s not like he’s going to fall asleep or anythi--

18:00

Hmm.

He really should stop nodding off in public spaces. M, his semi-sane older sister, would kill him for being a careless shithead if she saw him now.

Oh, well. At least his jacket’s ready to wear.

He’s still really fuckin’ hungover, though.

What is the cure for hangovers, again? Ah, yes: one way to get rid of a hangover is to get another hangover.

Hmmm… Just where to? It’s already late, and his everything hurts, clearly despising having to serve him and keep him alive, so he can’t go far…

Ah, he knows. Raven’s Bar. It’s just down a few blocks. He doesn’t have quite a… connection to its owner as he does with other bars’, but he’s been looking into… making one at some point. Now’s as good a time as any, yes?

Blue has always been known to be quick. Stalling only leads to disaster.

_________________

18:30

Raven’s Bar

A few stragglers lurking outside Raven’s side-eye him as he struts past. He can’t blame them for rudely gawking; he looks quite the eyesore with his complete getup: vivid blue hair, blue jeans that look like they’re on the verge of slipping off, ugly hybrid of a jacket, not to mention his siblings’ pocket watches in their usual places on his person nor the mystery behind the bandage covering his eye.

He puffs his chest out a little. Blue doesn’t mind their stares.

He pays them no heed, treading up to the bar’s door--

CLOSED, mocks the sign hanging from behind the glass. His eyebrows nearly fly off his forehead.

“This early?” he mutters, allowing for the tiniest pout to grace his face.

Hmm. There must be something up, then.

Well, good thing he made a spare key.

〈 ♦ 〉

When the very much locked door to the incredibly prestigious Raven’s Bar swings open and Blue marches his way in, he spots Acton, the bartender and owner, behind the counter, staring at the ginger-haired twenty-eight-year-old man in a bottle of vodka, comparing eye-bag sizes despite being completely aware of there being no difference between each pair. Blue knows that Acton knows immediately who has come to disgrace his business with their presence--not because of the mass of eye-hurting blue reflected on the curve of the bottle he's been wiping likely for the past thirty minutes, but because his brain is obviously acquainted with the Force and detected a disturbance that can only be caused by a very specific menace.

The menace is Blue, if that needs any clarification.

He’s been here once or twice before. Not including visits where he wasn’t sober. If we include him drunk, then he’s been here around twenty-seven times over the span of the two months he’s spent in San Francisco. On the more recent times, he only came to bother Acton and not to ask for any sort of drink; the man stopped serving him alcohol when he (somehow) found out his ID was fake, so he didn't dare waste his breath and instead turned to bars he'd manipulated into serving him. But the latter information is irrelevant; what needs to be known is that Blue has come here enough times to know how Acton works, and that Acton does not currently perceive him as a threat--moreso as a pest that comes and goes.

“Heyo!” he greets merrily.

Acton’s chestnut eyes roll up to the warm overhead lights hanging above the counter. The man looks like he’s going to overdose on aspirin tonight. He looks like he’s going to down five pills, at once, completely dry, as a way to mourn the loss of his sanity.

He’s going to lose a lot of it, tonight.

If Tuakana was here with him instead of all the way in the middle of the woods somewhere out there in the wild, she’d chastise Blue for being so damn cruel. Alas, she is not here to see him destroy everything they’d built, and Blue only wishes to get what he wants.

Blue makes his way over to the counter, open-faced pocket watches clinking lightly with every step, and flips over a bar stool to immediately settle down on it.

His feet are dangling in the air, completely off the dark oak planks comprising the floor. Blue pretends to not be hurt by that.

Acton completely ignores him. Blue does not pretend to not be hurt by that because he doesn’t care.

While the bartender is off continuing his existential crisis, Blue lets his eye drift wherever he fancies. He’s never really been to Raven’s when it’s closed (he snuck in, once, to steal a bottle or two. Just two. Maybe three. Okay, it might have been five, but it’s not like they were all that expensive), but it… looks about the same as when it’s open: the lights are dimmer than most bars he frequents, emitting a soft golden glow that mixes with the primarily dark, earthy palettes delicately comprising the bar. The atmosphere is… quiet, warm, calm. Overall, it’s good for hungover seventeen-year-old drunkards. Of course, the opposite is true for the poor, poor Acton, who thus has to put up with said hungover seventeen-year-old drunkards.

"Earth to my beloved friend?" Blue tries. "Not even a greeting?"

Nothing. Blue crosses his arms, leans back in his seat almost far enough to fall off.

"How rood. And to think I took the time to break in just to visit my favorite bartender at my favorite bar that sells all sorts of my favorite alcoholic beverages…" His voice takes on a dreamy tone, trailing off like he's a middle schooler going off about his crush, and Acton really is not being paid enough for this shit. "All of which," Blue continues, "is totally not what I actually came here for.”