Appearance:

Name: Flavie Lefèvre
Codename: (New, likely doesn't have one)
Age: 16
Place of Birth: Paris
Occupation: Student/Self purported clock and watch repair expert.
Relationship Status: Not looking
Mutant Ability: Existing in a perpetual chronological displacement, Flavie is capable of becoming “unstuck” from the present. Lack of ability combined with intense nervousness leads to Flavie traveling short time spans at random. She can also catch glimpses of other timelines, both wonderful and horrifying. Sometimes she even travels to these timelines for brief moments and acts the part of another self.

More usefully she can also manipulate gravity in a small sphere of influence, even going as far as being able to slow down incoming objects. This is of course incredibly imprecise.

Sometimes a future self ends up meeting with her in the present, to what end is up to whoever went back.

Personality: Born in France, Flavie's life was rather uneventful until her tenth year when she found herself chasing herself through a park. Bumping into her parents, she greeted them with an excited hug. Only they didn't recognize her, as she was much older than the Flavie they knew. Sometime later, sobbing beneath an elderly tree, her parents came up to her and asked if she was alright. She told them her story and they laughed, for she had such an imagination.

She kept jumping back and forth for months, losing her sense of time and becoming ever more confused on the state of reality.

Six years later, her parents were far less amused to find all the furniture in their apartment had mysteriously relocated itself to the ceiling. After finally getting used to the concept of standing wrong side up, they found their daughter sitting on the once-a-floor, cross legged and bemused. Realizing her parents were above her, she yelped, sending them toppling to the floor.

Confused as what they should do, the answer later came to her parents in the form of a letter from some ridiculous American school. Xavier had managed to locate Flavie after discovering the mind of two of her at once. Figuring it couldn't hurt, they sent their daughter along the way.

Personality: Flavie would be described as fussy, worried, and generally obsessive. She carries around a pocket watch, wears a watch, and has a sundial stored near her person at all times. These are for the explicit purpose of comparing the time of her devices to the time of clocks around her, one of the few ways of confirming if she has shot herself through time or not. To this end she constantly resets her watch and has a vast clock collection stored in her room.

A fatalist, Flavie keeps track of events she finds both past and future in a journal. Of course, given that she sometimes writes in past versions or future versions of it, it's become something of a mess.

She's less than surprisingly acquired a great sense of timing, thus she's quite fond of music and has spent much of her leisure learning various instruments. It helps that she doesn't have much else to do when she ends up backwards.

Name: Mila Kovsky.

Codename: Mimic.

Age: Eighteen (18).

Place of Birth: Moscow, Russia.

Sexuality: Pansexual.

Occupation: Student.

Family:
Orphan - She doesn't know if she has any family.

Relationship Status:
TBD

Mutant Ability:
Genetic Replication - Once coming into anyone DNA whether it be their blood, skin contact or simply hair left on a brush. With that DNA she can shape shift herself into that individuals physical appearance to the last detail. She doesn't attain any memories or involuntary social quirks. Further more, replicating the individuals genes she can also mimic their mutant powers. The power replication isn't nearly as strong as the original as she hasn't had the type of practice with it as the original host.

Mila can retain up to two genetic codes at any given time and the retention only lasts for a maximum of twenty-four (24) hours since the last moment she came in contact with the DNA.

Personality:
Mila is rather quiet and soft spoken. She is one to sit in the back of a room and simply observe. Because her powers don't gain any mental or social mimicry she tends to naturally observe every little details of the people around her. Doing so allows her to act like the people she takes upon the appearance. Though once you break through her silent shell one would notice Mila's kind and affectionate nature. Being an orphan Mila is rather easily attached to people who are nice to her. On one hand she fears of people getting close and leaving and on the other hand she wants nothing more to be loved.

History:
Mila was born in Moscow, Russia and raised in a small orphanage. She didn't begin to notice her abilities until she was around the age of nine (9) when she woke up looking like her friend Natasha from the orphanage. She luckily changed back before many people saw her. They thought it was only their half unconscious state playing tricks on them. As the years progressed she began to use her abilities to get things she wanted. She would bump into the local store owner to get his DNA and when he left she would shift into his appearance and walk into the store and take candy. Looking and sounding like the store owner the clerks never stopped her.

After a while the Russian government began to notice her abilities. An Agent from the Russian Special forces came to the orphanage. His name was Mikael and he offered Mila a life outside of the orphanage. Firstly she was afraid of what they wanted her for but also she couldn't help crave to be needed for something. Anything to get out of the orphanage and become something. She had always thought she was worthless, that was what she reasoned why she was given up by her parents. She would prove them wrong. And she finally decided she would take Mikael up on his offer, calling him on the number he left on the card a few days prior. She was thirteen at the time.

Mikael came that night to retrieve Mila. They flew across russia, landing on a small landing strip and then she hopped in an SUV and a three hour drive later they arrived at a small military camp. Mikael became Mila's sponsor, so to speak. She kept track of Mila's progress and made sure everything was working out. In this small camp Mila wasn't a freak, she was amongst others that had special powers like her own. Aside from practicing their respective powers they all learns basic physical combat, sabotage and subtlety. With Mila's special brand of powers she was also trained to watch and observe people, learn all the little details about them; through that she was also trained how to act and mimic the small quirks she observes. She had a natural gift for acting and observing, learning from the lessons faster than most.

After a year of training she was fourteen when they started to deploy her on missions. She would observe her targets for a few days before figuring out a way to come into contact with their DNA. Using the information she gained from her target she was shift into their appearance and complete the mission. Usually ranging from attaining information or planting bugs to eavesdrop. Though after three years her mission suddenly changed from the usual. This time she was asked to infiltrate a group and kill a man. She was set back by the idea. She had never considered the thought of killing anyone. She knew it happened in the group but she never considered she would have to do any of that. On her mission she was about to kill the slumbering man but she couldn't pull the trigger. Since day one she was promised she would never have to kill anyone by Mikael. He gave his word. But here she was, standing over a man with a pistol in her hand. As she noticed the man began to stir she was startled, dropping the gun and fleeing the mansion. She could no longer associate with a group that would lie to her and break promises. Asking her to kill someone after all the promises.

Mila fled to the united states, using the skills they taught her to keep out of the eyes of the Russian Secret services. After a year in the united states she began to hear rumors of a safe haven for Mutants. A place that would keep them safe and teach them kind ways of using their powers. She then began to search out the Xavier's School of Gifted Students.

Extra:
Languages: Russian, English, French, and Japanese fluently.
Can speak in perfect accents from her training.
Can hold her breath under water for up to 6 minutes and 17 seconds.
Her favorite thing is Reese's peanut butter cup. Especially when it had been kept in the fridge.
Has a high endurance.

Name: Spencer Marianna O’Connor.
Codename: Odora.

Age: Nineteen.
Place of Birth: Phoenix, Arizona.

Occupation: Starbucks employee.

Family:
-Daniel O’Connor – Father.
-Evelyn O’Connor – Mother.
-Richard O’Connor – Younger brother.

Sexuality: Gay.
Relationship Status: Single. And she plans on keeping it this way.

Mutant Ability: Ice Manipulation –
With this power, Spencer can create, shape, and manipulate ice, as well as freeze objects merely by physical contact, otherwise known as ‘ice touch’. Spencer may also use the hydrogen particles in the air to form ice using both her mind and hands as wielders. While there is very little that Spencer has discovered about the potential of her abilities, Spencer has realized that with her powers, she is capable of healing herself as well as others by absorbing the frozen energies and using them to freeze molecules which then renew damaged cells, which can ultimately stop the bleeding. Ice has the competency to provide energy in closing up wounds, and overall, allowing optimal health.

Limitations:
-Spencer has a difficult time creating ice from hydrogen particles, reverting to using already existing sources.
-Dry areas (mainly around fire or deserts) make it even more difficult for her to produce ice.
-Spencer has little control over her Ice Touch, and could possibly freeze objects – or even people – without having realized it.
-Her ability to heal only works with that of small wounds.
-She hasn’t had a successful case of healing another person as she has herself.

Personality:
Spencer, to put it simply, is a very introverted person. Remaining solely to herself, she relies on no one, and carries the mentality that others are not to be trusted. With that being said, she is a very quiet individual, preferring not to speak when it is unnecessary. While she has thoughts, she does not process them as many others would. Spencer is utterly emotionless. She does not bring herself to feel what one would normally feel – happiness is foreign. Sadness is too energy consuming. She brings herself to be numb, really, as being without much feelings is easier than having them.

Even so, there is a portion of Spencer that is so terribly vulnerable and raw, that even she is terrified of it. There is sheer anger, resentment, fear, betrayal, anxiety, sadness – tears, oh god, the tears – and only ever does this come at night when the nightmares hit. The memories. The recollections. The remembering. Spencer hates to remember. She despises it. She does her best to think only of the present and occasionally of the future. Her survival, although pointless, is her only way being. Of existing.

She knows she is alive. She is not at all an idiot, for that is what everyone with a beating heart is doing. But she is not living. Perhaps it is because she does not know how to live.

History:
Over the years, Spencer has forgotten a majority of her past. She’s suppressed it, every little detail, deep within her mind, in order to not recall the damage she’d lived through. Having a drug-dealer as a father and a drug-doer for a mother, her house was rarely ever unoccupied. Being that her house was so utterly cramped, Spencer had never been given a room of her own, much less a bed, forced to share one with her little brother, Rickie, in a room with whoever was lucky enough to snag the bed that had previously been hers. Rickie and Spencer learned to share a bed at a very young age, never sleeping without the other, too afraid to know what the consequence might be.

While there was very little she could do for herself, Spencer was consciously active in keeping Rickie out of trouble, no matter what may happen to her. By the age of ten, she’d managed to get her own job mowing lawns. The pay was very little, but it was manageable, as the money her parents made was stowed away for drugs they did not grow or could not get for free. With this money, she purchased perishables, water bottles, as well toiletries that they lacked. On Christmas, she bought Rickie toys, and they often times played with his action figures when they were alone.

Even though she never told a soul, teachers would often ask if her parents were hurting her at every opportunity they got. She and Rickie both – per their father’s request – had denied it every time, knowing that they’d be punished if they said anything. Teachers were always suspicious of the two, as they constantly came to school smelling of alcohol and weed. It wasn’t until Spencer was sent to school with bruises all along her chest did the school finally call the police.

She was only thirteen when she was taken from her family. It was nine at night. She and her brother had just gotten into bed when gunshots sounded. Her mother began wailing. Father shouting. Her brother was hyperventilating. Men in uniforms came into their room and carried them to cars. Separate cars. It was so quick. So abrupt. So sudden. And no matter how many times she implored the officers, she never saw them again. Not her dad. Mother. Not even Rickie.

She’d been put into a foster home the next morning, with her own room and blankets that didn’t have blood stains on them. The nights were often silent and her room did not smell of weed and mildew. There weren’t alcohol bottles strewn all across the hallways. No one was yelling or fighting. People smiled. The girls wore tank tops and shorts, not at all frightened that it would be too provocative. The adults flipped pancakes, offered everyone more, to which they denied. They denied more food.

For four years it went on like this. Spencer hopped from foster home to foster home, never complaining, never questioning. Always silent.

She was fifteen when she wanted to cut her hair. The woman whom she’d lived with at the time, Tammy, did it for her. She shaped it in such a way that it framed her face and brought out her jawline more. It was masculine. And it suited her well. Of course, the kids at her school did not understand her want to dress in the attire she chose and act more like a boy and less of a girl. They spat at her, threw objects, hissed “faggot” underneath their breath. Her locker was always covered in sticky-notes with scrawled on adjectives in the morning. She had a process, a way of making it through the long weeks.

Get up, go to school, ignore their comments – don’t listen, don’t listen, goddammit, don’t listen – tear off the notes, get through all her classes in one piece, come home, go for her bedroom.

This was a continuous routine that did not end until she was out of high school. It was then that her powers developed, and it was then that Spencer left her foster home and headed for the roads. She did not have a car, much less any friends to drive her to the bus station, so she hitchhiked. She walked for hours on end. Found herself in a small town down in Virginia. She found sanctuary here, choosing to stay away from others rather than have them discover who – no, what – she was.

She got herself a job at the only grocery store for forty-seven miles and bought a nice house just two miles away. She walked it to and fro, using whatever free time she had to control the abilities she’d been cursed with. When a letter came in at the age of nineteen, though, of a school that was welcoming applicants such as herself, she spent days wondering of the damage she could cause. Still, the letter spoke of the training of her abilities, and the assistance in understanding, which was something that she could use.

Spencer wasn’t at all a fan of accepting the help of others, but she found herself drawn to this school. She packed her bags, located the nearest bus station, and headed off to the Institute.

Withdrawn.