Holly Gabrielle Baless

Well, this Baron man certainly seemed jovial enough! Truly, Holly enjoyed meeting new strangers and getting to know them. Although she was admittedly a bit confused as to what "not until my deathbed" meant. Perhaps he wanted to be remembered fondly, but didn't want to deal with the hassles of fame and being in the public eye before then? Yes, that would make sense. Holly finished up her croissant and wiped her lips clean-sitting with one leg folded over the other, a neat purse tucked over her shoulder and excellent posture, Holly was regal yet humble. She was dressed nicely but not overwhelmingly so-one got the feeling she liked to look presentable but wasn't terribly concerned with being fashionable or getting the attention of boys (which, as a teenage girl, is normally fairly easy to obtain). In that there was almost something childish about Holly, a sort of disconnect with adulthood. Perhaps it was the idealism or just the general happy-go-lucky stance she took in regards to life's problems. "Well, Doctor, thank you again for the croissants. Very sweet of you." Holly returned Deborah's playful smile. "Definitely! I'll be back here tomorrow."

And yet Deborah seemed to be quieting down a bit. Hmm. That was peculiar. Not that Deborah was particularly chatty-Holly generally wasn't a fan of people who never shut up, she felt they'd do better to listen more and talk less-but she seemed more...mellow? Grounded? Holly, unlike the other two sitting at the table, had no experience reading people beyond sixteen years of life experiences and a friendship with Deborah. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something seemed up. Holly made a note to herself to gently ask Deborah about it later, keep an eye from afar to make sure all was well. Jago or Newt might've gotten into some sort of mischief. Holly had to repress a laugh, knowing it would be quite out of place in the conversation. Oh, the many stories she'd heard about Jago...

"Hm? Oh, I'm afraid I'm not interested in psychology, Doctor. Not as a major or anything. A fascinating subject, but I don't think it's for me." This was not entirely correct-Holly thought being a psychologist would be fascinating, but greatly doubted her ability to earn a Ph.D. as far as academics went. Beyond that, well, while Holly was certainly empathic and interested in helping people, she had a judgmental streak. She was at least aware of it, and attempted to keep it down, but psychologists must be impartial, and Holly was certainly not that. "But there's-" Holly stopped, blinking and looking around for the sudden noise. Oh! Deborah's phone! Holly's earlier suspicions were confirmed-curtly and with a look of worry briefly flashing across her face, Deborah got up and went off to take the call. Hm. Holly didn't attempt to sneak a glance at her phone-it was certainly Deborah's prerogative, her business, and yet still curiosity gnawed away at her as she turned back to continue speaking with Baron. A slight hint of apprehension crawled up Holly's spine. Well the Doctor was certainly very kind, it was a bit uneasy talking to a man so much older than her-a Ph.D, that was, what, at least 27? 28?-all alone. She quietly wondered when Deborah would be finished with her mystery call and return to finish the croissants. "But there...ah, I seem to have lost my train of thought. Hm. Don't suppose there's anything a psychologist can do about that, huh?"

Holly's anxiety was briefly alleviated by Deborah's return, and promptly intensified with her absence. "Oh. Well I do hope everything's alright, Deb. Let me know if you need anything!" What was going on? They'd hardly even gotten the chance to speak. Trouble with Jago, maybe. He was always getting in tussles with people. Holly admired his spirit if not his discretion. A pregnant pause followed Deborah's hurried absence, as she wasn't quite sure if Baron wanted to continue speaking with her or not. "Ah, I imagine it's something with her family. Very lively younger siblings. Always having run-ins with the police and NEST and whatnot." Holly sipped again from her hot chocolate and realized what she said-oh. Hm. She hadn't intended to gossip, but the anxiety over being left alone with the Doctor left her a bit rattled, her tongue spitting out words before her brain had time to consider them. "Ah. Um, Doctor Baron, please keep that between us. Not sure if Deborah wants her siblings'...abilities to be public knowledge." Holly cupped the mug with her hands, staring down at the marshmellow-infused goodness. Heh. The great irony, of course, was that Holly was asking Baron to keep the knowledge to himself when she herself was a meta. Well, she somewhat rejected that label. Holly didn't think anything she had was borne of science or genetics, but others would disagree. And that was okay, that was their right. They were wrong, but they had that right. "You understand, of course."

Shannon & Blathnat "Sugar" Balore.

---

Oh what is this? Oh, yes, Shannon the Wise River has attracted the attention of some boy. Yaaaaaay... What sort of entertainment shall he provide her with now? Well, naturally, she gave the boy a quick up-down to get the jist of his appearance. You know, to see if he was at least worth her time. She pulled one hand away from her crossed arms, then adjusted her glasses a bit. Not making any effort to hide that she wasn't looking at him - but let's all hope this buffoon doesn't think Shannon is checking him out, yes? Because everyone are so full of themselves, so caught up in their own egos that they can barely see the bigger picture. Other possibilities. Let's see... average height (As far as she could tell.), spiky hair - obviously a sign that he was apart of the rave community, because what other fool would have hair like that? Those were the most normal features, however. What caught her - and anyone with a brain's - eye was the obviously inhuman features. His claws, his eyes, his... obviously this man was a Meta-human, of the animal class. Which, at this point, knowing of so many Metas herself, did not interest Shannon at all. All she knew was that this guy was up here in her face and is annoying her. She sighed. Normally she would have walked away immediately, but since Blathnat was playing this game, she was pretty much stuck here. So, what to do, what to do... Oh, yes. Get rid of him. She didn't need to be blatant, all she needed to do was drop a hint or two, then he'll go away. Then again, that's optimistic, even for her.

In a world that showed her that pessimism is the way.

Normally, Blathnat didn't exactly display the most awareness, being eight and currently distracted, but she had a guardian overhead that did. Having no reason to falter and let anyone slip up. Sir Reginald was exactly behind Sugar, invisible to all but her who could see him in all his glory. He merely scanned Darren's thoughts and learned of his intentions. They weren't hostile, merely concerned with Shannon than anything. Nonetheless, Mistress Sugar had not noticed him, and it was his duty to keep her alert as possible. Sir Reginald simply sent her a brief message. Sugar had her eyes glued to the screen intently, her game of Pac-Man would not be interrupted. She was collecting the balls with the ghosts closing in, until Sir Reginald had telepathically urged her of Darren's presence and broke her flow a bit. The message had overroded all other thoughts, so it had thrown her off a bit. But that Sir Reginald, she was so glued to her game that she had ignored a guest! How nice of him. "Hi." She greeted Darren, turning her head towards him and giving him a smile that barred her braces. Before. Well, she is a Princess after all. She needed to address all of her subjects. Because that's what a nice princess does.

Nice, Blathnat choose to ignore him instead of making friends. What a nice little girl for a change. That makes her job easier. Her job is taking all courses so that she's left alone. Now how does she start? Perhaps a few sarcastic comments to low-blow him all the way to the other machine. "Oh boy," Shannon started off, flicking a strand of hair out of her face, before crossing her arms again. She kept her gaze dead-set on Darren, intent on getting rid of him. "Let me guess, you're about to bombard me with flirtatious remarks, yes? About how my fun just started now that you're here?" It made her smirk. She could already see him running off with his tail in between his legs.

Harmon Rottlage

---

---

“-lievable… how did this fucking happen?” Frank’s voice echoes, slowly becoming clearer and clearer.

The sounds begin to bleed back into Harmon’s ears as he awakens from his Frank-inflicted slumber. He raises his head from his seat, shaking it to force himself awake and alert. His mouth hangs agape as he attempts to find something, anything, to see through. He quickly remembers that he’s very much incapable of doing so. The nullifying collar was still latched tight around his neck. And he didn’t believe asking them to adjust it would turn out well.

“Honk ‘em!” Frank calls out, “Fucking honk ‘em, Jesus Christ Wills!” He reaches over and cuts in front of the driver, slamming the horn and yelling at the pool of traffic ahead of the truck to collectively move their asses and make way for NEST agents on official business. And he is met with an array of retaliatory honks and verbal retorts. He returns to his own seat, anger spread across his face instead of that usual, god-awful smile. It would seem road rage was one way of getting him to lose his cool.

“Sir?” The agent sitting across from Harmon calls out. Frank turns and peeks his eyes through the hatch between him and the driver. “What, what?” He calls out, still steaming a little. The agent motions towards Harmon, with Frank turning his gaze. And that smile quickly returns.

“Oh-ho-ho, hey buddy!” He calls out, “I’m sorry, did we wake up you up?” After Harmon returned no response, Frank continued, “Well, daddy and his friends are just stuck in a bit of traffic, don’t you worry. Go ahead and play with Jackson, maybe… I Spy? Nah, you ain’t got no windows, never mind.”

The traffic must have been a result of scores of people packing in for a parking spot so they could enjoy the Christmas Fair without worry of having to find one later. Seems they all had the same idea. The truck was wedged near the back of a group of cars, inching further and further as the front of the pack made their way across the intersection. Frank had attempted to pressure Wills into using the alarm to try and part a clearing, but he vied against it. Not that it would have helped much anyway, the roads were clogged to high hell.

“Fucking Christmas in Arcadia, right?” Frank says, motioning towards the traffic. So much for his favorite holiday. He turns his head to put one eye on Harmon and says to him, “Now hey, Harmon, when we get back to the Base, you’re gonna be on your best behavior, right? No screaming, no scribbling gibberish on the walls?”

No response. Harmon’s just sitting there, head hung low.

“C’mon, Rottlage, don’t be difficult. Talk to me!”

Still no response.

“Fine, fine.” Frank says, “See what I care when the Barber goes mowing your lawn again. A good once-over after we get our answers out of you, and we’ll toss you back in the Joslyn and- oh… oh, wait, I’m sorry!” He chuckles a bit. “I left your door open, didn’t I? Someone’s probably packing up all your shit and making bank at a Good Will somewhere, right as we speak!” He laughed a good bit, shaking his head. “Ah…” He says, “You’ll be fine, bud. You always make the best of a bad situation, right?”

Once again. No response.

“Oh, fuck you too, then. I give up.” Frank says half-heartedly, losing interest. He turned his head away and began sifting through his jacket’s pockets. “Which… one… is… ah-hah!” He pulled out an MP3 and unraveled the chord wrapped around it. “If we’re gonna be stuck here for a bit…” He said, plugging the chord into a port on the truck’s radio. “May as well play something good.” He fiddled with the radio for a bit before it began playing something only Frank seemed to like the sound of. Wills let out an audible groan. Jackson rolled his eyes. Frank began bobbing his head, unfazed by his fellow agents’ disapproval. And then he began mouthing the words as they chimed in.

’Cause the world might do me in
It’s alright ‘cause I’m with friends

He raised his hands, motioning towards Wills, peeking a glance at the two in the back of the truck. Friends probably wasn’t the right word though.

I’ve been feeling like a ghost
And it’s what I hate the most
Guess I’m givin’ up again, this time, this time…

He shook his head, left to right.

This time I might just disappear

Frank wasn’t going anywhere as long as Harmon was around to bully and torture. And if not Harmon, then some other poor meta-human. All that was for damn sure.

Try and hear me when I’m done
'Cause I might just say this once
Seen this play out in my dream, it doesn’t matter

He turned back to Harmon as the next set of lyrics sounded. Stared at him, dead focused. But Harmon didn’t match his gaze. The truck moved forward into the T-junction. This part of the song stuck out for him. Made him think about just how much he hated meta-humans in general. But Harmon? Harmon was a special case and the poor thing had forgotten why.

Time for givin’ up the ghost
Fuck, it’s you I hate the most
Baby there’s no guarantee, it doesn’t ma-

Halfway through the T-junction, a loud horn sounded from an incoming semi-tractor, seconds before it made brief and sudden impact with the truck.

…

…

…

Once again, Harmon slowly regains consciousness.

The light in the interior of the truck is flickering, barely able to stay lit. The wall which Harmon was seated against is caved inward, having pushed him to the floor of the containment unit. He let out a long, fear-induced breath as he slowly picked himself up off the floor. Then that familiar sound of static in his head showed up. He quickly brought his right hand up to his collar, feeling it. The metal was bent and pushing inward on his neck, but not enough to strangle him. It was damaged – not completely broken, but damaged. That would be enough, though. The static in his head pointed out all of the devices in containment room. The collar wouldn’t let him go beyond that in its state. There was a camera hung up in the corner, thankfully undamaged by the crash. He focused on it, and he saw himself. It was blurry.

The NEST agent that was with him. Jackson. He was slumped against the opposite wall, unconscious. Peering through the camera’s perspective, Harmon slowly made his way towards the agent and began feeling over his combat vest. He couldn’t pick out the details from too far away given the collar still doing some of its job, so he had to resort to physical contact. He was almost certain that agents carried around equipment he could use to see – PDAs were most likely all protected, but not…

Body cameras.

Harmon felt the lens of a body camera on Jackson’s collar and pried it from its clip. He fiddled with it for a second, turning it on, and then transferred his vision from one device to another. His face appeared on the lens, and he nodded in self-affirmation. He aimed the camera away as he slowly stood up and took another look around the containment unit. The doors were both slightly ajar but still being held together by the bar-lock. Harmon could probably figure out a way to open them but, first things first. He had to do something about the collar. He turned the opposite direction, focusing on the narrow sliding hatch through which he could see the front compartment of the truck. Frank and Wills were both still seated there, unconscious. The radio was silent. The hatch’s grate was loose from the impact, letting Harmon push it open with ease. He slipped his hand through the hatch and felt around Frank’s shoulder and torso. Nullifier collars had remotes to them that either shocked the victim or released them, and Harmon pushed his hand as far as he could to try and find Frank’s.

Until Frank began to snap back into consciousness and feel the spindly hand inching down his torso.

“Hey!” He called out, grabbing Harmon’s arm and pulling him against the front of the containment unit. Harmon let out a cry as he attempted to take his arm back. His entire body began to shift lightly, fading in and out of tangible reality, though it was weak due to the still partway-functional collar. But it was enough to escape Frank’s grip, at least. Harmon pulled his arm back, falling onto the floor of the containment unit. Frank took out his sidearm and peeked the barrel through the hatch, calling out, “You little fucker!”

He fired blindly. Several times. Harmon’s body continued to shift as rapidly as it could, as the bullets from Frank’s gun ricocheted through the interior of the truck and towards the door. And as luck would have it, the fifth one hit the bar lock. The doors swung open as Frank continued firing. Harmon made his move, without much thought of the bullets, and leapt out of the truck, still shifting some. “GET BACK HERE!” Frank called out madly, tossing his gun aside when the clip ran dry. He attempted to exit the truck but the passenger’s side was pinned in by the semi, and the driver’s was pressed up against a wire fence. He was stuck. He slammed his fists against the sides in a fit of anger, yelling.

Harmon had escaped into the streets. His vision was still blurry but he could see the cars up ahead, halted, observing what had occurred. Horns and alarms were rampant. The T-junction was blocked off by the semi, thankfully still upright. Harmon didn’t know where exactly he was, being unfamiliar with areas outside of the Dead End. Frank had said they were passing through Arcadia, though. Arcadia Heights. Harmon didn’t realize that running from a busted NEST truck looked bad from an onlooker’s point of view, but he wasn’t paying the idea any mind. He had to do something about the collar – damaged or no, it wasn’t going to make his life any easier. He was lost and frightened and he was running haphazardly in a random direction on the sidewalk. And he was probably leaving a trail in the snow that they could follow once they got out of the wreckage.

But he was getting away from Frank. And that was enough to push him further and further without even thinking to turn back.

"Oh boy," Shannon started off, flicking a strand of hair out of her face, before crossing her arms again. She kept her gaze dead-set on Darren, scary. "Let me guess, you're about to bombard me with flirtatious remarks, yes? About how my fun just started now that you're here?" It made her smirk. Cold, huh?

"Cold shoulder huh? Eh, privacy, I can respect that." Darren began. "Well, depends really, do you want flirtatious remarks? If so, I'm afraid you'll be extremely disappointed, hehe." Darren said. She seemed very fixated on getting rid of him so Darren felt like he would oblige. "Well then, if you really prefer your own company I'll be on my way." He said with a toothy smile, revealing his fangs, and a small bow. Before he could turn around and leave, Matt arrived with their drinks, two sodas and passed one to Matt.

"Thanks Matt, this is uhh..." He began to introduce Matt to the woman but he remembered she hadn't even given him a name. A small voice quickly drew his attention and momentarily distracted as he turned around to an eight year old girl, who had shortly greeted him before turning back to pac-man, "Hi there" Darren replied. She had braces... normal. Glasses... okay. Bright red hair, freckles... average ginger. Prosthetic leg... prosthetic leg? Eh, who was he to judge, this is Black Fall. He wouldn't bring it up at all, might be a trigger. He turned back to the woman. "Sister?" He asked politely. Probably isn't her daughter, the women seemed to be in her early 20's. However, Matthew was fixated on the girl as he wasn't used to seeing people who are... different. Hell, it took him a year to get used to Darren's claws, teeth and eyes, and Darren doesn't have a prosthetic leg to begin with. Darren hoped he noticed just n time and slightly elbowed Matthew to bring him back to the room.

"Hi there." Matthew shortly greeted, slightly embarrassed from his rudeness. This was going to be a long, long night- and not the type of long nights Darren prefers. "Anyways, you uh, going to the festival tonight?" Darren asked. He should probably refrain from asking questions, especially after he just said he would go, but then Matt arrived. Poor woman must be royally pissed off.

Baron Moreau

Baron nodded to Deborah in acknowledgement as she left the table to take her call. Her previous expression didn't escape his notice – an exclamation, as if reminded of a fact. She did not let on that she once knew and has forgotten since then, and on top of that, a meager laugh to pass that off as a casual misunderstanding. In most circumstances, there was less a laugh, and more likely an expression of positive exasperation. There wasn't much that was funny about not remembering, after all... which meant Deborah likely knew who he was before hand. Baron didn't let on that he was unconvinced – he allowed the appearance of being played into her hands and had engaged in soft laughter to join with her.

But now she was leaving – it was probably best not to ask questions. They did, after all, just meet. Literally. Baron nodded to Holly as, once again, an acknowledgement of her thanks and praise.

“Hm? Oh, I'm afraid I'm not interested in psychology, doctor.” Holly answered. Strange. That was quite a contrast to her previous statement. “Not as a major or anything. A fascinating subject, but I don't think it's for me.”

Ah, that explains it.

“Well now,” Baron started, “don't be afraid to explore subjects. Don't let fear or insecurity rule your decisions, nor the judgment of your friends or family. You don't want to waste half your life trying to please somebody else, do you? Most likely, they'll die, and then there you are: half your life left and with a job you don't even like.”

He took a moment to sip from his coffee. He looked back at Holly. “At the very least, look into it a little more just to see if it catches your fancy. Then, later, you can decide. You look very smart and sociable, so I bet you'd be a natural at it.”

By then, Deborah had finished her call and walked up to the table. “Heeeeeey you two.” Uh oh. That's not a typical notification. Was something up? Baron looked to her with a curious gaze, and, mingled in, suspicion. Not necessarily of her, but of whatever situation had arisen."I'm gonna have to step out, I have to go handle my business - but I'm sure we can meet up again at the fair, right?"

Holly didn't seem too concerned about whatever turned up, but she was probably less finely tuned to social nuances, even if the two of them were friends. Regardless, she seemed to have a grasp on what was happening: family. Siblings, actually. Young siblings. Likely energetic, ran into problems, hence the phone call. Why not contact the parents? Unless it was a parent that phoned her. But what was odd, was that it wasn't just a problem for the police, but NEST as well. Now, why would they be a problem for an organization with a specialization in handling meta-humans? Holly stopped for a moment, stunned as she caught her tongue. The suspicions were adding up.

Naturally, Holly was embarrassed by that blurt-out. It made sense – especially in a neighborhood in which metas appeared to be consistently prosecuted.

“Of course, my lips are sealed.” Baron agreed. “I have a question to ask, though. You are from around here, right? The meta-human condition... is it inherited? Passed down through bloodline? I've researched it myself a bit, and that theory seems to hold water, but it appears sporadic enough to give reason for doubt. ”

Ben and Claire Voss

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---

"I'm only letting you drive because you can't get road rage."

'And because you haven't driven in traffic in a long while and this a rental.'

"Please, as if that'd be the only reason. I am a strong, independent woma-"

'You would give someone the middle finger for not using a turn signal, Claire.'

The tall woman to his right made no audible response, instead she only huffed. Ben simply smiled as his eyes darted from her back to the road as the light turned green. They were visiting his wife's family from Christmas this year, rather than them come to him. Never before had Ben felt so powerless as he was in the air. He wondered if this was how Ziz or Pink felt on the ground. He shivered at the thought. He didn't exactly go flying much and didn't like close to the ocean. He wouldn't know. he felt he might've gotten the best deal out of the three, but he wasn't complaining. She had to drag him by the ear into the plan and over the trip he couldn't get any sleep. He was a nervous wreck the entire time and he still couldn't get an idea of why. Here in the city he still didn't exactly feel like the demigod he was, like he did in the country. He felt... average, like the usual citizen. In Texas there weren't nearly as many meta humans, and for the few that were in his area the NEST agents came to them. It was definitely an adventure getting the whole check out completed once they exited the airport by the NEST here in Pennsylvania. Claire had warned him that it was much tighter here because there were so many more metas, but he hadn't expected it to be that ti-

"Motherfucker is jaywalking!"

Ben, with a practiced hand, quickly locked the windows, and applied the child lock to the car as to keep his wife from screaming at the random citizen who happened to really be doing nothing wrong. He winced as he heard her harshly pull against the door handle of the car. He didn't dare look over at her otherwise she'd know he did it on purpose and the car didn't lock the doors automatically once it hit twenty miles an hour, or worse, thought that he knew how to unlocking rolling the windows. Claire, growled and sat back in her chair, her arms crossed tightly across her chest and her back hunched slightly. She breathed heavily for a moment before letting out a loud groan. "Ugh! Pull over. I need a coffee." she said. Ben had known her long enough to recognized the barely masked venom in her tone, and applied his turn signal, moving over to the passing lane and taking a left at the next light, ending up at "The Mean Bean Machine" which would give him the idea of a ghetto Mexican restaurant if it weren't for the fact that it had a huge coffee mug full of coffee as it's signature. He parked the rented Volkswagen Passat like the pro farmer he was, and stepped out of the car, walking around the side to open the door for Claire, who was already midway opening it herself. Her eyes were a mixture of confusion and gratitude. She never seemed to get over the fact that he would always insist on opening the door for her when she exited and entered a car, and would always pull a chair out for her and push it in, always opening doors to let her go in first. The reason Ben did that last one was so that he could get a solid look at her rear (he thinks she doesn't know this). She smiled to him, and stepped out. In her current shoes she stood tall. She carried herself like she was just as big as her gigantic husband was. Ben on the other hand, he was relaxed in his blue jeans, white tank top, and brown leather jacket. He didn't need to carry himself as any bigger than he was, although
he was certain he could if he wanted to.

Claire stepped in first, followed closely by Ben. The waitress at the ordering table was taken aback by such tall customers. Most women she served never reaching more than 5'8, and the tallest man standing at a respectable 6'5. This couple topped them both. By four, and five inches respectably. And how the looked, my, they were much different from the common city folk she saw on a regular basis. The man was huge, wearing his worn jeans, brown work boots, plain white shirt, and dark brown leather jacket. He had a rugged look to him, with a wild facial hair look to him that formed into a Tony Stark like Goatee. Despite the semi-modest clothing for Christmas time in this part of the country, she could feel the warmth radiating off of him. His sheer size gave her would've given her a chill, if it weren't for the jolly red nose, warm eyes, and nice grin that adjourned his face. The woman was much more intimidating, but in a different way. Much like the man, she was very tall, and also like the man, she wasn't tall in a bean-stalk way. They looked like they were in very good physical health and were just... larger people in general. She had deep black hair and piercing green eyes that seemed to stare her down. Very light freckling bridged her nose. She also had a symmetrical face, and had very vague hints of asian heredity. She wore a lighter brown Annie Klein leather jacket, had black leggings, and some brown mountain trip Faux fur boots. "H-hello, welcome to the Mean Bean Machine," she said, "P-please come with me." she said, taking them over to a table. Ben and Claire didn't require any further instruction, and took a seat as the barista turned to look at Ben. "Can I take your order?" she asked, putting on a friendly smile in an attempt to not seem slightly intimidated by the duo. Ben's eyes darted over to Claire, and their eyes met for a single second.

'...Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelp...'

"He's mute." Claire said quickly, waving it off. "He'll just have a water, if that's okay." she said for him, winking to Ben. "And for you?" the waitress asked, continuing the order. "I'll just have a Mocha, if that's alright." she said. The waitress nodded and hurried off a little too quickly. "What was her problem?" Claire mumbled, to which Ben shrugged, too busy drawing with crayons on his napkin to pay that much mind to it. He normally preferred to make his own coffee if he had it with coffee beans he grew himself, but he didn't exactly have the proper ingredients and tools necessary to make some for his wife himself like he normally could. That and Pink wasn't here to boil water for him, so he'd have to figure out how to effectively use a coffee maker. He briefly wondered what the girl was doing back in Texas. Hopefully not killing his Chickens. It'd be on like Donkey Kong if that were the case. Claire watched Ben for a moment, before standing up. "I'm gonna go socialize a bit, see if there's anything interesting going on. I'm sure you dont want to spend another night playing Apples to Apples with my parents." She said, giving Ben a shit eating smirk. Ben shivered. Her parents made everything a sex joke. The green card was 'Easy', and what does her mom do with her blank card? She makes it 'the girl behind the dumpster'.

There wasn't a word in the english dictionary that could properly describe how accosted he was, and how hard Claire had laughed at his expression.

"Just come get me when it's here." She said, giving him a small smile before standing up and walking off. She ended up over by the door going through a pamphlet on the locations in Black Fall, where to visit, what to sight see, etc. However, her attention was drawn away when a couple to her left began talking about the meta human condition. Something she was knowledgeable in that wasn't Botany!

"Sorry to interrupt and listen into your conversation," Claire said, taking a step closer to Baron and Holly. "But I couldn't help but overhear that last bit, about how you'd conceive 'the meta human condition'," she said, "I, uh, I'm a meta human myself, so I might be able to shed a little light." She said. "Basically it can be inherited, I think there are a few bloodlines around that have a reoccurring pattern like..." she said, trailing off and thinking about the research Ben and herself did as a couple when she was diagnosed. "... Like the Blackmore family!" she said finally, "Usually it's sporadic and you're born with it, like my husband, and more often then not it manifests itself in the early teen years, but for some it can can be conceived through excess interaction and exposure to meta human energy. It's how I developed my ability." she said. "When I was diagnosed by a NEST agent, my husband and I did a lot of research on that kind of thing on why I suddenly had to be put on NEST monitor duty now instead of much earlier in my life." she said. She snapped her fingers. "Oh, I'm Claire by the way. And you two are?"

Ben looked over momentarily at Claire as to keep track of where she was so he wasn't aimlessly walking around with her drink like an idiot, and saw her speaking to another tall, dark haired, green eyed man, and another, much younger woman, average height and blonde haired. She was conservatively dressed, but she wasn't what got his initial attention. It was the fact that there was a male and female version of Claire at one table and he did not think that he had traveled interdimensionally through one of Claire's portals and come out in some alternate, gender-bent dimension. He shook his head furiously and returned his shakey attention to the napkin and crayons and continued to draw with a shakey and sweaty hand. If he ignored the problem it would go away, at least until Claire's coffee got here.

Lenny sipped the remainder of his coffee, before tossing it into the plastic blue trash bin he had been leaning on. As usual, the arcade was buzzing with life. To his left, there were two younger boys playing a Jurassic Park game nearly as old as Lenny, rapidly firing at dinosaurs with plastic rifles. Further, there was a couple laughing wildly as they played a game of DDR, missing most of the arrows on the screen. There were youths of all ages at concession stands, air hockey, and plastic motorbikes of driving games.

Closest to him, two girls were playing Tekken, both fighting with the bear characters. He had offered to take the winner ten minutes ago, but they had played round after round, and didn't plan on sharing their game with some creepy ginger.

There was a new game near the corner that Lenny had been watching. At a steep five-dollars-a-life fee, players would swing a sword attached by a cord at the hilt, and fight waves of ninjas. Like the others, it had a two player option for taking turns.

Why are all of these for two people? Lenny thought to himself. Truth be told, he had been watching the others play for a half hour, secretly waiting for someone to announce something like "Hey, I need another player for this." Unfortunately for him, he was probably the only person at the arcade who came alone. He didn't have any money, but he had an 'Eezee-Pass', a card that could be exchanged for tokens, which could be swiped at a game instead of money.

Lenny grunted, and made his way out of the arcade, putting his gloves and hat back on. He winced at the cold wind for a moment, before burying most of his face in the neck of his jacket, and advancing through the cold.

Lenny would pull his phone out of his pocket every few minutes, checking to see if the girl from the coffee shop had texted him. He didn't know the first thing about being an electrician, but figured having energy-based powers would be enough. Appliances, on the other hand, he was fairly skilled with. Mostly computers, which Lenny spent most of his time on, but he knew his way around a phone too.

His phone vibrated, and Lenny's hand shot into his pocket.

sup fggt

God damn it. Creed. Before he could respond, Creed messaged him again.

iron eagles meeting ovr. pick u up were at?

Lenny texted him back quickly, still unsure if he'd be wandering the city for longer.

I'lll walk home today

His train of thought was interrupted by a loud crash. It took a second for it all to register to Lenny, as he wasn't exactly used to processing all the information of a car crash in an instant. There were blaring alarms in the distance, but all too soon for it to be an ambulance. The only cars he knew that carried alarms were used by cops, or NEST.

He took off running, following the few others who went to go see the commotion. He turned a corner blindly, with great leaping bounds. His skinny frame might not've helped him attract girls, but he would've made a great track runner. Sprinting down the block, he eventually turned the corner once more to see the scene of the crash.

There was a NEST truck nearly embedded in the railing of a wire fence. A few people had already gotten out of their cars, when he began to hear gunshots. The doors flung open, and a figure leapt out. It was too far for Lenny to see him clearly, but he could make out a few things. Mostly that he was paler than Lenny, wearing a dark grubby hoodie. Was it some crazed junkie? Lenny's thoughts raced as he caught his breath, watching the hooded figure make a beeline for the nearby trees.

Lenny took off after him. It was partially from his superhero-fueled imagination being populated by figures like Flash Gordon and Aragorn, and partially out of a blind curiosity. He wanted to see what this metahuman was running from, or to.

Lenny quickly reached the forest, chasing after the hooded figure. He was fast, but seemed sluggish, and clawed at his neck while he ran. Lenny was quickly running out of breath, but he seemed to have an advantage -- The person he was chasing didn't seem to have a good sense of direction.

He would trip over a root or stone every once in a while, making him stagger a bit before continuing to run. He wasn't exactly making a straight line, either. He looked around wildly, frequently making nearly random turns. But he didn't seem to know Lenny was chasing him. Perhaps he was too far, and perhaps the figure couldn't hear his steps over his own wheezing. Even Lenny could hear it from the distance.

Eventually, the hooded figure stopped, pausing at a clearing in the forest. He dropped to one knee, lowering his hood. If Lenny could've seen his face, he would've stopped. He was a ghostly white, with small pieces of metal jutting awkwardly from all around his head. He clawed at his neck, desperately wrenching at what seemed like a collar.

Maybe he's a test subject. Lenny thought to himself. However, by the time that question had been formed in his mind, he had reached the boy. Lenny was panting, out of breath, but not loud enough to be noticed, as the boy seemed fairly distracted already.

"Hey." Lenny said, still gasping for air. "What, who... What happened?" He said to the back of the boy's head, still not having seen the boy turn around.

The figure slowly began to turn his head. Lenny grew an apprehensive scowl on his face as he noticed the lack of ears... or eyes... or a nose. But there were nostrils and cracked lips, both caked in dried blood. Once the figure's 'face' was in full view, he let out a weak yelp and shot his arms up, covering his metal-encrusted head and buckling his knees to the forest floor.

Lenny staggered back for a moment, instinctively raising his hands up to fire a bolt of energy through the monster's chest. Before he could, the "monster" covered his face, collapsing to the ground. Lenny wasn't entirely sure what to do. Here he stood, in the middle of the forest with what looked like a horror story wrapped in skin, nearly sitting coiled in the fetal position. Lenny's hands were glowing with a faint blue light, which he had harnessed from the arcade. He could've killed the monster, and ran away scot-free. Instead, the glowing stopped.

"What happened to you?" He asked, lowering his hands.

The figure slowly raised his head, looking at Lenny's hands. His mouth hung open a little as he gazed at the faint light they were producing. It was at the moment that Lenny noticed the camera-like device clipped to the side of the figure's hoodie, which he used on of his hands to aim up at Lenny. In nary a sudden moment, the figure unclipped the camera, aiming it straight at Lenny. He slowly inched it closer to him, and his mouth began to stutter.

"Ch-... charge."

Lenny stared at him for a moment. Charge? Was he about to charge Lenny? No, he was laying on the ground, practically crying. Or, at least he would've been, if he had eyes.

"What?" Lenny said, looking nearly as dumbfounded as the figure in front of him.

The figure held the body camera closer to Lenny and shook his head a bit, his skin distorting into wisps of fading ripples for a moment. He pushed the device to Lenny's chest insistingly.

"͟C̕H͜A̡R҉GE.͜"

Lenny was startled by his shouting being as loud as it was, coming from such a frail-looking thing. He meant for Lenny to charge the battery. Lenny tilted his head, still perplexed.
"How did you... How did you know that?" He stared at the figure, unsure as to whether or not he was a metahuman or an alien.

The figure's head stopped its quasi-spatial contorting. He slowly retracted the body camera with a look of despair and said, "H-... hands... hands, see, hands... charge... need..."

Lenny raised his eyebrows, nodding. He approached him slowly, as he would've approached a stray dog. He took the camera in his hand, and squeezed. There was a flash of blue light shining through the spaces between his knuckles, and an electric Zzzt.
"There you go. Good as new."

The figure looked down at the body camera like it was his own child. He let out a few gasps of what seemed like relief and comfort. He aimed the body camera at Lenny once again and said, "Need... need, to see... sorry... sorry..."

"You see... Through a camera?" Lenny nodded, trying to fully understand the situation.

"Why'd you run outta that truck?" He said, still not sure if he should step closer to the pale creature in front of him. He could be a violent criminal, for all he knew.

The figure stuttered again, raising one hand to his face. "F-... Frank, Saint... Saint Frank... NEST... bad... bad..." He slowly lowered his hand and continued, "Run... run... only way... safe..."

Lenny crouched down to his level, and pointed at himself. "Lenny." he slowly pointed to the boy in front of him, with a raised eyebrow. "You have a name?" He wasn't sure whether to talk to him like Tarzan or not, but his new friend didn't seem very linguistic.

The figure paused for a moment. He shook his head a little bit before he started sputtering, "H-h-... Har... Hhhhharmon... Rott... Rott... R͞O͝TT̛L̶AǴE͝..." There was a bit of another distortion to his surname that quickly subsided. "Harmon... Rottlage..." He repeated, calm.

"Harmon Rottlage." Lenny repeated. He stood up, pulling Harmon up by the arm. He was almost impossibly light.

"C-collar... off, need... off..." Harmon said, poking at the NEST nullifying collar clamped around his neck.

Lenny nodded. He was only vaguely aware of what was going on, but his knowledge of E.T and Alf made him fairly biased in Harmon's favor. He didn't know much about NEST, but he knew that they kept metahumans in check. It didn't tell him much about Harmon, but it answered his guessing as to Harmon's species. The thing in front of him was... Human.

At the very least, he was definitely a metahuman. Like Lenny. He pieced the information in his head. Harmon's appearance, running, cowering, the collar... Maybe he was a test subject.

"C'mon Harmon. Let's get you back to my house."

"House... house..."

Karlie Davis

If Karlie had work today she would have called in sick, skipped, whatever. It wasn't everyday there was a festival and she was just bursting at the seams with excitement. Even if it didn't start till the evening. From her perspective she had fortunately slept half the day away so there would be less waiting. It was past noon and only now did she pull herself out of her sleeping bag. There should have been room for a cot in the back of her van, but she had a massive wardrobe and a small grow OP to contend with. Those took precedence. Not to mention her Kawasaki Ninja which needed protection from the elements and potential thieves.

She stood up groggily making sure to steer clear of the heat lamp. Something she had learned the hard way on numerous occasions. As she began to pack away her bedding she noticed that last nights pizza box was sticking to her bag. With an amused look on her face she detached the cheesy anchor and haphazardly tossed her bed roll in the corner along with the rest of her dirty linens. She crossed her arms and squinted at the pile for a moment. No matter how hard she tried she could never make enough trips to the laundromat. Thankfully she had time to kill so she stuffed all of it into a worn cotton sack to bring along.

Now was time for the most important decision of all. What to wear. For her the choices were near endless, however the proceedings that evening helped her narrow things down. In one hand she held a Santa outfit, and the other elf costume. “Hmmm” she thought out loud. There was sure to be plenty of both of those (or so she hoped), what did she have? Both articles dropped to the ground as the answer came to her. After a little bit of rummaging she produced a reindeer antler head band and a brown velvet dress with matching stockings. Even better was that they’d go well with her favorite winter boots. Probably because unlike the other shoes she’d been wearing around these ones these ones were actually meant for the snow and kept her feet warm and dry. Though she’d never admit it, because for Karlie it was form over function and not the other way around.

She patted the seat of her motorbike affectionately as if to promise her return before grabbing her laundry and shutting the back of the van behind her. It was painted a swath of colors from the rainbow and covered with peace signs, butterflies, flowers, hearts, and all that jazz. Not her handiwork, but she sincerely wished it was. The original owner was one hell of an artist and it was perfect to her in every way. Karlie had it tucked away in an alley since it stuck out like a sore thumb. As much as she loved putting it up on display there were always jerkasses about who might consider breaking in. A shame since her her mind nobody should even have to lock their cars to know that their stuff is safe. Why was the world so full of bad people she often wondered. Couldn't everyone just get along?

Proper footwear and the reindeer within her made easy work of trudging through the snow. All the while she couldn't help but think that something was missing. She rubbed her now rosy nose hoping the friction would warm it up a little. That was it! The cord on her last round red nose had snapped. This warranted a trip to the dollar store. They might even have the ones that just stay on! Karlie thought gleefully. Only problem was she still hadn't gotten the lay of the land. In fact she didn't know where the festival was going to be held, nor where the nearest laundromat or dollar store was. The one she had been using prior was on the other side of the city. “Guess that’s what I get for moving around so much…” she mumbled to herself unperturbed. Things like this happened a lot to her and she just rolled with them.

Karlie saw a woman up ahead and picked up the pace. Short, not unlike herself, and most likely of Hispanic decent. From a distance she could already pick out several piercings and facial scars. Overall she had a rough and tumble vibe about her and had a bag in tote. “Hey!” she called out hoping to grab her attention. Once she was within conversation range she stopped and finished. “You wouldn't happen to know where the laundromat or dollar store is? Would you?” Karlie tilted her head to the side a little and shuffled back and forth hopefully, or perhaps like she had to urinate. It was all in the eyes of the onlookers, and she didn't care in the slightest.

“There’s also this festival thingy going on later, and I don’t know where that is either…” Now her bag of clothes which she had slung over her shoulder was also swinging to and fro. Karlie stopped herself before gave the impression of being too hyperactive and drove the other party off. That or she clocked a passerby. Neither outcome was desirable. However, even holding still she appeared quite anxious.

“Oh yeah, I’m Karlie. It’s nice to meetcha!”

It was rare that she got time to play with the children at the arcade, but Maki was happily slicing up ninjas with her superhuman reflexes and agility. Some called it cheating, but Maki wasn't going easy on her opponents. The only thing that prevented her from placing wagers against challengers was the fact that the owner would probably kick her out for gambling in his establishment.

Just as she broke the high score and cleared the game level, though, a loud crash from outside got the attention of most of the patrons. Most returned to their games, not keen on finding out what the hell was going on. They probably dismissed it as a car accident or something and it would be taken care of by the appropriate authorities soon enough. Maki, however, headed outside. Her gut instinct was telling her something was going on, and she learnt to trust it. A NEST van had crashed into a chain link fence, and someone was chasing after something. "Fuck me." Maki cursed under her breath, drawing a disapproving glare from a mother who had her child beside her. The Japanese girl shrugged in apology and headed over to the van.

It was stupid, because for a meta-human like her, getting near a bunch of injured NEST agents was a very good way to get arrested for a misunderstanding. Still, she had to make sure there was nothing she could do to help them. "Eh, they'll live." She mused, noticing some people were already dialing emergency numbers. Good, it meant she could deal with the real problem - the escapee. She took off after the pair of men who had disappeared into the woods, their footprints in the snow making it easy for her to find them.

She didn't bother running straight after them, but instead took care to navigate carefully through the trees and branches where she could. No point leaving tracks if she didn't need to - NEST agents were notorious for hunting anyone near one of their own "subjects". She was sitting on a low hanging branch, just close enough to overhear the exchange with her hearing but far enough to avoid detection. It seemed like the collared one was having difficulty, while the other seemed like a Good Samaritan type. Well, she knew they weren't familiar with each other and she could tell they weren't accomplices who helped each other escaped or something like that.

NEST was a necessary evil. They weren't exactly friendly to meta-humans, but Maki knew they existed to keep the worst of her kind from endangering innocent lives. After all, a lone gunman had nothing on a walking flamethrower, or someone who could make anything a bomb with a touch. It didn't seem like the two men she was observing were in that category, and the one with the collar seemed like a classic example of creepy science test subject. So, it was her turn to make a decision. Did she want to risk pissing off NEST on the off-chance pale face wasn't a crazy serial killer, or help her own kind for once?

Flip a coin? Eeny meenie miney moe? Maki considered how best to decide before sighing and dropping to the ground. She teleported herself over next to the two of them. Better they be the ones getting surprised than her. "Need some help?" She asked, raising an eyebrow now that she could get a better look at the pair of them. "NEST usually doesn't delay when one of their trucks gets wrecked. We should hurry and get that collar off before they come looking."

"Hey Ringmaster! Don't forget the breadsticks tonight 'aight?"

Ah yes, Achille thought to himself as he finished wrapping the thick woolen scarf around his neck, the call of the wild co-worker being treated to free food. Some weeks I fear I might forget it's sweet, sweet sound. Internalized sarcasm aside, Achille didn't mind the ribbing he was getting from everyone at the Black Fall Big Top that afternoon, having lost fair and square against his fellow acrobat Jessica not two hours earlier in the final act of last show of the day. Normally the Big Top had two shows in a single day, one before the afternoon and one in the evening, the evening show being significantly smaller and more catered to an older audience that would fully appreciate the belly dancers, knife throwers, and lack of clowns. Tonight however the show had been cancelled to allow for some of the performers to lend their crafts to the Christmas Fair. Achille had not, much to his secret joy, been one of those asked to do so. Instead he was in charge of purchasing dinner for the entire troupe, a task he was looking forward to. It was difficult for Achille to be unhappy about anything where good food was involved.

Slipping on his dress coat, Achille gave the list on his phone one final reading before heading out.

• 12 extra large pizzas - 'get whatever just no bacon'


• Six bread bowl soups- half clam chowder half chicken noodle


• Three pitchers of beer, one bottle of vodka, one jug of mead


• Three 'Everything and Then Some' orders from 'Wok the Wok' down in Chinatown.


• 'The hottest goddamn peppers you can find I'm going to get Marcus this week I swear to god man'

That last item was a bit of a special request straight from one of the elephant handlers, a small balding man with glasses who went by George. He and one of the other handlers had been locked in a sort of not-so-cold Cold War where they would attempt to one up the other by means of ever escalating practical jokes and pranks. It was all in good fun of course and the elephants didn't seem to mind being dragged into the friendly conflict now and then either so that was a bonus. Achille added in a quick note about asking for a ghost pepper at a few stores before locking the phone and slipping it into his coat pocket.

It was only around eleven when Achille exited the Big Top into the sprawling parking lot that lay beyond, the snow that had lain thick and heavy across the blacktop that morning now thankfully cast aside into huge mounds of white crystal that would have shimmered had the sun been out in its full glory. Achille made his way to his car as quickly as he could, swearing softly as he fumbled for his keys in the brisk winter air. Despite his enjoyment of snow and wet weather in general, Achille's body was possessed of a rather poor tolerance for the cold which made even the slightest breezes shiver inducing. Finally locating his keys and mashing the unlock button, Achille threw open the door to his car, a 2016 model BMW G11 sedan that his grandfather Ermes had purchased for him a few months earlier on his birthday to celebrate his work at the Big Top. It was a nice car even if the mileage wasn't the greatest, with plenty of head and legroom for someone his size thanks to the adjustable seating and telescoping steering wheel. It also heated up fast which was all that Achille cared about as he practically dove inside, pulling the door shut behind him as he turned the key in the ignition and cranked the heat all the way up.

With the air inside the vehicle quickly warming up and a list of orders to make, Achille wasted no time in pulling out of the parking lot and onto the street that would take him to his first stop at the closest bakery, a small place owned by an older couple originally from Tuscany that he had taken to visiting every week due to their wide and delicious selection of breads and their skill with a stone brick pizza oven. Making sure to call ahead, Achille was met at the door by the owner and his wife, Sebastian and Simone. Simone was a diminutive woman of around fifty two who had a kind, motherly face that drew in customers almost as well as the aroma of the couples handiwork. Her husband, by contrast, was burdened with a face that seemed to always be locked in an expression of extreme boredom or mild constipation. Sebastian had never spoken a word in Achille's presence, possibly because his wife never left room for him to add to any conversation. Achille was well prepared for the verbal tango she would spring on him before he even stepped through the front door.

"Achille! My poor skinny boy!" Simone's usual greeting to him. She seemed to think anyone under the age of thirty should be as chunky as a two month old infant. "Tell me, what has you calling us in such a hurry today? A hot date maybe? Come to buy a bouquet of baguettes for a lucky someone?" Achille shook his head and grinned.

"Afraid not. Do have a big order for you though if you're up for it." Simone held out her hand as Achille offered his phone to her, the list blown up on the screen. Giving it only a passing glance she turned it over to her husband who raised an eyebrow, grunted, then walked off towards the kitchen after tossing it back. Achille had been at the bakery enough to know that Sebastian had given his approval. Now all he had to do was extract himself before-

"You know Achille," Simone suddenly crooned at his side, her arm interlocked with his own. Achille sometimes forgot that Simone was a meta-human herself, she and her husband both sharing varying degrees of speed acceleration that made managing an order as large as his quite easy. It also made trapping young bachelors like himself a joke. "I have the most beautiful granddaughter. She is the tesoro of Tuscany I always say. She's a quiet little thing, soft on the eyes and on the ears; a perfect wife one might imagine. If, of course, she met the right young man...?"

"Simone you know I'm not ready for that kind of thing." Achille chuckled nervously, a slight flush reddening his cheeks. She always did this to him. "Besides, isn't she dating that chef down at the Rising Sun?" Simone made a face and waved her hand dismissively.

"That good for nothing? He tried to tell her to use her powers for food delivery. Can you believe that? No man worthy of being my granddaughter's husband would let his wife to be run about in this dangerous town delivering greasy gutter food."

"And the sous chef you were talking about last wee-"

"He moved to France with one of the waiter boys."

"Did he? Well I guess that will happen when you meet the right one, ey? But listen, Simone, I've really got to get going." With a bit of awkward twisting and what felt like momentarily dislocating his shoulder Achille managed to free his arm from the matchmaker's death grip. "I'll be back around six for the food if that's alright. As long as they're warm I don't think the troupe will care when you make them." Knowing she had failed to catch her quarry yet again Simone blew a small raspberry before crossing her arms and huffing.

"You never bring in any girls with you. Or boys." she said crossly, clearly having hoped for a bit more time to grill him, "What am I supposed to tell the other mothers at poker night?" Achille laughed and shot her another smile as he prepared to brave the windy wastes once more.

"Tell them that if they want their kids or grandkids to get a look at me that we're always selling tickets at the Big Top." He ducked out of the store before she could brain him with a loaf of pretzel bread.

Things went significantly smoother after escaping Simone, the traffic on the street moving at a surprisingly acceptable rate given the preparations and rerouting the Fair was causing. It took twenty minutes to arrive in Chinatown and not even a quarter of that to place his order with the bright eyed young boy sitting behind the desk at the entrance, 'Wok the Wok' being another family owned business that Achille liked to frequent both for its food and it's people. Despite asking numerous times Achille had yet to get the boy's name out of him. Around the 'Wok' he was referred to simply as 'boy' or 'you'. Either way, the boy was a frequent attendee to his shows down at the Big Top so he always lit up like a christmas tree whenever Achille walked in to order. He even managed to talk to one of the shop owners in the 'town about acquiring some hotter than usual peppers (after informing him several times that, no, he would not like to purchase a bear cub).

With a bag of strangely shaped peppers on his terminal and quite a few hours to kill before he would have to pick up the food, Achille drove back to Arcadia heights, placing a pickup order at the liquor store for later that night on the way and arriving shortly after the digital clock on his dashboard hit 12:00 PM. A detour along the way took Achille down a street he'd been on numerous times, though he'd only been in several of the establishments that it boasted. One of the ones he recalled never having entered caught his eye, a large building that strongly resembled some of the old theaters Achille had seen in movies and shows before. The neon sign brightly proclaimed the eye catching structure as being the 'ARCADE BLUES'. Achille had heard quite a lot about the place from his co-workers and his sister, though he always seemed to forget about it whenever he had free time to explore the city.

Well, he thought to himself as he started to look for a decent parking spot nearby, I've got the time now so why the hell not. After several more minutes of searching Achille managed to find a spot, slipping the sedan neatly into the open space and hiding the peppers away in a small cooler he kept in the back seat for occasions such as this before exiting the vehicle and making his way across the street to the storefront. If the exterior of the Arcade was interesting then the interior was doubly so. Rows upon rows of neatly lines cabinets housing arcade games of all sorts and seemingly from any time frame. Achille recognized a few of the titles like Pac-Man and Galaga but the rest were foreign to him.. Needless to say his interest was piqued. He also had no clue how anything worked in an arcade. Content to just watch for now, Achille wandered the aisles for a time, occasionally watching others mash away at the buttons and joysticks before moving further into the store.

Turning a corner sharply he nearly bowled over a small red headed child, pulling himself to an abrupt halt before he could so much as bump into her thankfully. She appeared to be playing Pac-Man, at least for the moment. Figuring he could use the situation to his advantage, Achille adjusted his scarf and gave the girl a courteous smile.

"Oh! Sorry about that little miss. Nearly flattened you there. Say, would you happen to know how I go about actually... playing anything here?" He rubbed the back of his neck as his smile turned sheepish. "Never been to an arcade before I'm afraid."

Shannon, & Blathnat "Sugar" Balore.

---

Ugh, great. Just great. Shannon felt the irritation boil inside of her. Of course his friend had to walk up and start annoying her too. They do flock together after all. It appears that people who don't know how to take a hint love each other. Shannon didn't need to be reminded of that, her lips were tightly pressed together the whole time Darren and Matt tried to talk her up. What were they aiming for, trying to get her in their beds? Never gonna happen. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I was direct enough for you...." Shannon started off as she put one foot forward and got off the arcade machine. Her glasses slid down her nose a bit and a quick hand pushed it back up by the side. The next thing she did with her arms was cross them over her chest. "I'm not here to find a date. I'm not here to have "fun"-" She stopped to finger-quote fun. "-Last but not least, I'm not here to talk to you." She took some steps back towards the arcade machine that she was leaning up against, and pressed one of her boots to it. Crossing her arms and her head wandering off to the side, dismissively. "Oh, you're still here? I thought I made it clear I'd like to be left alone." She quietly sighed. Looks like being direct was just the way to do it. Darren and Matt walked away from Shannon without a word, and she made sure the silence was mutual. By the time they were out of sight, Shannon sighed again and continued waiting for time to pass. She looked over her shoulder... Sugar seems to be enjoying herself, to say the least. Likely ignored the entire exchange with those two men. Which is great, whatever kept Blathnat calm and free of stress as possible ever since the accident. She took her eyes off her little sister momentarily, and directed her gaze forward.

... Before a piercing, "Hey!" reverted her attention back to her younger sister.

Princess Sugar had lost. Defeated. The gameover screen appear the second the blue ghost came in contact with Pacman. She felt her muscles tense as she raised her little fists and slam them on the dashboard. This game cheated! A Princess! That's like a, really, really serious crime. But can she throw the game in the dungeon? Well, Sugar looked around the room, then back to the arcade machine. That'd be silly, actually, she's simply a princess, not strong enough. But Sir Reginald - just sent her another psychic warning. A mental image of a man, tall, wearing rather rugged attire, coming towards her, appeared in her minds eye. Her head quickly darted over towards the man, as if she was predicting him. "Hey!" She screeched as the man bumped into her, her hands locked onto the arcade machine's face and held her down - but her glasses had fallen off onto the floor. Sir Reginald had her thanks, she was at least prepared for it, even if it was a split second. However, not having her glasses presented a big problem to her. She couldn't see things too well that weren't right in front of her face. Ignoring the big man before her, she hopped down from the stool, giving him a brief, "It's okay, mister - but one second I need to get my glasses." She looked around at the floor for those glasses for her. Ready to get Sir Reginald to get to action, when someone presented her round red glasses right in front of her face.

Of course, this man has to take the place of those other two fools. Just fantastic. She thought this was her lucky day. She put her hand on her hip and asked the man, calmly, but the venom in her voice was apparent "Hey! Can you watch where you're going?" She crossed her arms, and shifted her weight to one hip. The bastard knocked Blathnat's glasses off. She threw her head back and loudly groaned. Well, it's a good thing that she's here, at least. Shannon got off the arcade machine, knelt down, and picked it up. Before taking a step forward. "Sugar." Shannon had presented them to her, right in her face so she could see it just fine. The child snatched them and slid them up to her eyes, the arms latching onto her ears. She nodded her head in gratitude, and turned back towards the man.

Whoa, he's tall. A few heads taller than Sugar, so she had to look up at him. She made sure her lips were held tightly together, and her cheeks were full and round, eyes wide. He looked like the rogue in her stories - she got that impression from his outfit - the lovable thief that works with the heroes and changes his way because of how nice the Princess way! But he was one of the adults... they were never fun to have adventures with. Unfortunately, in her haste to get her glasses, she completely missed what the man had said to her (Other than his apology, which she had simply assumed he said - that's just courtesy!). "What'd yo-"

"Oh! Sorry about that little miss. Nearly flattened you there. Say, would you happen to know how I go about actually... playing anything here?Never been to an arcade before I'm afraid."

Again, Sir Reginald had helped her in the small ways by transmitting what the man had said into her mind's eye. Which made her stop her sentence, and immediately respond with, "Oooooh, I can help you, Mister." This man is simply another citizen in her kingdom, and he came straight to her for aid! How nice, people have heard of their ruler and have come to her for help. How exciting! Well, she was going to do what any responsible leader would and give it her all. "Oh, you see this?" She pointed at the coin slot, not breaking eyecontact with him. "You put a few quarters in here, then you can play the game - unless you lose, then you have to put some more in there." She reached into the pocket of her dress, meekly saying "Watch!" but she just couldn't find the coins for it. Oh! That's right, Shannon has them. She took a step back and grabbed onto the hem of Shannon's dress. "Can I have some more coins?" She looked up at Shannon with wide eyes. "Pleeeease, I wanna shooow him..."

Oh boy. Not only is Sugar entertaining this man, but now she's asking for coins. Well, at least, she said please. Shannon sighed loudly in defeat, "Oh, alright." She dug into her purse and pulled out the coins, stacked neatly in a tower.

"Yay!" Sugar grabbed the coins and inserted them into the machine, and the game began. She climbed up into the stool and pointed at the machine. "I put the coins in, and the game starts, see?" Well... she put her hands on the controls and started playing it. Since she did pay for it, after all.

---

Carmen "Lily" Santo.

---

Coming soon...

Holly Gabrielle Baless

Holly went to sip on her hot chocolate-something of a defense mechanism. Holly was quite chipper, normally, outgoing and willing to chat up even absolute strangers. And yet Deborah's hurried absence, some odd feeling she just couldn't place in regards to Baron, and some nagging feeling in the well of her chest, a little whisper that warned something very very bad was about to happen in the town of Black Fall, something she just hadn't figured out quite yet. Holly cupped the mug with both hands, nail-polish-less fingers interlaced around its warmth. Huh. Empty. She hadn't even noticed. She faked a sip so she wouldn't look too silly. Why was Holly so suddenly cold? This wasn't right. Wasn't right at all.

Focusing on Baron helped Holly shrug off the odd, someone's-dancing-over-my-grave sensation that so suddenly gripped Holly. "Well that's certainly some very good advice Dr. Moreau. I'm lucky my family would support me in whatever I decided to do-well, in almost whatever I decided to," she said, a grin tugging at the end of her pale pink lips. "I'll definitely have to look into it sometime, maybe shadow you around one day." This was one of those things Holly said without entirely meaning; the sort of hollow courtesy people are fond of throwing at those they've just recently become acquainted with. Holly did not want to follow Baron around. Holly did not want to be a psychologist. She thought psychology was very fascinating but she didn't want to be a therapist. No siree. And she didn't think she could be shut up in a lab all day either, or really any aspect of psychology, it just seemed...no. Not right. Not her path. The right path for others but not for Miss Holly. Holly's gaze wandered for a moment, the faint, almost imperceptible glow that gave her a natural radiance dimming for a moment. She seemed lost, a blackbird in a snowstorm. After a couple seconds she blinked and the aura of warmth returned, Holly reaching again for her cocoa before remembering it was empty. Shame. It had been good! Not quite as good as the croissants but certainly not bad. She brushed her bangs back behind her ears, taking a moment to tie her wavy blonde hair back into a ponytail. Her eyes closed out of old habits and, in the semi-light of the coffee shop, Holly could've passed for being much older. Not physically, she didn't appear to be middle aged, but rather in the subtle weight of an old soul. It was harder to see when she smiled, but more noticeable when she relaxed, occupied herself with mundane tasks. For the naive idealism, there was something sterner underneath.

"Bloodlines? Well I'm no expert on metahumans but I think it can-" Holly began, not noticing the new visitors to the table. Oh my! Holly, not being particularly tall, was always a little irritated when she had to deal with unreasonably tall people. Surely the Good Lord could've spared a few more inches of spine, yes? Her neck started hurting half-way through a conversation with folks such as the ones who had just approached her. However, this was trivial, and not anything that consciously occurred to her when she greeted Ben and Claire. The day would come, however, when Holly chanced upon a midget who was far shorter than she, and she would likely relish that day for years to come. "Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Claire. I'm Holly."

It was interesting that she was so upfront about being a metahuman-while Holly made no efforts to hide her particular gifts, she didn't go around publicizing it. Seemed...not entirely arrogant, but certainly not humble. There were certainly people out there who wished they had such talents and Holly felt it a little rude to remind them of it. Besides, it was not anything she had done to earn her abilities-the Lord had given them to her, and in turn expected her to give unto others. The parable of the talents was never far from Holly's mind. An even taller man came up, looking a bit confused, gravitating towards Claire. Holly's eyes flickered down to their hands. Ah, wedding rings. "Mrs. Claire, who might your friend be?" Holly inquired, keeping her observation to herself. After all, if they weren't married it'd be sort of awkward. Mrs. Claire certainly seemed nice, but a little...abrupt? She'd entered the conversation full-throttle, which didn't really bother Holly (she was somewhat glad for a few more people there since Deborah's sudden flight) but Claire didn't seem the type to hold much back. There were some types-cruel, prejudiced folks that Holly did not hold in the highest regard-who'd not take kindly to people throwing their metahuman status around so boldly. Perhaps Claire was new to Black Fall. The community of metas was sizable, but no matter how many sheep were in the flock, there were always a few wolves looking to try their luck.

That's why it was so important to have a good shepherd, eh?

Harmon Rottlage & Leonard Boggs

---

---

How long... how long had it been since Harmon went... anywhere... with anyone?

He forgot. Like always.

Lenny... Lenny was an unfamiliar factor in an unfamiliar situation. Harmon had never run from NEST before. Well, maybe he had struggled some when they rounded him up for his regulatory grooming but... he never got away from them. Especially when Frank was the one they sent for him. This was all an unexpected development that cut into Harmon's normal, mundane routine. And while it didn't seem immediately apparent by just looking at him - he was horrified by it all. But Lenny was... easing the situation. They had ventured away from the Arcadia Heights, through the Dead End, all the way to the Courtwall Harbor. It was Harmon's first vist. Was it? It probably was. Needless to say, he followed behind Lenny with his head ducked and hood raised. They may have left a trail heading out of the woods but, heading back into the city, it most likely got covered by others' footprints. Or more snow. Either way, they were relatively safe from on-foot tracking. There was no sign of Frank or any other agents the whole way.

Eventually, the pair reached the Boggs house. It was at the end of a long stretch of nearly identical two-story homes, sandwiched between a vacant lot and a similar house, only distinguishable by the grey door rather than Lenny's brown. The windows were caked with grime, with neon lights softly flashing from one window, barely visible in the daylight. There were a few vines creeping up the house, and trash was scattered around the sidewalk.

The thing that gave the house the most distinguishing feature was the graffiti. It had mostly been powerwashed off, but there were still remnants of black paint on the dull red bricks. Mostly crude penises, swastikas, and insults. However, they were only on Lenny's house. The rest were completely free of any similar vandalism.

"A-and..." Harmon quietly began to mutter, "And the crossing is over where the righteous remain..."

"You said it." Lenny said, pulling out his keychain. He had a key for his house, a key for his locker, and an old timey key he had once found. He opened the door with a push, with Harmon quickly following. As soon as they were inside, Lenny shut the door, locking all four of the locks.

"In the memory it's deeper..." Harmon muttered again, "Survived by a name..." He trailed off into unintelligible gibberish after that.

Lenny paused for a moment, before nodding agreeably.

"...Gotcha Harmon." He muttered, staring at the boy for a moment.

Lenny led Harmon down a long hall, over small bags of trash he had forgotten to take out. He held his hand through most of it, fearful his frail friend would trip over the shiny black bags. At the end of the hallway, there was a kitchen. It was small and cramped, with a stove covered in black and brown grime, and a sink full of dishes. The refrigerator hummed quietly, adorned with magnets holding up a juxtaposed mix of family pictures, and pictures of surly-looking gangsters.

To the right of the kitchen, there was a living room. The lights were all off, and there was a thick smell of cigarette smoke. Through the smoke and darkness, there was a pale white light eminating from the TV, which was fixed upon some trashy gameshow. It was directly in front of the couch, where an old woman sat silently. She wore a lilac nightgown, and held an empty mug in one hand, dangling from her fingers. In front of her was a coffee table, covered with magazines, ashtrays, hard candies, and several different remote controls.

"Mema, this is Harmon, he's staying here for a while."

The old woman gave no response, and nodded lightly

"Therestissufficientamidnightcomplaintleftwaitinginsilenceleftonlytosleep..." Harmon blurted out silently, cradling himself as he looked down at floor of the house. Lenny gave him another odd stare as he slowly raised his left arm and ran his fingers along the damaged nullifying collar. "And it takes you... along... along..." He whispered. Whatever he was talking about, it was lost to everyone else in the room. Sounded like... song lyrics, almost. But not the way Harmon said them. He kept fiddling with the collar, looking rather somber and hoping to get it removed as soon as possible.

"Well, we're safe now. Might as well give you a tour while I look for something to cut that off." Lenny raised one arm, as if he was presenting unveiling a magnificent painting.
"Living room." He said, in a lackluster voice. Aside from the old woman's nest, there were a few bookcases in the room, and a table. Along the side of the wall opposite the window was a set of stairs, with rickety-looking wooden rails. Pictures were hung up on the wall of a younger-looking Lenny, and a taller, older boy with a shaved head. There were a few cracks along the wall, and stains near the ceiling. What little light there was in the room was all from the TV, as the curtains were tightly shut.

Lenny took Harmon's wrist and led him up the stairs. There was another hallway, at the end there was an open door exposing a edge of a toilet to the hallway's light -- The bathroom. Near the bathroom was a wooden door, which Lenny opened with a grunt.

"Sorry. Doorknob's a bit wonky."

"Door... door..."

The room was covered wall-to-wall with posters. Some were of bands with strange names like "Electric Wizard" and "Bongzilla", whereas others were scantily clad models or video games. Mostly, they were of superhero, sci-fi, and fantasy movies. The lights Harmon saw from the outside were revealed to be from a set of several christmas lights strung together, nearly covering the window, which clearly hadn't been opened in ages. There was a closet, with a pile of old laundry covering the door, and a desk with a computer and hard drive, which quietly whirred. Lenny's bed was a bunk bed, or at least, the upper half of one. Underneath it, there was another pile of laundry, comics, and an uneaten slice of pizza on a paper plate.

"Make yourself cozy, I'm gonna go find something to hack that collar off."

"Hack... collar..." Harmon said in response, standing in the center of the room, staring down at the floor, slowly waving his body camera around to get a good view. While Lenny exited the room to retrieve... something, he pondered over the foreseeable future. And for Harmon, that was an arduous task in its own right. This whole thing, it was a break in the chain he was so familiar with, and Frank was the cause of it. NEST grooms Harmon, lets him back out into the Dead End, he scrounges for supplies and food, slowly watches his head shards grow, and then NEST comes to round him up again and the process begins anew. He could never remember the previous month, but... was that going to change? NEST would come for him, wouldn't they? Groom him again, deviate from the routine. His memories would probably suffer even more. But, what if they didn't bother? Would he just... start to remember things? What was there to remember, he didn't know. The fragmented possibilies of both pleasant and terrible futures raced around in his head as he stood there, silently caving in on himself. Until...

Lenny emerged from the hallway with a pair of boltcutters. "Found these in the attic. Let's get that off you."

"Off..." Harmon repeated the word only once. Lenny motioned for him to take a seat in the chair at the desk so this whole thing would go a little more smooth-like. He slowly planted himself in the seat and arched his head backward, collared neck now much more open and vulnerable to impromptu removal. Lenny placed the boltcutters in the loosest part of the collar, and squeezed with a groan. He strained for a few moments, as his thin arms slowly pressed the red bars together. There was a loud pop as a few stray sparks were launched out of the collar, causing the two to jump.

"Only gotta cut the other side now." Lenny said. Harmon nodded and arched his head over his knees, the back of his head now visible, along with the opposite side of the collar. Lenny fit the boltcutters to the other side of the collar. With another laborous wheeze, there was a second snap, and the two halves of the collar fell to the floor with a clang. Lenny placed the boltcutters on the ground with a grunt, and plopped onto the carpet next to Harmon.

"How's the freedom feel?" He asked with a smile.

Harmon reared his head back, mouth slightly agape. The metal shards in his head seemed to stir a little, as if they were stretching. He breathed a bit, relieved. He could see through the body camera much more clearly. He switched his vision to the computer monitor. Then to the TV where Granny Boggs was seated before. "Free..." He stated, "Free... feel..."

Lenny smiled again, nodding his head. He reclined into the pile of laundry and papers, beginning to kick off his shoes. He seemed completely at ease, which would've seemed strange considering his company. He paused for a moment, letting his shoe stay in the awkward place he had pulled it to on his foot.

"Say, with all this hubub, I never got to ask. Why were you in that truck? Where were you before?" He scratched his chin, sitting up a bit on the pile of clothes. "Tell me about yourself, homie."

Harmon slowly lowered his head and shook a little, somewhat apprehensive to... no, no, Lenny had helped him a fair deal. He deserved an explanation. "Live... i-in the Dead... Dead End... J-... Joslyn House... Motel? Motel..." He began, "Collect... so many things... Cameras... phones... batteries... need to see... don't want t-... to be blind... blind scares..." He eased into his seating position a bit before he continued. "Head... head, metal, shards, they... affect..." He waved his hand around the various metal bits lodged in his head. "Everything... seeing... remembering... living..."

"But why were you in the truck?" Lenny asked.

"NEST..." Harmon replied, "C-comes... every month, to... to... pluck the shards... so that I don't... don't... remember? Remember... remember things... lose control of... things... Frank, Saint... Saint Frank... thought I saw bad things... bad people... here... there... everywhere... wanted t-to dig inside, find everything, but it's, it's not there... didn't believe me..." He aimed the body camera straight at Lenny and pointed to it with his other hand. "Then, crash... took this... to see... to run... to hide... to think..." He paused for a moment before he pointed his finger towards Lenny.

"Then... and then... you..." He said, "You? Thank... thank you..."

"Ohhh." Lenny only mostly understood, but what he understood was fairly clear -- Harmon was a victim of some nefarious NEST activity, and had only escaped by chance. Not only that, but he was a metahuman like him. And he was his friend. Lenny held his fist out. Harmon stared at it through the body camera for a few moments, before slowly bringing his knuckles to Lenny's, awkwardly pressing against them, too slowly for it to have been a normal fistbump. Then again, Harmon wasn't exactly a normal guy.

"C'mon, let's go grab some food downstairs."

Harmon nodded and arose from his chair, following Lenny's lead. The two went down the darkened hallway, shuffling to the stairs.

"Just kick it next to Mema. She's pretty cool with everything." Lenny said, nodding his head to the old woman. It was true. She didn't seem to have heard Lenny, her eyes were fixated on the TV. She was wrapped in several blankets, that seemed to cover her lower body like a cuccoon that had sank into the couch.

"M-... Mema.." Harmon repeated. He slowly inched towards the woman and planted himself a little aways from her. She seemed... rather distant. But she had this calming aura that Harmon didn't cower in the presence of. Which was good.

"Yo, you like pancakes? I got some microwaveable pancake things." Lenny called from the kitchen. "It's like, a sausage wrapped in a pancake. Like a breakfast corndog."

"Ah..." Harmon called back in a meager voice, "A-... any, anything... good..." Truth be told, he was baffled at the idea of eating literally anything that he hadn't found in a garbage bin or on a public table. He was a little overwhelmed and he had a little difficulty remembering specific kinds of foods. The term "pancake" was almost completely alien to him. But he didn't want to be difficult, so he just... went with it.

"Sweet." Lenny called again. There was a low hum of a microwave coming from the kitchen, and Lenny rustled through a cabinet. "All we got to drink's milk and some red stuff. Gonna take out the milk, 'cuz it seems better than flapjacks and Powerade, y'know?" He called from the kitchen once more. Luckily for the two, Lenny spoke enough for two people, occasionally finishing his own questions. Harmon didn't seem to mind.

There was a loud beep from the microwave. After a few moments of rustling, Lenny emerged from the kitchen holding a plate with four pancake-wrapped sausages, two glasses of milk, and a small plastic cup with some heated syrup. He placed the items on the table, and plopped down next to Harmon. Harmon aimed his camera at the food for a moment before slowly raising his hand and taking one of the pancake wraps. He brought it to his cracked lips and slowly bit down on it. It was the first time in a very, very long while he'd eaten anything above room temperature. After a bit of chewing and a swallow, his mouth hung agape for a moment. Lenny gave him an odd look accompanied with a smile as he slowly resumed eating the wrap.

The television was broadcasting a game show still.

After a few moments, Harmon began to speak up. "L-... Len, Lenny?" He asked, turning his head and aiming his camera at Lenny.

Lenny swallowed a mouthful of pancake and turned to Harmon. "What's up?"

"T-tell... about, you? You..."

Lenny shrugged. "Lived in Courtwall ever since I was born. My parents died in a car when I was born so it's just me, Creed, and Mema. It's alright though, we get by." Lenny seemed more interested in the game show in front of him than himself. After all, to himself, he was just... Lenny.

"Uh..." Harmon continued, "P-... power? Hands... before..."

Lenny nodded, taking a moment to decipher Harmon's speech. It was cryptic at times, but Lenny somehow managed to understand it clearly.

"It's hard to explain. There's energy everywhere. Mostly in electric stuff, and fire, and stuff that moves. In the sun and magnets too. I think there's a lot more, but I haven't learned about that stuff yet. Anyway, I dunno how most of it works, but I, like..." He paused for a second, trying to put his thoughts into words.

"I can suck up energy like a sponge from my hands. Then later, I can shoot it out and it's all blue. Or I can sorta..." He paused again, waving his hands a bit. "Like, bring it back out. I can charge batteries and fuel a fire, or make somethin' faster. I don't understand it completely, honestly."

Lenny shrugged again, dipping his sausage in the cup of syrup. "I think it's cool we can talk about this stuff." He said, talking out loud in the way he often did. "Sorta like, 'cuz most people are upset with metas, but you and me, we can both talk about it on account of us being friends now."

Harmon nodded, a little taken aback by Lenny's sense of comraderie. "Ah... I-"



As the screen cut to black and then resumed broadcasting the game show, Harmon slowly lowered his head on to the floor in complete and utter despair. All of his devices... batteries... saved up... and now, NEST was raiding his room for anything and everything. All because of Frank. He let out another cry, face still pressed against the floor. Those familiar ripples seemed to return, causing him to fade a bit. The television crackled with a bit of static but quickly returned to normal just as the ripples in Harmon's skin stopped.

"Hey, homie."

Harmon's hand loosened a little as the body camera was still being held. It was aiming up at Lenny. Lenny was crouching next to him, with a weak, sympathetic smile.

"Don't worry 'bout that. You're safe here. Creed's never let someone he doesn't want into the house before, and I don't think he'll start any time soon." He pulled Harmon up onto the couch, patting him on the shoulder. "You can live here with us now." Lenny smiled at him again. Harmon, at first, only responded with faint but rapid breaths, still somewhat distressed by the situation Saint Frank had put him in. But... Lenny. Lenny Boggs. He'd only just met him over an hour ago and... he already had a safe haven to reside in until the situation could somehow be resolved. He didn't know why Lenny would ever act this nice to a stranger, especially one of his own make. And he didn't know who this... "Creed" individual was. But everything Lenny said... reassured him. Filled him with that sense of ease he had not experienced in... well, it's a broken record but, since ever. But, for the first time in a while, that seemed to be okay with Harmon.

"A-..." Harmon muttered, still a little shaken. "Ah..."

"C'mon buddy. Let's go crash in my room. I can set you up a bed under mine for now, outta blankets and pillows. We can watch Netflix on my computer if you want. You like Star Trek?"

Harmon, of course, had no earthly idea what Netflix or Star Trek were.

Didn't matter.

Carmen "Lily" Santo.

---

Another Meta-human was walking up inside the crowd. That nagging feeling in the back of her head alerted her of the super-human that was approaching fast. That was the call to put this stuff away before anyone asks her. She clenched the money around the vial and jammed it into her pocket before she did anything. She focused and poised to scan whoever was the new Meta. Uhhh, wait, too late. Whoever this is has already walked up, the footsteps confirmed it - Dammit! She should have been paying more attention. Alright, she could just politely say something to this person, turn around, and walk off... Hm, well she thought that she should get a good look at this person before she walked off. Lily kept one foot firmly in place, while pivoting around with the other, turning her shoulders around, and then her head. She gave this girl a quick look-down. Around the same height, and actually has a pretty similar build. Bangs, and an obviously dyed hair color that made Lily think back to the times when her hair was dyed purple. But that was insignificant compared to what DID catch her eye. This girl was wearing a brown dress and stocking, which didn't bother Lily all that much other than the fact that this girl looked like she was overcompensating for something. But it was those reindeer antlers. "Tis the Season" gone horribly wrong. What self respecting girl would walk around with those on her head? Maybe one that was homeschooled for a lil too long and still believed in Santa. That was just, just...

Okay, she felt that was a little mean. She looked around briefly to try to distract herself - busting out laughing would not be the best course of action. The people that made up this crowd was leaving the moment the NEST agents had dispersed. Leaving behind one grieving grandmother behind. Lily wondered if she should console the woman, since no one else is doing anything. But then she backed away from that option since she knew that there was nothing that a stranger could say to make this better. Well, whatever happens to her, and her grandson, Lily silently wished them the best. Lily centered Karlie back into her attention.

Oh, yes, Karlie was speaking to her. Well Lily didn't know how to answer her question. Like, at all. Since she's new in town herself, she doesn't have an idea where anything around here is (In fact, she should be asking Karlie for directions). "Uh, Hey. I'm Lily..." Great, the way she carried herself and spoke made her look like a nervous fuck. Lily scratched the back of her neck, and looked away again. Across the street was some bowling alley... Yeah, bowling was fun. When she actually could play it. Now it's just going from sofa to sofa, aimlessly. Hoping that her journey will be complete some day. Someday she dreamed of heading back to those times and having fun. "Sorry, Chica," Lily said as her head dropped down towards her feet, and watched them randomly shuffle around. " I just got in town, I dunno where anything is." She shrugged, her motion was very rigid and jerky. Once that settled, that money that was in her pocket was calling out to her. Get a warm meal, get a nice place to sleep, it said (Well, not really, but that's what Lily was thinking of). Okay, she shouldn't go overboard, but maybe get herself a motel with this money for a little while. A cheap one. Anything beat sleeping in an alleyway, so it's quality didn't matter at all. "Maybe you could help me... Do you know about any motels?" Lily took a step forward towards Karlie. "Doesn't matter what kind it is. I just need a cheap one for a little while...."

Fred Macroshelys

The street was quiet and the snow laid soft and undisturbed on the sidewalks as three vehicles, two police cars and a van, pulled into a narrow street of Chinatown and blocked off both exits. While the police cars were your average Black Fall Police Department standard-issue vehicles, the van was not. It was a large SWAT-style van, pitch black with tinted windows and the NEST insignia on both sides near the back. The van contained no sirens, but you could almost feel people moving away from it when it came into proximity. As the convoy of police approached a narrow stone-walled alley, the van stopped and its back doors opened. From out of the van stepped two armored NEST agents clad fully in black and, behind them, Special Agent Fred Macroshelys, a mountain of a meta with a thick black armored shell like that of a snapping turtle. Not only was the man quite large, but he looked as though he were an ancient creature formed in the primordial ooze of the triassic period, a dinosaur, in effect. He wore an upscaled version of the NEST uniform, with a thick kevlar vest covering the front of his shell, a pair of black combat pants to which his comically large pistol was strapped, and armbands with the NEST insignia on his wide biceps. An XXXL combat helmet was strapped to his reptilian head almost comically. The armor was ridiculous and hilarious to behold, and Fred hated it. He would much rather charge into battle with nothing but a pair of shorts on to cover his nether regions and a bulletproof vest, but NEST said that they didn’t want their agents running around under-clothed.

The criminal of the day was a man being called “The Magician”, a six-foot-tall African-American male with known ties to the Corvo crime family and several bank robberies around the country. He was a tricky one; back in Nebraska he apparently stabbed a cop to death, and he killed two border police officers with the same knife at the Mexican border. He was a drug runner, they figured out at this point, a low-ranking member of the gang with an appetite for destruction. He most likely had little information on the Corvos to give NEST, but stopping him would wall off the family’s growth into other cities.

Unfortunately for him, however, Fred ate knives for breakfast. He stood at the edge of the van as the other four NEST agents moved out to survey the street. The police cars blocked either end of the road and the officers stood at attention, assuring passersby that everything was alright and that it would be a *great* idea for them to move along. Soon after, four more squad cars approached and blocked off alleys at either side. He was holed up inside of the building according to an anonymous tip. Another van of NEST agents approached on an adjacent street; this was the escape team, snipers who would take position on an adjacent building and fire if The Magician tried to make his getaway.

“Have you heard much about this guy?” one of the other agents asked Fred.

“No, but from what I’ve heard he’s fairly unstable.” Fred replied “We should be alright.”

---

(Skip a few minutes because I don’t feel like writing a combat scene right now)

The unconscious Magician was practically thrown into the back of an armored transport car and the doors shut behind him with two heavy crashes. Fred cracked his neck loudly as he exited the antique shop with a trash bag over his shoulder. He walked over to a NEST police car and dumped the bag on the front hood, getting the officer’s attention.

“What’s that there?” the officer said, exiting the car.

“About sixty pounds of individually-packaged lines of cocaine” Fred said “found inside of that building. There’s about two hundred more pounds of it in there.”

“Jesus, that’s a lot of dust.” he replied.

“Our friend over there was in the process of hiding the packages in the bottom of identical antique vases in order to smuggle them into the hands of street dealers in the Aisle and Dead End.”

“Have any been sold thus far?” the officer said, motioning for two other men to help him move the bag into the back of the car.

“We don’t know. The boys back at base are going to swing by and take a look at the shop’s records.” Another officer approached and the two together lifted the bag and shoved it into the back of the squad car.

“Well I’ll take this back to Headquarters and have it properly documented and locked up.” the officer replied, walking to the front of his black, unmarked Crown Victoria “we don’t want the mob getting their hands on it again.”

“Good.” Fred replied “I’m going to stick around here and make sure everything gets taken care of. The Magician is going to be taken into maximum security back at Headquarters. He’s a teleporter.”

“Roger that.” the officer said, getting into his car “I’ll take this right over. See you around.” As the car drove off, Fred took his phone from a pocket in his belt and dialed a familiar number.

“Good evening, Agent Dragonfly.” Fred said “I’ve found something that you might find interesting down in Chinatown. You might want to see this.”

---

Jack Corvo



In another part of town there drove a second black unmarked vehicle. The black luxurious Cadillac drove through the grid-like streets of Westgate, the driver beeping the horn as the rush hour traffic crawled its way through the city. The car made a quick right onto a side street and towards both Arcadia heights and the canals, where Jack Corvo’s new yacht awaited him. It was a ridiculously large water vehicle, 70 meters long with enough room to comfortably fit about 150 overnight guests -there was no point in not spending the night at a Jack Corvo party, afterall; that’s when all the fun happened. As Jack sat in the back bench seat, sprawled across the seats like they were a chaise with his bowler hat over his eyes, his phone began to ring. He was awakened abruptly and looked around groggily to find the phone, which was in the inside pocket of his black cardigan.

“Corvo residents.” Jack answered deadpanly.

“You don’t own the Corvo residents, boy!” the slightly Italian voice on the other side of the phone barked “I own the Corvo residents!” Jack cracked a wide toothy grin.

“Ah, hello father.” Jack replied “How are things?”

“Better than usual.” John Corvo Senior replied “I’m just on my way back from having lunch with Wilson Goretti, Damien’s son.”

“Oh really? How are they holding up?”

“Good, good. I hear Victoria Goretti has moved up around your area for high school. You should swing by her place and say hello sometime.”

“Oh good. She’s pretty cute.”

“She’s also sixteen you dirty sunnovabitch.” Jack laughed so hard he nearly dropped his glass of scotch.

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding! Good lord, I’m not that perverted!” Jack laughed in response.

“Oh please, kid; you and I both know that if I hadn’t called you on it you’d be in that poor girls bed before I could say ‘use protection’.” This encited another laugh from Jack, and John joined in.

“So how are things up there, boy?” John said.

“Not bad if you mean personally. I’m heading now t-”

“Of course I don’t mean personally, boy. I mean where the hell is my money?” Jack could almost hear a growl in his father’s voice, and he sighed just quietly enough for his father to not hear. Jack sat the scotch glass down in a custom-made cupholder and sat up straight, getting down to business.

“I’m taking care of it, father.” Jack said “I’ve been running into some trouble with NEST. Something tells me that trying to open up shop in the city containing their headquarters was a bad idea.”

“It was also your idea.” John half-growled back. Jack could tell his father was really trying hard not to throttle him through the iPhone screen “Haven’t you been able to strike up any deals?”

“Of course I have! The problem is getting it to them. The cops are tight in this town. I hatched a brilliant plan though involving an old antique shop. I’m-” Jack’s voice cut off as he caught sight of what was walking down the street towards the Mean Bean Machine.

“Father, I’m going to have to call you back. I forgot about a meeting I had planned.” Jack said.

“Alright. We still have a lot to talk about, young man. I want to know that my money is going towards something more useful than a yacht you could land a plane on.”

“Alright father. Goodbye.” He hung up and tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Care for some coffee, Alfonso?”

“Certainly, sir.” the Italian driver drove a few more feet until he was in front of the Mean bean Machine and pulled into a convenient parallel parking spot on the side of the road. He exited the car and opened the back door for Jack, who, donning his hat and black smoking jacket, stepped out into the cold and walked into the Mean Bean Machine, holding the door open for a certain miss Eva Chilver.

Eva Chilver and Jack Corvo

Sometimes Eva hated being pretty. Sure, it got handsome strangers wearing silly hats to open doors for her and made dating a cinch, but the feeling of the eyes watching her like circling hawks as she walked down the street was unsettling, especially for a girl who more than anything would rather be left alone. Even as she whispered a kind “thank you” to the gentleman opening the door for her, she could almost feel his eyes scanning her legs and breasts and his mind mentally undressing her. Maybe it was the shoes. They were gold-colored close-toed heels that made her calves look more toned and h- no, the shoes were too cute to get rid of, and Eva loved the way they clicked across the ground when she walked. It made her feel more confident and professional.

As Eva entered the Mean Bean Machine, she stepped to the side next to a small decorative shrub in a terracotta pot to pull out her phone and bask in the warmth of the heating vent above. Immediately, the small shrub perked up and small flower buds began to appear close to Eva. She looked over at it and smiled; seeing that never got old. She pulled her phone out of her purse, a stylish white Vera Bradley which she got as a Christmas present last year and began to type a text, irritated that the person she had come to meet was not present. This, of course, was her twin sister Selena, child of Artemis and perpetually-late motorcycle jerk.

“@ coffee shop. Where r u?”

Their plans for the evening were to stop for coffee and a snack and then head for the Christmas Fair, where she was sure Selena would cause some kind of mayhem and she’d have to make everything right. No matter, knowing Selena she wouldn’t show up for another few minutes, so she hit send and decided to get in line.

Jack Corvo was two steps ahead of her, already in the process of ordering. He ordered himself what he always got around the holidays, a large peppermint mocha made upside down with a shot of espresso. He paid for the drink and then handed the barista a fifty dollar bill.

“For the beautiful blonde two spaces behind me in line.” he said “And keep the change to buy yourself something pretty.” He winked and then went to the other end of the counter to get his drink and, once it was prepared, sat at a round table for two by the window. Eva ordered her own drink, a chai latte, and was quite surprised when the cashier said that a handsome gentleman offered to pay for her beverage until she looked at where the cashier was pointing and saw the same gentleman who had opened the door for her sitting at a table for two. He looked a little too old for her, but it was a kind gesture and he seemed somewhat suave. He nodded at her and she smiled back as she waited for the coffee and the cashier counted the money left over from the fifty dollar bill, stowing it in her pocket while no one was looking. As Eva sat by the counter to get her drink, she noticed a cute younger girl with a Santa hat on. Normally she wasn’t one to start conversations, but she was in a particularly good mood.

“That’s a cute hat.” she said kindly but nonchalantly.

-

Baron Moreau

Baron had given Holly a courtesy nod and smiled, as though he were approving the suggestion she had given. But something about her disposition didn't feel right. She winded down from a cheery disposition to a more tempered, tame energy. Her sentiments were disingenuous - that's what it meant. For whatever reason, she wasn't telling the truth to him, or at least not the full truth. There also stood the fact that here he was, a total stranger, discussing this topic with a young girl... but at the same time, this was the same young girl that had enthusiastically engaged in conversation with him and introducing everybody. Insecurity was no longer a factor at play. At least, not in the way that'd keep someone from talking with a stranger. No, there was something a little bigger at play when it comes to Holly, the presumably great ball of sunshine, and Baron didn't know what yet. It would be best if that mystery were to wait a little while longer before he decided to pry open that shell.

He didn't overlook the couple walking past his table, of course. A tall couple. One of them, slightly taller than average, and the other not just outrageously so, but large to boot. The kind of guy you'd expect to be carrying most of the heavy loads on a construction site. That was all that he found outstanding of them at a glance though – married, one silent, the other talked for him, a similar loving dynamic to the one he had found on the bus.

Holly was just about to answer his question regarding meta-humans and bloodlines when that couple had injected themselves into the conversation... well, the woman, at least.

“Sorry to interrupt and listen into your conversation,” she said. Not sorry enough it seemed. A curious lack of shame. “But I couldn't help but overhear that last bit, about how you'd conceive 'the meta human condition'.”

“Yes,” Baron responded simply, hiding the implication of being inconvenienced behind a neutral expression, “why?”

The woman stuttered in her answer. “I, uh, I'm a meta human myself, so I might be able to shed a little light.”

Interesting. Was she also a scientific specialist? Baron doubted that the knowledge of meta-human origins was imparted through one another by birth or by conception of the gene.

"Basically it can be inherited,” the stranger continued, “I think there are a few bloodlines around that have a reoccurring pattern like..." she said, trailing off. "... Like the Blackmore family!”

“Yes,” Baron agreed with a nod, “I have heard of them.”

"Usually it's sporadic and you're born with it, like my husband, and more often then not it manifests itself in the early teen years, but for some it can can be conceived through excess interaction and exposure to meta human energy. It's how I developed my ability."

Baron continued to nod in silence. He wasn't daft, and entered a topic of study and the science of observation without doing his own reading. These were all things he had read in a journal shortly after discoveries were made on the meta-human condition. Still, Baron didn't say a word to Claire out of respect for her eagerness and... consideration. He went as far as scuffing his brows and narrowing his eyes at Claire in feigned interest. He laced his fingers together and leaning forward as she went further into her own experience. On the bright side, he didn't have to wait to find a meta-human – one came straight to him.

“When I was diagnosed by a NEST agent,” she continued, “my husband and I did a lot of research on that kind of thing, on why I suddenly had to be put on NEST monitor duty now instead of much earlier in my life." She snapped her fingers. "Oh, I'm Claire by the way. And you two are?"

Golly, talk about forgetful. Regardless, her sociable disposition was at least a blast of fresh air compared to many of the street-walkers outside and the folks back at base. This Claire woman, the more he thought about, might not exactly be the kind of specimen he was looking for. She was very much out in the open regarding her status, as though she was not affected by the problems that had plagued the town as Baron saw it. She seemed to have a fair relationship with NEST, or at least one of its agents. She was a typical person with a gene. Curious. There was, of course, all likelihood this applied to all people carrying the gene, but like she said herself, she got it by being around the meta-energy so often. Not by birth. That at least would prompt some questions... in the future, of course. She didn't seem the type to require a therapy or counseling session.

“Baron,” he answered with a gleeful smile, “thank you so much for your story, you've given me a lot to consider.”

Maybe not a lot, but it was something. It was at least something.

“And your husband?” Baron inquired further as he looked around Claire to see the brutishly hulking man sitting in a chair off to the side.

The ringing of the bells as the door opened – which had invited a rush of cold air – signified more guests. Oh boy, the Mean Bean Machine sure was popular today. It might have been the holidays. A peppermint special or something? He'd have to vacate soon or something, he wasn't a superb fan of being in large crowds. Unless he had a spot all to himself, but Baron was on vacation. No podiums for him.

One of the newcomers commented on Holly's hat. Baron turned around with an incredulous expression on his face. Some girl. A friend of hers? Strange.

Selena Wodan Chilver

In general, you could count on a few seconds of irritability on Selena's end as her motorcycle ventures came to an end-there was just something so damned infuriating about reality sinking in, the sharp winter wind with nothing to break it petering out as the bike rolled to a stop. Selena always took backroads, stayed off the populated city routes as best she could-while she was generally a few minutes late to anywhere she was attempting to go, she always considered it a healthy tradeoff. Constant stop-and-go traffic just got her pissed, and Selena already had a few tickets for road rage. Dreadlocked woman with a bow of unidentifiable origins certainly made the magistrate perk up in small claims court, if nothing else.

But this time, Selena's irritability was a bit more justified. Selena wasn't a bitchy person, mind you-she didn't go looking for fights, per se, but was never afraid to back down from one. While she generally tried diplomacy first, Selena's brand of diplomacy and another person's were often...a bit different. Charging headlong into controversy was another matter entirely-when Selena's fingers curled up into knuckles, it was always after she'd given things a moment's thought. She didn't have her bow or gun with her, or even her hunting knife. A little pocket knife tucked into her jeans, but that was about it. So it'd be fisticuffs. The fun way of settling things. Selena left her hair tucked back into her jacket-she'd learned the hard way that some folks were discourteous enough to yank on her lovely locks during scuffles. Waiting for her scalp to stop oozing blood so she could drive home had not been a fun experience.

But, that guy had gone home bald as a motherfucker.

Now I ramble about Selena's pre-fight rituals because, surprisingly, she was about to get into a fight. Generally, Selena was willing to offer somebody a chance to pack their shit and get out. A rather forcefully offered olive branch. The exception was when somebody fucked around with Selena's kin. And some little son of a bitch was doing just that.

"Not saying I blame you," Selena drawled, getting off her motorcycle as she sauntered towards the would-be car thief. He was gripping a tire iron with black gloves, a scarf tied around the bottom part of his face. So, not a total idiot, but still dumb enough to break into a car somewhere where the average person stayed fifteen, twenty minutes, tops. People would be streaming in and out regularly, And in broad daylight, too. Ugh. "Because that's the car I would break into, wimpy little thing that it is, but it is-"

Selena's monologue was cut short by a tire iron being redirected from Eva's car's window to her face. Throwing up an arm, Selena took the hit with her forearm, staggering back with a grunt.

Mmm. If you listened, over the drone of passing cars and the rhythmic grunts of the Mean Bean Machine's air conditioning unit, you could hear that olive branch getting snapped into splinters.

Selena didn't waste words after that. She kept her mouth closed, keeping this prick from cleaning her clock with an uppercut. Besides, she had the cardio to keep that up for a damned long time. Selena, within the span of a moment or two, debated the merits of getting her knife. No, she didn't want to kill him. Just beat the hell out of him. The rest was instinct-Selena's eyes widened and any hint of mellowness drained from her features. Selena's eyes went cold, her stance shifting into something that didn't look like anything taught in a martial arts dojo. It looked at home in the woods, in a bar fight, in a place where inhibitions were alien and instincts were apex. Selena grunted and darted in, the pain in her left arm fading beneath calm, bestial fury.

The thief was still recovering from his swing (which had scraped up the side of some other poor fucker's car during the follow-through) as Selena lunged, bringing it back up far too slowly. Selena threw out her arm, grabbing his hand by the wrist and smashing it against the car. With her other, she suckerpunched him in the nose. Vaguely, she noted an impact with her shin, a hand slamming against her right arm, but these things were irrelevant. Selena was focused on the metallic taste in her mouth and nose, the pores opened wide on what was visible of this fuck's face, the fear in his eyes and his scent. Selena roared and delivered two more quick rabbit punches. As she reeled back from the the third, she feinted-not out of any conscious strategy, but rather on gut instinct. Three in a row? That was predictable. Time to switch things up. These were not active thoughts Selena had-they were merely a path she followed as a train follows the tracks. Some primeval force that lurked in Selena's subconscious was driving her hands and feet, not any rational thought.

She slid under the thief's desperate counter-punch and stepped back, pulling the thief by the forearm. Selena's strength and the punch throwing him off balance? The assailant stumbled forward with a yelp of surprise, ended promptly by an uppercut to the jaw. There was the click of teeth hitting teeth and the clang of iron hitting pavement. Selena took both hands and smashed his head against the other car's door handle just to be sure. He slumped to the ground, only vaguely stirring. The same could be said of the dreadlocked girl-she felt as if she'd just jogged for a minute or so, nothing more. In her arms and legs blood tingled as it pumped double-time to her extremities, the cold more acute against her exposed skin, the feeling of clothing fiber more blatant. Every sensation, magnified. It was fun, a sort of blood-high that Eva never could understand, but that was okay. People like Selena could get out of control sometimes.

It took a moment or two for Selena to break from her lapse. Kneeling, she placed her fingers against the thief's throat, slipping them under the scarf. A pulse. Eh. He'd be fine. Probably. "Don't fuck around with her car. And don't swing a tire iron at a girl? Come on man, how many metas are in this city? Be lucky I can't vaporize your ass or make you shit blood psychically or whatever." Selena stood up, kicking the tire iron out away from him with her boot. "Don't interrupt my monologues, either." Rolling her neck, Selena turned and walked back to her bike, pulling back her sleeve to check for injuries. Damned tire iron had broken the skin. Nothing too bad-he hadn't had the time to really deliver a strong blow, and while Selena had been caught-off guard, she'd pushed into it and cut off a decent amount of what momentum he did have. Slowly, it began to throb with pain, pain matched to a lesser extent by her leg. As the blood-high wore off, the aches of her battered body, the chafed skin and lips from motorcycle riding-they began to fade back into her conscious mind. Selena sat down on her bike and took off her jacket, rolling back the sleeve of her shirt as she opened up her saddlebags, drawing out a small medical kid. She dabbed the broken skin with rubbing alcohol (a brief grimace, but nothing more. She'd patched herself up often enough that the sting of alcohol didn't have the same potency it did when she was a child, and dad would tend to her many scrapes and bruises) and quickly wrapped it up with a bandage before moving on to her leg. Oh, hell, that was nothing. Probably bruise but nothing more. Man, the guy was even shittier at kicking than he was at picking cars to break into.

Selena slid her jacket back on, the sleeve of her left arm bulging slightly with the addition of the bandage. Mean Bean Machine. Man, who would go here? Selena drank coffee black. She didn't understand putting sugar and cream and ice and stuff into it. There were two things on the menu here she could bring herself to order-that would be water, and black coffee. Somehow, she doubted they served either one. Selena moseyed into the restaurant, keys jing-jangling from the carabineer, no betrayal of the fact she'd just gotten into a fight present on her features. Well, that wasn't quite true. Selena's knuckles were busted beneath her gloves, and there were a few faint flicks of blood on the outsides. She walked in just in time to hear some slick looking dicksucker offer to buy a drink for her sister. Some may question how she heard this, given that the cafe was full of idle chatter, the whirring of coffee machines. Those who have such concerns are welcome to join with the deer ghosts haunting Black Fall's woods, who have formed a committee entitled "Oh, That Shit's Not Fair"

"If I have to beat somebody else's ass today," Selena muttered to herself, walking towards her sister with casual grace. Eva was always more graceful than she was, something which didn't bother Selena more than amuse her. Selena kinda meandered, cowboy style-never in any particular hurry, you could tell she was going to get where she was going when she felt like it. Eva, on the other hand, moved the other way-almost seemed like the world was shifting to her baby sister, as opposed to Selena's just rejecting it. Selena dropped down next to Eva, pulling her hair free from her jacket and letting it rest across her shoulders. "Ah, that's better. Good Lord, sis, you already got a free drink out of that bastard. You looking to take Miss Claus home?"

Holly Gabrielle Baless

On the list of things that were lovely and brightened Holly's day and really helped with the Christmas spirit, random compliments from strangers were quite high up there. Perhaps even snagging the number one spot. "Why, thank you!" Holly replied to Eva, her general cheeriness returning as the brief lull in her optimism faded away. "Merry Christmas!"

The table, now, was getting a bit too crowded for Holly's liking. Mrs. Claire and her husband (aha! She had been right!) were discussing the bloodlines of metahumans around Dr. Baron, and while science was of a passing interest to Holly, she quite frankly didn't feel like spending one of her few days off from school and studying discussing the subjects she labored over for hours on end during the week. She didn't wish to appear rude, but being present in a discussion about metahumans-especially compared to the brutal honesty offered by those two-made Holly almost feel like a liar by omission. She didn't wish to publicize her abilities, and always felt a little off-put by those who did so. For some, it seemed like it was a central part of who they were, that they couldn't function without their abilities. What a horrible way to live. There were so many joys in life that could be attained without being a metahuman, and from Holly's limited experiences, a lot of metas tended to disregard them. There was certainly a purpose to one's gifts, but there was no sense in building your psyche around something that wasn't yours to begin with. No sense at all.

Holly slid out of the booth, past the lumbering Ben, and quickly said, "I don't mean to interrupt, but I must be going. Pleasure to meet all of you-Mr. Ben, Mrs. Claire, Doctor. And thank you once again for the croissants." Holly left, humming softly to herself as she did so. Two guesses as to what kind of song.

Unfortunately, Holly's brief moment of self-absorbed Christmas cheer was broken upon heading outside-some poor vagrant was staggering from the parking lot, looking as if he'd just been thrown through a meatgrinder. Holly rushed over, concern widening her eyes and tilting her head. "Excuse me, sir!" Holly did hope it was a sir and not a madam-sometimes, she'd found, it could be difficult to tell, especially if they'd been living on the streets for quite some time. A normal safe strategy was just to avoid gender-specifics and directly address them. Fortunately, this man was a sir-he turned around, eyes wide and posture bracing to run before he relaxed. How odd. Who could he have mistaken Holly for? She wasn't exactly an imposing figure, and surely her voice wasn't alarming. Were teenage blonde girls just going around thrashing everyone senseless now?

"I can't help but notice you look hurt," Holly said, glancing him over. It was hard to tell with the winter clothes on, but the man was swaying back and forth ever so slightly, holding one arm gingerly. "Do you mind if I help?" He stayed quiet, viewing her with apprehension, but not backing away. Holly approached slowly, a disarming smile on her face. "It's okay. Here. Let me help you down." Holly brushed a post on the pavement free of ice and eased the man down-a somewhat difficult task, given that his knee buckled halfway through the descent. He landed with a thud, prompting a wince from his newly, self-appointed nurse. "Oh! I'm sorry." Holly knelt down beside him, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. In-between cars, they were somewhat shielded from passerbys, although they were far from total concealment-someone walking by would quite easily notice what was happening, even if they were obscured from the street. Holly took the man's hands (trembling beneath their gloves, one of his fingers was bent funny) gently and sighed.

And then something rather beautiful happened. Holly's form began to glow, slightly, at first, but steadily pulsating with more and more energy, dispelling the shadows around them, even on the far side of the wounded man. Blue flames began to gently surround the girl, and while the man flinched back at first, Holly opened an eye, calming him with a "Shhhh". After perhaps five or ten seconds, the flames had reached their full intensity-although intensity isn't the right word. The fire wasn't intense. It was beautiful and gentle, but not intense, not painful or uncomfortable to behold. It was the perfect distance from a campfire, with no fear of sparks singing the clothes, the exact just-right volume of a favorite song, the absolute most satisfying position to sleep in. Above Holly's head, the light flickered into a brighter, more concentrated corona, one that drifted more towards pure white than light blue, one that hummed with quiet but nevertheless present energy. "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze." Holly said gently. As she spoke, the flames began to move through her hands, enveloping the man with the same aura. His finger reset, tendons and ligaments dutifully weaving themselves back into place in his legs, the jackhammer ache in the side of his head receding until it was all together gone. The process, however, was more thorough than merely patching up more apparent wounds. The splotches of acne on his cheeks (brought upon by stress-it was debt and not malice that had driven him to the unfortunate mistake of trying to break into Eva Chilver's car) shrunk and vanished, the smallest fissures on his lips and face as a result of the cold air were sealed back shut. Perhaps most comfortingly, the feeling or pure relaxation, something this man hadn't felt in quite a while, began to spread along the path of the flames, undoing the tension of muscles and mind alike. He very nearly fell asleep in the parking lot, warm, comfortable, at ease. After perhaps a minute, Holly let go, the glow fading away but still staying with him, for a little bit longer. Holly's own aura dwindled, resuming its normal state. Holly took a deep breath or two-this hadn't been particularly exhausting, but such concentration was always a bit strenuous. The Bible verses were as much a psychological crutch as they were an act of faith-it helped her to think about the words, to stay focused on something concrete while her unconscious handled the abstract.

"Are you all better?" Holly asked.

"Yeah, thank you, I..." the man drifted off for a moment, the feeling of relaxation fading as his connection with Holly broke. Oh, shit! That crazy blonde bitch might still be around. Hell, she'd probably be back out again. "I, uh, thanks, if I see you again I'll-" He stood up rapidly, somewhat surprised they held his weight. Huh. Metas had their moments. "have to go, it's a...sorry!" he stumbled off, not picking up into a run until he felt fully confident in his recently mended body.

Holly stayed on the icy ground for a moment longer, unperturbed by the cold. Hers was a warmth that tended to shrug off most winter storms. "Hm. Must've been in a hurry." Most people were far more grateful, but Holly didn't help other people for the gratification. No, it seemed rather senseless to be given abilities and not use them for some constructive purpose. Holly stood up, brushing off her pants (if we're calling leggings pants now) and the bottom of her sweater before mulling over what to do next. Come to think of it, she didn't have any real plans. Meeting up again with Deborah would be nice, of course, but she knew that she had her hands full taking care of her younger siblings, and the promise to reunite at the festival may have been a hollow one. And that was okay. Holly was fairly easygoing about not being able to see her friends-to her, there was no doubt of crossing paths again in the near future, it was merely a matter of time. One had to enjoy when you were together, not always moan about the times you couldn't be. Of course, Holly was a lot more likely to embrace this attitude on the weekends than she was the weekdays.

Where to next?

Achille, Sugar, & Shannon

Achille might not have noticed the older girl until later if she hadn't spoken up after his untimely collision with the small red headed child. She was not quite as eyecatching, (at least not to him) with the look of someone who either didn't quite go out of her way to be the center of attention or simply didn't want people to notice her if at all possible. That was not to say she entirely faded into the background though. The red dress she wore draped down to around shin length before falling away to a flash of skin followed shortly by a pair of black lace boots, all putting her in sharp contrast to the neon glow of the surrounding arcade cabinets. It even sparkled a bit which Achille thought was a nice touch. Even if he had failed to notice her initially though he was more than able to recognize the tone in her voice. It boded ill, to say the least.

"Hey! Can you watch where you're going?" Six little words and a single contraction were all it took for Achille to get the feeling that he had stumbled into the wrong little girl (not to say there was a right little girl to stumble into of course.) Achille was almost poised to offer a second apology at the tone of her voice alone when the redheaded child spoke up, apparently not quite as irritated as the other now that she had her glasses back atop her nose.

"Oooooh, I can help you, Mister." Fantastic. His attention back on the child, Achille waited with bated breath. As she pointed out the coin slot he nodded his head, having noticed it on the other cabinets earlier. In retrospect it seemed a bit obvious that the machines would use coins but as someone who rarely carried around any monetary assets smaller than a ten dollar bill change had never really played a part in his daily life. In fact, the only thing he had on him at the moment was a debit card tied to one of his bank accounts and a hundred dollar bill, smiling at him wryly from the inside of his wallet. Apparently the young girl (had he heard the other girl call her 'Sugar'? Odd name.) lacked even change as she dug into the pockets of her dress (also red, though slightly longer on her than the other girl.). Undeterred, she latched onto the other girl and tried to barter for a loan at the Bank of Red and Angry.

Suppressing a chuckle as the older girl sighed in resignation and handed over a neat little column of coins, Achille watched with amusement as 'Sugar' (Got to ask about that name...) lost her focus on explaining the fine art of Arcade-ing and fell back into eating pixels and chasing ghosts. Aware of the somewhat awkward situation he had landed the older girl in (and hoping to apologize for apparently irritating her earlier) Achille turned his attention to her instead, the corners of his mouth curling upwards ever so slightly into a tiny grin that wasn't aggressively friendly. She didn't seem the type to appreciate his usual brand of 'Dive in up to your neck' affection and affability.

"I feel I should apologize to you for putting you through the trouble of feeding my curiosity miss." He said, his tone showing his embarrassment quite clearly, "I don't get around the town as much as I used to these days with work and all of life's little troubles so when I find a place like this I tend to get a bit swept up and forget myself. I honestly hadn't expected her to take me up on my request. Though," He chuckled, "it doesn't look like she's regretting the decision." Shifting his weight, he reached around his back and pulled out his wallet, "Once the little one is done there you let me know how much I owe you. Least I can do."

Shannon almost immediately cursed herself when this big buffoon started talking. But she knew better than to curse in front of Blathnat. Of course, her younger sister was the only thing keeping Shannon from walking away... but, on the flipside, Shannon could tell him off like she did with those other two guys again. Since Blathnat clearly isn't paying attention to her. So glued to her games... I hope she is happy. Well, he seems to be affable to say the least. Offering to give her money? Over what has to be a simple demonstration of the machine? Shannon didn't know what this man's aim was, but she was always ready to assume the worst. She always had her guard up, and never let it down. That's what kept her out of trouble... and away from the people that she despised so much.

"It is fine..." Shannon huffed, looking at the floor, almost purposely avoiding eye-contact with him. Until she had raised her head and turned those brown eyes towards Achille to meet them. "Blath- Sugar's nice, likes to help people... but as you can tell... she doesn't have much of an attention-span...." Shannon crossed her arms, and let out a puff of air front in between her lips. Niceness will only carry Sugar so far, yes. Eventually it's going to get in her more trouble than naught. At least Shannon learned beforehand that the world doesn't give you anything for being "nice".

Now, she needed to handle the matter of getting money... The last thing she wanted was to be in debt to a complete stranger. While she was in a "tight-spot" when it came to money, what would be worse would be trying to take the easy way out. "Sorry, but it's fine." Shannon quietly quipped, while she pushed out her palm until it came in contact with the man's leather wallet, and, thus, she pushed it into his chest. It was the best thing to do right now. "Only a few quarters. It's nothing."

Finally, she figured that she should get formalities out of the way. Didn't matter, since the chances of meeting this man again was slim to none. "Just to get this out of the way, my name is Shannon." She leaned back up against the machine and kept her arms firmly around her chest. Brown eyes drifted towards her little sister as she realized that Blathnat was so caught up in her game that she was absolutely oblivious to the world. Shannon poked her lips out and pressed them together. Eyes were on Sugar. "Her name is Sugar." Shannon had to introduce the child to Achile herself. Seriously, if Shannon wasn't here, this man might have been able to snatch her. But, long as she's breathing, that will never.

"Can't say I've ever met a 'Sugar' before," Achille said, replacing his wallet with a shrug. He hadn't really expected the girl, Shannon, the accept in the first place but he was always willing to go the extra mile with people. "Kill em with kindness" as the saying went. "Can't say I haven't met someone her age who doesn't have a bit of trouble keeping focused either." He chuckled a bit, something from his childhood coming to mind. "She could be much worse though. I used to be a right terror at her age... assuming her age is around 9. I had a bad habit of going to the theatre with my grandfather and ending up on the roof shouting out lines from the plays at anyone passing by. I'm fairly certain they've still banned me from going near the roof access stairwell there."

"Somewhat correct," Shannon shrugged and adjusted her glasses. She calmly listened to the rest of Achille's story. "She's eight." She sighed. Achille's story was sounded insignificant at first, but Shannon managed to get some insight out of him. Hm. He seemed like the troublesome type when he was younger (I hope he dropped that habit.). But that wasn't the point. The man seemed to have gone to the theatre... Movie theatre? Or the classy theatres like the Columbiana where they preform excellent plays? She could ask him, but she wasn't sure if he was "worth" a conversation. For now, Shannon had no choice but to continue the idle small-talk. At least until she has a good reason to call him out, and send him on his way. "And 'Sugar' is a nickname.... but I don't think she'd appreciate me telling anyone her real name." Shannon felt the chuckle building up inside of her, but she choose to keep it down. She didn't want this man getting the idea that she was getting friendly with him, after all.

Shrugging again, he turned his eyes back on Sugar and her game, watching the pixels race around and around the pre-set stage. He almost missed being able to lose himself in an activity as much as the young girl could. Almost. He certainly didn't miss the toothaches, awkward realization that girls had bits he wanted to see, or that time in the fifth grade where his PE teacher had tried to make him do laps in the pool wearing a girls swimsuit. Achille shivered and locked that memory away where it belonged. Hoping to distract himself from that line of thought, he pressed on with his conversation, his eyes still locked on the game all the while.

"Do you two come here a lot? I'd assume it'd be easy for her" he nodded at Sugar, "to spend an entire day in here on these machines. Though I suppose it'd get pretty expensive and tiring to do this sort of thing on a normal basis for most people in the city, especially this time of year when the Fair is getting on it's feet and everyone is running around to watch the floats and performers." He took a quick glance at his phone's lock screen, eying the time on the digital face. Still had quite a bit of time before the Fair would even begin so he wasn't too worried about this meeting going on for awhile if that's how it played out.

An easy answer, for a simple question. Shannon and Sugar rarely come by Arcadia Heights for anything other than a special occasion. So they rarely got to side the "pride" and "joy" of the city for themselves. Shannon shrugged, "I'm going to be completely honest here when I say that this is my first time coming here." She answered with a lack of emotion in her voice. It was hard to get talking about things with a complete stranger... though, he isn't that bad, she had to admit. But not enough for her to drop her guard. "You should see this place in the summer time," She added, "It gets loaded with tourists who want to indulge themselves on boring beaches and hit on girls.... Which is why I like this place in the Fall season... Less annoying people to deal with." In her eyes, it was only slightly less, but an improvement.

He was slightly worried about Shannon's apparent lack of a desire to contribute to their conversation beyond bits and pieces but Achille was used to that with most strangers when he first spoke to them. Soon they were all like Simone back at the bakery though. Well OK, not exactly like Simone. Most weren't quite as determined to marry him into their families. Seeing an opportunity to turn the conversation in an unexpected and possibly more fruitful direction, Achille turned back to Shannon, a sly grin on his face.

"Have either of you been to the Big Top?" He jerked his head in the directions he estimated the Black Fall Big Top was in relation to the Arcade. If she wasn't going to accept some cash then maybe she'd accept a bit of free entertainment for herself and Sugar. He got the feeling that looking after the kid as she was obviously doing might leave Shannon a bit less receptive to strangers like himself and there were few things in the city that could turn irritation into fascination than watching Sven arm wrestle one of the elephants into submission.

Big Top...? Now Shannon has heard of that place, a Circus in this very district that has it all. Elephants! High flying stunts! Excitement... Not Shannon's thing, when it came down to it. She was certain that Deborah and Sugar would love it, but she digressed. She wouldn't go there without one of them. "Heard of it, but I have never gone there." She answered Achille, and never took her eyes off of him.

On Sugar's side of things, she was actually tackling this game. Under the little Princess's hand, she managed to collect a majority of the orbs. The ghosts were closing in! But it wasn't too late to pick up the power-up and gobble up some ghosts! Speaking of Ghosts, her familiar was still watching over her. Standing exactly behind her, he stood statically, but was always ready to follow Sugar's wishes. He listened to the conversation... while he took a more passive role, he always made sure that Sugar was aware. Because there was so much he could do and remain a secret. Far as he could tell, there was no immediate danger in her presence, but he knew that there was something that Sugar would enjoy later. After reading Achille's thoughts briefly, he knew exactly what he was planning. However, it was entirely up to his Mistress whether or not she would even give him the opportunity. He is the loyal Servant, never faltering, after all.

With a simple telepathic urge, Sugar's eyes were pried away from the machine, and she turned that small head of hers towards Achille, giving him her full attention. Hands were still on the controls. Of course, since she wasn't paying attention, she had to rely on Sir Reginald:

"Have either of you been to the Big Top?"

Hm? No she has not, actually. But she'd love to! She heard of the place and from what she was told, it was a circus! In her kingdom. They can give her the Princess treatment! She simply shook her head from left to right, a clear indicator of what her answer was. Following it up with a meek, "No, Sir, I haven't been there." She was about to turn her attention back to the game, but this was no time for games! Sir Reginald told her that something important was happening here, and she had to pay attention. It was her duty. "But, it's like a circus, right?" She looked away for a second, and her expression changed from a smile to a more neutral, somber, expression. She thought about it for a moment (after she said it).

Achille was taken aback for a moment at the sudden shift in Sugar's interest, leaving him wondering how long she'd been paying attention to their conversation. He might have been slightly ashamed at talking about her when he thought she wasn't listening too if she didn't show such an interest in the Big Top. He switched gears immediately, his posture going from that of a relaxed observers to a showman selling to an audience, the large grin on his face only serving to fortify the change.

"Exactly!" He practically yelled, reining in his volume and enthusiasm near the end to avoid making the situation awkward. Also he didn't want to spook Sugar. She didn't seem like the most confident kid for some reason. "We've got everything down there! Lions, horseback riders, fire eaters. We've even got a few orangutans who can almost reenact the 2004 presidential deba-" he stopped himself. "Right you wouldn't get that... it's impressive though so that's all that matters. And I", here he stopped to over-dramatically 'fix' his collar and dust off his sleeves, "can get the two of you in for free. As re-compensation for showing me how the Arcade works of course. No strings attached or debt to be paid."

"Whoa..." Sugar seemed enticed by Achille's offer, yes. She thought it'd be incredible. The animals, the stunts, the tricks. All preformed for her! Princess of the Black Fall kingdom. She wondered if any magicians would be there... not the kind of "Magician" you'd think of when you hear the word. But Sugar believed that all Meta-humans were "magicians", due to her lack of understanding of them, and therefore, she knew that they were magical in nature. Opposed to... whatever they were.

Achille had thrown in that last part for Shannon's sake. He wasn't sure if she had declined his earlier offer out of pride or suspicion but he figured if he could eliminate one of the possibilities he might get her approval. Besides, he had time to kill and he saw no reason that he couldn't entertain some strangers on a chilly day like this. His other plan had been to mess around at the arcade for an hour before driving back home for a quick two hour nap to prep for the Fair.

Lions and tigers and... whatever else that stupid saying said. Doesn't matter. It was clear that Mr. Achille really wanted to repay them - that, or he was really eager to rope them into whatever scheme he had planned (That grin doesn't help, sir...). Shannon had found herself indecisive, really. She could turn down the man and never speak to him again. But would she really be cold enough to rob Sugar of a chance to see this circus for herself? Answer was no, but if she were to go, this man better not try anything shifty like go behind stage and expect them to be his groupies. "Hmmm..." She hummed to herself, thinking really hard. Before letting out a sigh, closing her eyes, and tilting her head downwards somewhat. Almost like she was defeated. "Very well, you present an offer I cannot refuse.... but backstage passes are not necessary." Shannon was quick to add, hoping to shoot down any schemes. Nope, she planned on staying in the watchful eye of the public.

"Yay!" Sugar didn't even have to say anything, all she did while Achille talked was wait. She was going to the circus! It was going to be fun. She had completely forgotten about her game... which she lost so hard that the hidden fist was going to deploy.

"Yay!" Achille mimicked, punching the air a few times in celebration of his triumph over adversity and other such nonsense. Truth be told he was a bit excited about showing these two the Big Top. Granted, the actual show was cancelled for the night with most of the performers assisting the Fair, but he was sure he could get at least two of the elephant handlers on board to put on a bit of an act for them. Getting Sven and the others however... that would be trickier. But[/b, he thought to himself as he collected his composure and jangled his keys for his two soon-to-be guests to see, [b]that's a hurdle to jump later. It was then that Achille realized he had forgotten something important.

"Before we go however," he said, practically diving into a low, sweeping bow towards both ladies and cocking his head just enough for them to see his charming little grin, "I'm Achille, Ringmaster at the Black Fall Big Top. At your very own service."