Oxley walked the street with an average pace, keeping her eyes fixed to the pavement ahead of her rather than the people swarming on the street. The music was what kept her focused, and she walked on with her eyes almost closed, bopping her head to the familiar rythm.
And then there was someone right in her path, not moving.
Oxley stopped, her gaze springing up to meet what was an instantly recognizable figure to her databank of a mind. Even before the man had opened his mouth, Oxley braced herself mentally, raising her guard. She took the headphones off and put the music on pause.
"Yes," Oxley replied as she squinted her eyes slightly, "I've heard of you," she added with a heavily guarded look on her face.
Edmond Grandure. 34 years old. Owner of the technological firm 'Heidis' - the founding father company to all things microengine. Kinda shady, quite friendly with the Peacekeepers. Do not engage. Oxley had heard of this man quite the bit, and it was no wonder. He had a reputation. Or that's how Oxley herself saw it, seeing as she was interested in the same fields as mister Grandure's company. Not much of what Oxley had heard from this man was very flattering, so her being on guard was probably the wisest action to take. This man was successful, undoubtedly wealthy, and all the things Oxley was not. Oxley would be lying if she said she had never entertained the idea of this man being a hiding Deviant. All things considering, there was something about his history that just didn't add up with her. And that - if something - made her suspicious.
Then again, it could be that he wasn't a Deviant that had slipped through the cracks but simply a highly intelligent, cunning businessman that benefitted from the cruel society and capitalism. Could be either, Oxley thought with a shrug.

"I have come to speak to you about a proposal I expect will help improve your quality of life. Would you care to listen?"
Even in all her wariness, that piqued Oxley's interest for sure. Oxley eyed the tall, well clad man with a critical eye.
"...I...sure. Something tells me you aren't the type who takes a no for an answer," Oxley replied, her quick tongue getting the better of her. Her mind was buzzing with questions and confusion, coarsing through her brain like a tidal wave.
"How'd you find me, anyway? And how do you know my name? Wait, no - that's a stupid question. Of course someone with your status and position would have access to that kind of information. Ignore that," Oxley began, only to backpedal as her mind caught up to her and she answered her own question. She shook her head as if to shake off the dumb question.
With this man, it was safe to assume he knew exactly who Oxley was and what kind of powers she possessed. Still... maybe playing oblivious could be a tad fun. She didn't know what the man was after, after all. Well. Didn't know for certain, anyway.
"If you're here because you heard of my impeccable capabilities as a DM [Dungeon Master in D&D], then I'm all yours! I must admit, I'm pretty fucking good."

^{Mentions @Cio and @Randomness}

---

Dion left his parents and headed back, sensing that they wanted to spend time together. He followed his Peacekeeper escort to the transport. As much as he hated them, he had to admit he had it a lot better than most. The transport was quick and they were eager to get him through customs who checked his sword with a suspicious eye. He just stood there in the expedited line, one reserved for usually the ones that are never allowed out. Dion made his way through, heading to his home after he was finally let in. Dropping off his things he decided he would wander around the Square. Heading down there he just wandered, looking around after picking up his order at the book store, a copy of the Poetic Edda in Norwegian, and a copy of the Codx Regius. He wanted to study his runes more and had taken a lot of time to get them as the Peacekeepers were aware of his powers and didn't exactly approve of Devos training themselves.

The Square was busy and there were a lot of Devos around. There were Peacekeepers about but he paid them no mind. He saw people chatting and there was an unusual sight. Standing on the sidewalk was a man he recognized talking to a woman. He observed them for a while and wandered a bit closer to make out what they were saying. He knew that face, having seen the man before at his father's Office. Unsure of his intentions as he had heard of some of the things the man had done to secure his business; Dion strode a bit closer. With a practiced ease he blended into the crowd around him as he got close. He caught the tail end of the man mentioning a proposal of sorts. Dion shifted his bag on his shoulder, not sure if that was a good thing of a bad thing. The Woman seemed to be unsure of what he wanted, stammering in response. Dion stayed nearby, to listen in.

_{Location: NYC Compound, Main Square - 12:16 P.M.
Mentions & Interactions: @FailingForward & @Lasrever}

---

Bartholomew nodded as Cameron explained her reasons for not accepting the tattoo. It only made sense. She was a shapeshifter after all and having a single identifying mark in one static location would make it painfully easy for the Peacekeepers to identify her. Something he did not want. Fortunately, she offered an alternative solution, as he had suspected she might, which meant that she was at least open to the idea of joining the D.R.M, if not for the betterment of mankind as a whole, then at least for her own amusement.

Either way, he would have access to her very useful set of skills and abilities.

"No, it is not one of those 'blind truck ride deals.'" He said, letting out a small chuckle. I'll simply show you the way to the base after I've deactivated your I.D. chips and received your solemn oath to never betray the resistance." Smiling warmly, Bartholomew tucked his cane up under his arm and strode towards Cam.

"May I?" He asked, gesturing towards her neck with his free hand.

Edmond laughed, "No no, nothing of that sort. I must admit I'm not a fan of those sorts of games. No, what I have proposed involves your particular..." he gave short pause, "capability." He stepped towards the side in a small ally between a couple of the businesses. He motioned her to follow so they could talk without being stuck in the middle of the foot traffic. They didn't have to move very far, just a couple feet inside.

Edmond felt confident that he could at least have a conversation with Oxley now. It didn't take much to recognize that she was wary of Edmond and perhaps his intentions. Nervousness? Maybe, but her quip about her D&D skills looked more like a coping mechanism more than anything. At the very least she seemed interested in what he had to say, and that was the first hurdle. Now he had to tread carefully to not drive her away. Something small he could manage to keep her attention.

"Let me be honest, Ms. Oxley. I'm sure you have figured out that I already know a little bit about your history, your upbringing, and what led you here." Edmond spoke factually, but also softly to give off an air of understanding. "I, of course, also know of your power, the ability to never forget." He looked at Oxley for the moment between phrases to see how she would react. That last sentence alone should have made it obvious to what he was in search of, and wanted to see if its mention would deter her away.

"I can only guess as to how it must be to cope with a bombardment of new information day in and day out. In my case here, I have the means that might help you with managing your thoughts." Edmond tapped the handle of his metallic briefcase with his thumb. "Of course I am also offering you monetary compensation, and a streamlined endorsement to leave the compound. If you would care to join me for lunch, I can go into more detail. I know of a great pizza place of Tony Barelli just outside the compound walls. Getting out this time should not pose us an issue."

"And by resistance, he means himself." Came a deep, but upbeat voice from the crowd. Shortly after came the owner of that formerly disembodied voice, strolling confidently forward towards the trio from a group of people crouched around a pair of dice. Damon's neck tattoo was in plain sight as he approached with a genuine smile, the slight traces of wind causing his already unruly auburn hair to blow about a bit, and his eyes practically glowed gold in the light of the sun. Bartholomew wasn't the only person out recruiting today, but he was definitely the most uptight, at least in Damon's eyes. Luckily for Damon, Bart had already gathered two of the people he was interested in tracking down in to one place, so talking to them would be easy enough.

"Before you go making deals with the Devil, you might wanna see all the cards at the table." He stated with a chuckle and a smile, his attention focusing on the two young women in front of him.

"I'm Damon, and you'll be happy to know your reputations precedes you. Cameron Clark, Shapeshifting rebel, and Jenny Steban, the girl that make's Jesus's resurrection look like a parlor trick. Glad to meet you both."

Oxley smirked as the man told her he wasn't interested in that sort of games. She silently shrugged: she'd been expecting that, really.
Her smile froze as the man mentioned her "capabilities", though. Oxley became more carefully guarded again, her hands coming up and crossing across her chest defensively. Oxley had already suspected this was what mister Grandure had been after, but it didn't make her feel any less on edge to hear the words herself.
'I, of course, also know of your power, the ability to never forget.'
Oxley stared at Edmond Grandure with a critical look.
"Huh. It seems my reputation precedes me," she quipped in return, not that she had a reputation of any sort.
Think, Oxley. Think. There was a bone buried here, definitely. Perhaps Mr. Grandure was trying to make an asset out of Oxley. Maybe he was here to recruit her for his company.
Working for the enemy, huh? What the hell, Oxley? I can see you are seriously considering this, the voice inside Oxley's head snapped.
Monetary compensation sounded tempting enough, but the real kicker was Mr. Grandure's offer of being able to get Oxley outside of the Compound.
He's a businessman. Of course he would make promises he cannot keep. Are you an idiot? Anyone with half a brain cell would realise that no one wants to live inside this crappy district.
Despite the heated argument Oxley was having with herself in her mind, it seemed the temptation was too big to resist. This man might've known of her power, her past, and probably much more than that, but he didn't know Oxley's real goals. She looked at the man before her - a man who was probably about to con the hell out of her - and all she saw was an opportunity. Opportunity to escape.
Does he seriously think he can help you control your power? He must be so full of himself, Oxley thought with a scoff. She didn't need help with that, the ID chip did it for her. But this man didn't know that. And Oxley intended to keep it that way.
If she got out of the compound, she could finally find out what happened to her parents. If they were still alive, if they'd ever tried to contact Oxley. A part of her didn't want to know. It had been so long, and most often truth hurt more than ignorance. But she had to know. Even if it'd hurt her. After a beat of silence, Oxley responded.
"Well," she began with a determined smile on her lips, "Only a fool would turn down pizza. Your treat, of course."
Oxley knew this had to be a trap. No way the man didn't have ulterior motives. In fact, Oxley kind of counted on him having them. If he thought he was using Oxley without her knowing, she could do it right back at him right under his sorry nose.

And she really liked pizza, so there was that.

_{Location: NYC Compound, Main Square - 12:18 P.M.
Mentions & Interactions: @hagroden, @Lasrever, @FailingForward}

---

Bartholomew winced imperceptibly as he heard Damon's voice. He'd never actually liked or gotten along with the fellow, mainly due to their opposing views on government, even though they both fought for relatively the same goal. Freedom for Deviants. But where Bartholomew believed that strong central leadership was a good thing if the right people were in charge and behaved appropriately while in office, Damon believed the exact opposite. He believed government of any kind was bad thing, and while he didn't entirely agree with the man's views, Bartholomew could understand them. After all, government was the main reason Deviants were currently living in Compounds and being treated like animal's.

Still...he couldn't help but see thing's differently.

"That's a bit of an...exaggeration." Bartholomew remarked, somewhat tensely, as he pulled his hand away from Cameron's neck and shifted his gaze towards Damon. "But I do agree that you should hear all the options open to you before making a choice. Even if they all lead to the same end. However, I would stress that you accept my offer as it would be far more beneficial for you than anything Damon could offer you. Not only that, but I can disable the chip immediately, whereas you'd have to wait with him." He said, nodding at Damon.

^{Mentions @Cio and @Randomness}

---

Dion was interested in what was going on. The man had his attention. He knew where he would be headed now, so it was only getting there while beforehand and eavesdropping. He knew Tony would see right through him so he would have to do it fast, getting there to tell the man why he was there again. Dropping the Eddas off, he put the Regius in his bag and headed out. It wasn't easy explaining why he was leaving but he made a few excuses that they just sighed and he left the Compound. He arrived at Tony's and went to the back.

"Oy, there he is..." Tony grinned at him while he wiped his mouth. His husband, Greg smacked him.

"Stop eating all my cookies, you brute. You're supposed to be watching your weight. Out of the kitchen. High time you took a break for lunch anyways, and I'm sure you and Dion can talk out on the main floor." He ushered them out, handing Dion a plate of fresh cookies, and Tony a large gyro and fries.

Tony chuckles as he takes a seat. "So, kiddo, what can I do for ya?"

Dion looks around. "Well, there was a rather... Interesting conversation I overheard and I'm following a lead."

The big man laughs. "I see. Following the footsteps of your pops, huh. Well, I'll play along. Been a while since I did any covert ops but you know me." He winks. "Anyways, you got your new books? Was a bit difficult to get them in there but they stopped searching my truck long ago. Honestly, the way they treat you guys is wrong. Sure there are a few bad eggs but you're a good kid." He took a serious look. "I've heard rumors of that group. They don't seem well organized and honestly, it's conflicting what they do. I see two larger narratives. One where they organize themselves and establish leaders, and another where they just go ham, blowing up things and killing people."

Dion grunts. "I'm fine, uncle. You don't need to worry about me."

"Good." Tony nods and keeps eating his lunch. "Because if you joined, I would have to beat your ass since I know your father won't be able to."

"Wonderful." spoke Edmond as he made a turn back into the main street, "then let us be on our way."

"I can't believe that worked." said his accomplice through the earpiece. Edmond paid it no mind. This was only the beginning. So far all he had was her attention, it would take more time and perhaps motivation to get her to cooperate with him and his goals. No deal had been made. If she wanted to Oxley could just end their relationship at any moment, so Edmond still had to play carefully if he wanted her to align with him.

After a short walk to the Compound checkpoint, Edmond had little trouble getting through it to leave, the usual questions. Oxley was a different story. Unbeknownst to Edmond, Oxley had tried to leave already for the day and the same Peacekeeper who handled her before was not having it. While not the main supplier, Edmond was a major player when it came to the Peacekeeper's funding. By speaking to a couple of the managerial officers, he was able to approve of her exit of the compound. After the usual questions, searches, and time wasting assessments, they were finally able to leave the compound.

Leaving the final doorway into the city where the decidedly normal majority of humanity resided was like night and day. The streets were crowded with cars, people flooded the sidewalks. It looked cleaner, maintained, and much more attractive. Even the normal city litter that would scatter the streets was less abundant. Edmond took pause to look at the team of Peacekeepers behind him. He pointed out his car that they would be following, a black, midsize luxury sedan with silver trim still new. He refused to ride in their transports, opting to take Oxley within his own vehicle. Despite their protests, they relented. They did not leave his bumper the entire ride to the pizzeria. Upon arrival, Edmond noticed another transport.

"Looks like someone else from the compound has had the same idea to eat here." he said quietly, almost to himself.
"It's no one." said Edmond's friend through the earpiece, "some guy who..." a short pause, "yeah, some guy who is related to one of the Peacekeepers. Not one of our prospects, no threat really. Be careful of what you say though. Peacekeeper relation and all."

Before they entered the building, Edmond made sure the Peacekeepers would wait outside with those from the other transport. A couple of them circled the building where they could to watch all entrances.That done, Edmond and Oxley entered inside Edmond got their food letting Oxley get whatever she wanted and they settled into their booth. Edmond placed his metallic briefcase at his feet, inside the booth. "Dig in." After a moment of silence while they ate their pizza, Edmond spoke up.

"Alright, Ms. Oxley, allow me to explain a little of what I am about. I am of the belief the compounds are of a necessary evil. You might not agree with me on the sentiment, but when you have individuals capable of causing mass hysteria and genocide precautions have to be made. You might think that argument is too weak to be reason to affect a sizable number of people, but you would be wrong. Even a seemingly harmless ability could be used disastrously." Edmond took a quick sip of his water, "For example, lets use a self regenerative ability. On the surface it is harmless, but that all ties to motives of the individual. In the hands of a terrorist it's devastating. The compounds are our way of preventing another Black Sabbath from occurring. After all it would be difficult if not impossible to regulate it like we would fire arms."
He waited silently to see what Oxley's response might be. Given that Oxley was one of the deviants forced to live in a compound against her will in poorer condition than the rest of the population, she probably would have a less than appreciative view of Edmond's stance.

"That said, I believe we can work together to improve the living conditions of the compound while also providing the world as a whole protection from those with innate weapons of mass destruction. Now that you have the context, are you still interested that we continue?”

Pickles stared at himself a moment longer is the shattered reflection of the mirror's remnants. Though the vessel was the same, the operator had switched entirely. His eyelids rested a little lower than before. His resting face was now that of a perpetual grin. His once fair posture was now twisted, his neck jutting forward a ways causing his head to lead his shoulders. Even his breathing pattern was different, taking on a slower, deeper rhythm. Pickles admired himself and relished in his own image.

At this point, Jack probably would've wiped the blood off his face, wrapped up his hand and tried to return to work as gracefully as possible after such an embarrassing calamity. Jack wasn't here right now.

"Heh-heh heh-heh HEH-HEH heh-heh!" Pickles sputtered out melodically, relishing in the sight of his own blood stained lips moving at his command. He pulled up his fist and inspected it. The blood had already clotted, though there was still a lot of healing that needed to be done. Pickles didn't care about the damage so much. He just liked the fact that he could feel anything at all. Finally satisfied with being the pilot once more, Pickles turned to the door and took his exit from the restroom.

What are you going to do? Jack's inner voice rang out in Pickles' mind, full of uncertainty and apprehension. Pickles had no intention of sharing his time. The question would go unanswered. Jack was going to find out the same way everyone else would. He stomped passed the kitchen staff, a few of which had to double-take when they regarded his appearance, but Pickles' stride carried him forth too quickly for anyone to stop him and inquire about his face or hand. In seconds, he was in the barroom. Pickles' eyes scanned the surroundings. He was looking for something. Someone, perhaps. The first thing he spotted was an ash tray that housed three butts. The smoker must've already left the bar as there was no one around it. Pickles' wicked grin grew ever so much wider as he walked to the tray and stuck his hand in it, grabbing at the ashy remnants within. With his soiled and dirty fingertips, he rubbed the dark ashes over and around the sockets of his eyes, creating a sunken look to them. His face. He had his face again.

Pickles breathed slowly in through his nose and out of his mouth, his eyes shutting softly as he took in the air. He was nearly whole and it was glorious. Quickly, though, his eyes shot back open and starred out with an intensity that the ashy shadows only served to amplify.

"HellooO denizens of this fine, FINE establishment," Pickles began to announce with his unsettling, wavering voice. "You may have seen a fool before - A FOOL - who made quite the ass of himself. That fool is gone now. Gone, gone, gone, GONE. If anyone would LIKE to try and find out what kind of fool I am, I'LL... be... here." Pickles then gave a very dramatic, exaggerated wink toward everyone before doing a skippity step and a single twirl, finishing his performance with a bit of jazz hands and an open mouthed grin. Suddenly the jubilation completely disappeared from the clown's face as he let a flash of intense anger rise to the surface. His eyebrows dropped and his grin morphed into a snarl and he held that scowl for two full seconds before going right back to his happy, maniacal grin. The old barkeep looked like he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure if it'd be a good idea right now. Everyone in this place was weirdly unique. When you interview for a job in the compound, there are some universal questions that eventually always got asked. The old man had some idea as to who he was looking at and decided it best to leave it be, for now.

Pickles' eyes eventually zeroed in on a child that had somehow been allowed into the bar. He was a curiosity and an opportunity all rolled into one. Pickles loved kids. He comically sauntered over to the table and looked at the young man's much larger companion, sizing him up a bit, before returning his attention to the boy. "My my my..." He began, his tone taking on a deep, yet effeminate quality. "Are you LOST little fellow or did Daddy just need to COOL off?"

The Compound - Wit's End

Mentioned - @Marrok

What truly separated the denizens of Devo Town from one another was how they carried themselves. In a city where freaks were uncommon, a world where humans reigned and those considered an oddity were cast aside, appearance pinpointed worth and standing. However, as one might have expected, a town of Deviants followed different rules. Where some appeared to belong in story books and fairy tales, others reminded an onlooker of darker folklore. It was a sight one quickly came to understand was the norm of Devo Town, and for those like Willow who had been tossed into the pit only moments after birth, there was no other reality. Perhaps this was the reason why he remained calm in the face of adversity. The reason why he was difficult to shake off his feet. It was a resilience those within the compounds were taught to adopt, lest they fall beneath the weight of chaos which so often ruled Devo Town.

Indeed, Willow had seen much in his short fifteen years, but the caution he felt when approached by this most peculiar creature stemmed from how this fool, this jester, presented himself. It was the same man Willow had seen only moments earlier, he was certain of this. What had changed? Everything. It appeared to be a completely different entity who now approached the boy where he sat.

"Hah!" Shade laughed, excitedly slapping his hand against Willow's shoulder, "what a psycho! I fucking love him!"

Despite his young age, Willow had come to learn that the most devastating ability possessed by anyone, inside or outside the compounds, was unpredictability. Jesters were just that, unpredictable. This one seemed far more dangerous, however. No, he did not display massive weapons in the form of talons and claws, he did not reveal scaled flesh or erupting fire. Willow could measure that. This was an enigma, a hidden blade, a viper ready to strike at a moment's notice. It was intriguing, to say the least. The young mutant could not recall himself growing hesitant around another, not since the orphanage. It was safe to say that this was the reason for an inching smirk exposing itself upon Willow's pale lips, razor sharp teeth peeking out from within. "It's very sunny outside," the boy offered, his voice a soft, calm and raspy tune which clearly contrasted the jester's words. "If I ordered a bowl of porridge," Willow began, his expression one of entertainment, alongside curiosity. He wanted to see what was going to happen. "Would you bring me one?" He finished, tapping slender, clawed fingers against the wooden table, clicking the tip of each digit against the surface.

The pale young creature felt his heartbeat accelerating somewhat at the interaction, a mixture of intrigue and caution blending together to draw a picture most vivid. Shifting his attention from the jester, to the bar owner and then back, Willow gently rested a hand under his chin, obsidian orbs fixed on this most enchanting presence. "Since you're new," the young necrokinetic spoke, "welcome to the compounds, you and..," he paused for a moment, before speaking once more, "the fool." Willow's grin grew somewhat wider at the statement leaving his lips. Bob had not moved a muscle, not an inch, and neither would he. Whether Shade was a bad influence or if Willow's inner curiosity had been roped to the forefront, there was no denying that the insanity presented with flamboyant intent was enough to color him an intrigued spectator.

Oxley was quite fascinated by the whole process or getting out of the compound. She paid special attention to any and all security camera placements and possible passwords. Mainly Oxley kept quiet, as to not disturb the man at work. This couldn't be perfectly legal, Oxley thought as she followed Mr. Grandure.
Still, she barely cared. She had her own quest to follow. And pizza was a part of it.

"My order? Yes, of course, yep yepyepyep..." Oxley rambled as she stood before the endless options presented to her. She was sure to take her time, much to her acquaintance's annoyment, perhaps. Still, quality pizza wasn't every day and Mr. Grandure was paying, so... Heh. Oxley made sure to order the most expensive one they had.
"I'll take a... Make it a extra large, special crust pizza with double cheese, mushrooms, pepperoni, tomatoes, and... olive! And don't feel afraid to go ham on the oregano, so to speak! It's all good, my associate here will handle the payment." Oxley made sure to look Mr. Grandure in the eye as she said so, just to drive home a point.

As the two sat down in their booth, and soon after a pregnant silence their orders rolled in. Oxley's mouth watered on the sight of her huge plate. It smelled so good, or perhaps Oxley was just too hungry to care. The girl had - to be frank - absolutely no idea if she would even like the gruesome combination of ingredients. And she was certain she couldn't stomach the whole thing even if it was the most delicious thing in the world. It was more about the gesture than anything, really.
Still, she dug in.

Oxley lost her appetite soon enough. She was beginning to regret her decision to join this man for lunch, actually. How could he think that?
Irritation flared up inside Oxley, her temper rising like a tidal wave.
Not only was he full of shit, he was belittling Oxley. It felt like a straight insult to her brilliance.
"Oh yes, locking marginalized people in inhumane conditions would totally seem like a necessary evil to someone who doesn't have to, oh I don't know, actually live through it?" Oxley fired back, eyebrow cocked in annoyment. Snappy as always. "Maybe you are safe -an argument which I find debatable at best - but what about the tens of thousands - nay, millions, who are locked up inside the Compounds with little to no means to protect themselves from those same people with 'innate weapons of mass destruction'? Your logic is extremely flawed," Oxley scoffed as she placed her fork down. She smiled from the corner of her mouth, but it wasn't a kind smile.
Relax, Oxley. Don't let him provoke you. His intelligence is simply... Below yours. Not everyone shares your mind.
"But I must say I find your headassery quite impressive, Mr. Grandure. You almost sound like you have a point. However... Whatever your motives, I believe you've done a poor job of convincing me of your side of things. I certainly believe that you believe the Compounds are necessary, but it doesn't matter how good the living conditions of the Compounds are. A cage is still a cage, and people dislike being caged. You might be protecting yourselves now, but I assure you, you are sitting on a massive, ticking time bomb. The pressure will only keep growing until you can't control it anymore. And when that happens... I don't think a mere wall and a flimsy chip is going to stop the deviants from blowing you up into dust."
Oxley deliberately chose to distance herself from the group as she referred to the deviants as 'they' instead of 'us'. That served many reasons, really. It was both a carefully controlled move on her part and a truth of how she viewed herself. When Oxley thought of herself, she thought she was quite unaligned, capable of swaying either way if it served her. Currently, however... Oxley was not impressed.

Pickles cocked his head to the side a bit as he regarded the young man. He then cocked it a little further. And then, further still until his ear was fully resting on his own shoulder. His eyes grew wider with each movement. At this point, there was no proof that he even had lids.

"The skelly boy wants SOME porridge?" It was as if the concept of the request totally confused the clown. Like he was trying to make sense of gibberish in the most dramatic way possible.

There's something wrong with these two. That kid... His eyes, came the familiar voice in the jester's head. His fingers... I mean, look at him.

"I am," Pickles said aloud. It almost looked as if he was attempting to cock his head even further, like he was trying to achieve a 180 degree turn but struggling with the accomplishment, all the while wearing a menacing grin. Suddenly, in a liquid motion, Pickles straightened his neck back out, raised a fist, and brought it down like a hammer upon the table. The resounding boom was enough to demand attention from anyone in the vicinity. Once the fist landed, it stayed down. Pickles leaned in toward this new associate slowly, his eyes unchanging from before. His mouth an unnatural display of poor dental hygiene as the corners of his lips continued to rise, climbing as high as they could as if trying to reach the summit of his cheekbones.

"My dear boy, you SEEM so hungry. Like a beautiful undead monkey. No BANANAS for you, nor your flunky. He's not your daddy, is HE now?" As he spoke, his face ever so slightly moved closer and closer to the young mans. He didn't blink. Not once. "Tell me boy, what do THEY call you? Is it you who he's in thrall to? He DOESN'T move, I must applaud you. An impressive Skelly. Tell me how.

"Is it like reapers with their sickles? If I touch him, does IT tickle? Oh, by the by, you can call me Pickles. Pickles the Magnificent Clow..." He was within inches of the young man's own face now as his smile instantly disappeared, morphing instead into a grimace. At the same time his eyebrows furrowed to an almost unnatural degree. His teeth clenched together so hard, it was a wonder they didn't crack. "..nnnNNNNNN!" He pushed himself off the table, his frustration doing its part to pump acid and adrenaline through his veins as he looked around for something to break. Something to take the anger out on. He looked like an idiot and he would not stand for that one bit.

The Compound - Wit's End

Mentioned - @Marrok

Willow was somewhat surprised by himself, as that slam into the table passed him by like a blowing breeze. He did not react, but rather, only grinned wider in response. Shade had an effect on him, truly. The boy, was he another, would have jumped out of his skin at the slam, but there he was, remaining seated with his chin resting against the flat of his hand. "This guy," Shade chuckled, "is the most entertaining fucker we've seen since torturing ol' Bob to death," he finished before bursting with laughter. Flinching somewhat at those words, as they had been strung together, Willow turned his attention to the imaginary creature, if only for just a moment, before returning to Pickles, as the jester had presented himself.

Indeed, the story of Bob was one of dark nature. Willow spent his early life, or rather, earlier life, in an orphanage where the wellbeing of children was secondary to profit. Bob was not his name at the time, but rather Bruce, a man who was well known for his vicious treatment of the young. Willow had not been spared his fist, and could very well display a multitude of scars blanketing his scrawny body presented as gifts from 'Good ol' Bruce', as he was titled. "Show him, show him, show him!" Shade exclaimed, repeatedly slapping Willow's shoulder. "Show him Bobby! Show the jester freak how kind we are! Show him! Show him the gifts we can give!"

Clenching his teeth, Willow managed to exhale a soft sigh, before he eventually spoke. The boy did not recoil from the clown, who was no doubt used to a more submissive attitude from those he approached. Yes, Willow had enough scars to expose experience in that regard. He had gotten his fear whipped out of him at the edge of knives and the blunt surface of fists. "Shame," Willow stated, tilting his head somewhat, "I was in the mood for porridge." Obsidian orbs met the jester's, abnormally large eyes remaining firm in their stance. "I guess undead isn't too far off," Willow continued, his smirk replaced by his usual, apathetic expression. "In thrall to me? Mh..," considering the question for a moment, Willow lowered his eyes, before a slight smirk returned to his pale lips.

"There it is! There's the Willow I know!" Shade expressed excitedly as the boy gently pushed his chair back and rose to his feet.

"We all have our peculiarities," the necrokinetic commented, tilting his head, "don't we?" Sharp teeth revealed once more, Willow leaned in as the jester did the same, meeting the insanity with a malicious nature hidden deep within the youngster, a darkness which appeared to surface if only by a minuscule amount. "I guess Reaper..," he hinted back at the sentence previously uttered, "isn't too far off..," Willow finished. Reaching for his mask, the boy obscured his face behind its shape, and slipped his clawed hands into gloves once more. "We're not getting porridge today, Bob. Let's go," Willow stated, pulling his hood back over his head as he started towards the exit, the large man standing and following along without a word.

"What!? Come on, Willow! You're just going to drop a bunch of one-liners and leave!? For fuck sake!" Shade flailed, "we're not going to show that clown thing what we can do!? Ugh.., you can be so boring, you know that?"

Location: The Compound

It was not too long before something did happen to Richard. From the edge of his shrouded senses he noticed a figure headed in his direction. The individual was a large man, though still a good couple feet below Richard, and from his gait also seemed to be drunk. This was an uncommon, but familiar experience for Richard. Richard, given his intimidating size and appearance, has the undeserved reputation of being someone you probably would not want to mess with. For the most part, he is fine with that and content with his solitude, but from time to time someone comes along and with the aid of alcohol, thinks it would be a good idea to try to take him on in order to prove their manliness or something along those lines. It usually is a guy, the guy is usually well built, and it usually ends badly for them. This time would prove no different.

Of course, Richard did not think this at first. His first clue given his unbalanced walk, nearly falling to the ground a few times. The second was he seemed to be heading straight for Richard.

“Oi it’s that faceless freak. Imma show him whose tough…” he slurred, almost tripping on his feet a few times as he headed towards Richard. “Then I’ll-hic- I’ll be th-hic- the one no one messes with.”

Nope, he is definitely wasted. Richard thought. I’ll try to dissuade him, though I am sure he will not relent, otherwise I’ll probably have to drop him a few stories before he gets the hint…

Richard stood up on his rear legs trying his best to emphasis the fact he had a good couple feet on the guy, sharp claws, and a barbed tail. And as expected, the drunkard did not think twice.

“Y’think you’re so tough? I’ll -hic- I’ll show you.” The drunk said before throwing a rather weak punch, not that Richard’s rubbery skin would have dulled the impact of the blunt force anyway.

I guess alcohol gives you the power of stupidity or something. I’ll carry him in the air a bit, hopefully it’ll scare him off me. Richard thought, waiting for the drunk to attempt another punch before sidestepping.

The drunkard, having little sense of balance, put to much force in the attack and promptly fell over from the momentum. Taking the opportunity, Richard dug the talons of his front paws into his clothes (trying to avoid injuring the man) and lifted him a few feet in the air before flapping his wings and going airborne following a small jump. To give some credit, the drunkard still futilely attempted to fight for the first 40 or so feet off the ground before realizing the gravity of his situation. It only took a moment for him to realize he was probably going to meet the more fatal part of the laws of physics before he started yelling expletives loudly and struggling. Normally Richard would tickle his victims with his barbed tail, but the drunkard was too inebriated to co-ordinate his resistance unless you counted F-bombs part of resisting something. After carrying him around for a minute or so, he unceremoniously dropped him a dozen feet on the roof of a nearby building before gliding down to the street in a slightly bitter mood.

The drunkard was unharmed aside from a few bruises and hopefully waited to sober up before attempting to find a way down from the building. If anything, Richard was left in a worse state with his wings aching in a not painful, but very uncomfortable way. It would be a few hours before the feeling subsided and why he prefers to not fly when possible (the exhaustion of even a brief flight was a side effect of his chip).

Wonder what is so great about alcohol if people are willing to put up with the stupid decisions that arise from intoxication. Maybe I should try it if I were to somehow able to absorb it through my skin. At the very least I could probably inject it directly into my blood.

Unsure of what to do next, he opted to find a bar. Though not for somehow finding a way to get drunk himself, he was more hoping to get some insight into why alcohol makes people think starting a fight with him would be a fun time when everybody previously ends up stuck on roofs, trees, and other high places and with a hangover. At the very least, He will probably see some interesting characters.

Edmond sat there as Oxley retaliated against what he had said. He listened with his elbows on the table, barely resting his chin on the tops of his interlaced fingers. He knew that for most in Oxley's position, they would argue the same. In fact, he expected her to be angry with him, with his untouched view of the state of things. Yet there was something about the way she spoke that didn't quite fit what Edmond had envisioned.

The deviants. The way she worded her last few sentences gave off an air of detachment. Did Oxley not consider herself one? Perhaps not in the worldly sense, but she seemed to want to separate herself from what makes a deviant warrant the name. While it was no comparison to what Edmond had said to her, Oxley's mixed conviction to the people of the compound wasn't missed.

"You are right though." Edmond spoke finally, "there are some within the compounds hellbent on disrupting the peace, if you would pardon the term. A ticking time bomb as you put it. Perhaps not blow me up, but if they continue as they are I'm certain another massacre will follow. You are aware of who I'm referring to. They have been quiet of late, but I know it's only a matter of time before they resurface with something more devastating than their previous attacks against the Peacekeepers."

Edmond took a sip of water and then reached down for his briefcase. Sliding his plate aside, re replaced it with his case. After he opened it, even though the restaurant was plenty bright, the case let out a noticeable soft light. It was only open briefly though as he pulled out a small smartphone and placed it on the table just between him and Oxley before closing it again, a slight audible autolock clasping it shut. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, and scribbled on it. He put it atop the phone.

"If you change your mind and wish to help in my ventures then please give me a call." The business card was soft grey, his company name slightly pressed into it colored silver. The company address and normal business number were also printed on it. On the back was another number Edmond had written down, with an out of state area code. The strange new number was the one Edmond refereed to.
"Feel free to call if something else comes to your mind, as well." encouraged Edmond as he started to stand up out of the booth, "I believe to help build trust between us, I should be available to lend you a hand if need be." He then held out his hand to shake Oxley's.
If Oxley accepts, Edmond has the intention of locking Oxley's power of compact mind. The result would be permanent memory loss of the recent intricate details that one would normally not remember unless they made an active effort to do so. This would include the exact directions to the pizzeria, any paperwork or typography used on the computers at the Peacekeepers compound checkpoint, and perhaps the exact phrasing of their conversation. Anything before Oxley meeting Edmond would not be affected, except her ability to recall it until about an hour has passed. His handshake was firm and short. By actively locking Oxley's power, she didn't feel anything. If anything she might notice a wave of forgetfulness. Edmond continues as they shake hands, releasing after the first sentence.
If Oxley does not accept, then nothing happens. Edmond didn't find issue with this, why would Oxley shake hands with the man who essentially told her she deserves to be where she is? Pulling back his hand, he continues.

Edmond smiles "I thank you for your time, Ms. Oxley. I sincerely hope you will be in contact with me soon. You should probably get a box so you can take your pizza home with you, it would be a shame to let it go to waste." Once Edmond had gathered his briefcase and other effects he made his way to the door, leaving the remains of his own food behind. Before exiting he turned back to face Oxley, "I'm sorry to run off like this, but I have another engagement to get to. I trust our Peacekeeper escort will get you home safely."

Once Edmond was out the door no less than four of the peacekeepers approached him. After a brief conversation a couple of them entered the restaurant. Edmond got into his car parked just a little ways from the front window. He watched as the Peacekeepers approached Oxley then drove away. He had told them that his lunch was over and that Oxley was not done yet; she was still inside. Whatever reason they went in after he left was beyond him, but he could think of a couple possibilities.

"I think you could have handled that better." said Edmond's compatriot after being silent for most of their exchange. Edmond placed his hand over his ear. He had almost forgot he had it there.

"Perhaps, but time will tell." Edmond shrugged, "It was a personal project. If she calls or not, it's of no consequence."

"But it would have made things easier?"

"Yes, but it's not like we have other means to achieve the same result eventually." Edmond continued down the road, his mind thinking back to his interaction with Oxley. It could be said Edmond could have been more tactful, but there were other projects on his mind. He had a meeting to get to involving Heidis's latest Compound innovation.

Of course I'm right, Oxley thought with a bored eyeroll. She fell more silent and let the man talk even if his whole being made Oxley grit her teeth.
Make no mistake, she took the phone when given to her, obviously. She couldn't let some personal bias cloud her judgement. And if there was a tracking device in there... well, she could easily find a way to remove it. Oxley took the phone and the business card after examining the frey piece of paper for a bit, tucking the both of them into her satchel.
"I believe to help build trust between us, I should be available to lend you a hand if need be," Edmond concluded, offering his hand in a shake. Oxley stood up as well, already motioning for the restaurant to bring her a box. She took Mr. Grandure's hand in a brief, albeit cold grip.
"Noted." Oxley nodded as they parted, the skin contact lingering on her hand like a ghost.
A wave of... nothing. Nothing washed over Oxley. Something was... off. Something...
"Oh... my god." Oxley gaped at the door, her hand still hovering where the handshake had occured.
"Everything alright, miss?" a staff member of the pizzeria asked as he walked over.
"My headache!" Oxley all but squeaked, "It's gone! My migraine is gone! How..." Oxley gaped, her palm coming to rest on her forehead. Was she sick? She always had that dull headache. For as long as she could remember.
"...Miss?" the waiter asked again, having stood there silently while Oxley had been having her ephiphany.
"Oh, um - yes, I was hoping I could take the rest of the pizza home? In a box, or something," Oxley rambled, trying to figure out what had just happened. This is fucking awesome, Oxley thought as she looked around, a smile tugging at her lips. No more headache. That was... so awesome.

Oxley was rather silent the ride back to the compound. She felt... odd. Like, in a great way. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so peaceful, really. Like she had some space to think. She didn't know why, and she cared even less why. She just hoped it would last for ever.
"We are returning Mr. Grandure's companion to the Compound. She's deviant Dana Oxley," the peacekeeper that had been escorting Oxley spoke as they reached the security check. Getting inside the Compound was way easier than getting out of it.
"Miss Oxley, if you will - step through the detector," the peacekeeper at the gate commanded. Oxley obliged, not knowing any better.
"Okay, what's next?" Oxley asked as she walked through the arch, turning around to look at the peacekeepers. One of them was looking at their computer screen with a puzzled frown.
"Wait, miss... Please, step here again," the peacekeeper motioned, guiding Oxley back through the gate. Uhh... okay. Technical difficulties? Sure.
Oxley then repeated the process of walking through the gate, looking back after. The puzzled look on the peacekeeper's face persisted.
Once more. Then twice. A third time. Every time the same result. Oxley was growing impatient.
"C'mon. What is it? Why are you making me do this?" Oxley demanded, folding her arms across her chest protectively. The peacekeeper with the monitor shook their head, mumbling something with another.
"Miss, are you sure you are deviant?"
"I- What??"
"Are you a deviant?"
What an idiotic question. Of course she was. Oxley looked at the peacekeepers, baffled.
"Yes, I am deviant. Isn't that what the machine tells you? I have the bloody chip and everything," Oxley argued, her honesty shining through the confusion. She recieved no answer.
Wait.
"You're telling me the machine... isn't telling you that? That... that's got to be a bug, you know. Technology isn't one hundred percent reliable," Oxley stammered, trying to take a peek of the monitor the peacekeeper was holding. The peacekeepers kept mumbling with each other and looking at the screen, clearly paying no mind to Oxley who was growing panicked at the thought of something being seriously wrong with her. Of course things would get complicated the minute I get involved... Just my fucking luck.
"Hey, can't you just let me go? The records clearly state I'm a deviant. That should override whatever your detector says, yeah? It's not like you care what happens inside those borders either - so just let me go home. Okay?"
Oxley was feeling a lot of things. Uncomfortable, sure. Confused, scared, even. Hopeful. A tiny part of her thinking maybe it was all true, maybe all these years had been a mistake. Maybe she wasn't deviant.
But that... that didn't make sense. Sure she was, it was obvious. She had the gene. She was literally unable to forget. No sane person could recite the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy word to word.
Calm down, Oxley. Calm down. Just do whatever you do whenever you're feeling overwhelmed. One point one four one... five nine... uh... s-six? No, it was two... I... WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?

Oxley stared at the peacekeepers, face slack with fear. What in the name of hell was going on? In the pizzeria her migraine had stopped, then the peacekeepers couldn't apparently detect her deviant gene... and now she couldn't even remember the first six decimals of pi? Oxley was shaking. She was feeling like she was detatching from her own body and floating away into space. She didn't know what was happening, but she knew she wasn't in control and she couldn't stand it. It scared her. She needed reason. She needed stability. She needed to be home. Now.
"I- I- I... I NEED TO GET HOME. NOW. LET ME GO HOME," Oxley demanded with a shaky voice as her body shivered and eyes stared blankly ahead. A peacekeeper tried to touch Oxley's arm, but she snapped immediately, jumping away from the touch.
"DON'T TOUCH ME."
"Miss... we can't let you go past here before we resolve this problem. We ask for your patien-"
"I. NEED. TO. GET. HOME. NOW," Oxley repeated as steadily as she could, tears slipping from her determined eyes. "Just... let me go. P-please."

Eventually, they did let Oxley go. The matter had remained unresolved, but apparently the peacekeepers had felt too bad for the dissociating and shaking girl before them to make her stay any longer. As Oxley got back into the Compound, she darted straight for her apartment, walking the street without care for the surrounding people. Oxley tried to repeat a broken mantra in her mind, only to find she couldn't remember it. That was impossible, wasn't it? She could always remember. Every second. She didn't like being unable to forget, but she had grown to accept it over time. Now she felt out of place, out of focus.
What was happening to her, and more importantly... why?

---

Dion watched it all go down. "So... Heidis is trying to consolidate Devos… For what purpose?" The whole thing set him on edge. He wasn't sure what her powers were but they seemed to benefit the man. Tony seemed agitated by it all, especially when they disagreed. "That doesn't look good, Uncle."

"Aye..." Tony side-eyed the whole ordeal. "I don't like it one bit. Be careful of that man, Dion. He's danger. Keep away from him. That girl too." He looked directly at his godson. "I know I shouldn't tell you what company to keep, but this only confirms my suspicions. Something major is going to happen, and soon. I've seen it before. I can only hope it doesn't end the same way it did last time... You might be a politician's grandson, but they wouldn't hesitate to kill you."

Dion nodded. "Aye..." Standing he hugs Tony before heading out, the Peacekeeper escorts taking him to the compound. He arrived just before they let Oxley go and they let him through a minute after she leaves. Dion shifted his bag and headed back to his own place, passing through the Main Square. He wasn't sure what that whole commotion was about but he caught the lines of "She didn't register as a devo.." Edmond Grandure was a dangerous man indeed. "Guess we'll have to keep an eye out. Might have to see if Dad can get any information on him... He didn't do anything... Just shook her hand..."

Do deviants dream of super powered sheep?
The ceiling was a dull beige colour. The paintjob was flaking and peeling off thanks to the unforgiving gears of time. Oxley blinked, her cheeks feeling stiff from the dried tear tracks there. The beanbag chair crunched under the girl's weight, the tiny beads inside it shifting to adapt to her shape.
What is happening to me, really?

Oxley had ran straight for her apartment, obviously. Nothing could've stopped the oncoming panic attack as she had realised that something was wrong with her. What was going on with her? Why had she suddenly just... lost the ability to remember? It all felt so hazy, almost in a comforting way. Maybe Oxley would've felt comforted by it if she wasn't so busy panicking at this new, unfamiliar sensation.
Think, Oxley. What could this be about? Was it you leaving the Compound? Or was there something in my food?
Oxley gripped the sides of the beanbag before shooting upright.
"Did that sicko put something in my pizza?" Oxley asked aloud, to herself more than anything. Oxley scrambled up and searched for her satchel, quickly finding it and rummaging through it until she came upon the business card and phone she'd been given.
HEIDIS. It has to have something to do with him and his company.
"If you want answers, you'll have to hack them. You are good, but not that good," Oxley mumbled as she sprang up and sat before her computer. "Yes, but you don't have to hack them. You'll just need to... dig around a bit. But wait, no no nonono, the Compounds have a way of tracking everything I do on the internet. I can't do anything without them catching up on what I'm doing. Think, Oxley, think..."
Oxley paused for a second, her thoughts disoriented and grasping at straws. Then she gasped.
"OH, wait. No, it couldn't have been the food! I was fine, and Mr. Grandure didn't have access to it... When was the moment I began feeling strange? -- Shit. Of course. It was the..."
...the moment we shook hands. That's when my headache stopped.
"But... how could've he done that? And... what exactly did he do? Argh! I can't figure this out alone, not while my mind is... my mind is... like this!" Oxley cried out in frustration, rubbing her forehead.
"This would be so much easier if I had my VPN..." Oxley groaned as she went back to planning, keeping the business card and the burner phone on her desk. "Of course, I don't necessarily need a VPN to mask my connection, I could just... Of course. I could just hijack someone else's connection. Someone with a public access point within reach, someone like..."
Someone like my lovely neighbor Dean. Of course he didn't have a public access point, per se, but it would have to do.
"Is it too close to me, though? They could still trace it. They don't like snoopers," Oxley mumbled as she began typing on her laptop. "It'll have to do. Sorry, Dean," Oxley apologised under her breath as she began what could only be described as hacking into her neighbors wi-fi connection.