My power allows me to travel between mirrors by passing through a localised pocket dimension.
Abilities:
• Able to 'enter' mirrors and traverse a pocket dimension that connects all mirrors in the world. • Can enter/exit the dimension via any mirror big enough for my body to fit through. • Effectively allows me to teleport between any two mirrors. • Can remote-view any location with a mirror, seeing it from the mirror's perspective. • I have an acute awareness of mirrors in the area; for example, I could sense a mirror nearby without seeing it.
Drawbacks & Weaknesses:
• Although the transportation seems instant, it actually takes time. Time moves different in the mirror world and I have sometimes been there for twenty minutes, only to return to the normal world and find no time had passed. • Being in the mirror world is tiring and gives me intense migraines after around twenty minutes. As I physically have to walk to the mirror I wish to exit through, this limits my transportation abilities to a radius of 20 minutes walking distance (further if I run.) • Cannot teleport or view anywhere that does not have a mirror. • I don't know what would happen if a mirror I was using broke, but I doubt it would be good. • When I remote-view a location, my perspective is fixed. (As I see the room from the mirror's point of view.) • I am only able to enter/exit through mirrors big enough for my body to fit through (though I can see through any mirror.)
About You
Family:
• Thomas Crawford, estranged • Natasha Crawford, estranged • Otto "Helga Holla" Warmann, estranged • Anthony "Raja Fantaja" Bruce, estranged
Personal Statement:
I had a pretty comfortable upbringing. My father was a European businessman earning big money, and my mother stayed at home to care for me in my infancy. I did average at school, but I have never been particularly academic when it came to subjects like mathematics and science. But, I was top of the class when it came to art, English and foreign languages, so in my opinion it evened out. Everyone's good at different things, right?
Apparently not, according to my parents. My father in particular seemed most concerned with moulding me in his image. If I was to get anywhere in life, he said, I had to be more like him. I had to stop reading Renaissance poetry and start reading the Financial Times. I had to put down the paintbrush and pick up the football. It seemed that he felt the best way to accomplish this was to take me out of public education, and send me away to an all-boy's boarding school. "A real school", he would say - just like he went to.
I was thirteen, and had little say in the matter. In retrospect, I remember being quite excited. I was never popular at school. Well, that's the understatement of the century; I was loathed at school, it seemed like my every moment spent there I was the subject of some form of abuse or disapproval. I remember, in my naïveté, thinking that this school might be better. It wasn't, it was worse. There was far too much testosterone in this environment for it to be a place I was welcomed in. I'd always been a bit fey growing up, and it was at boarding school that I was first called 'gay'. Of course, I had no idea what it meant at the time, and I denied it profusely based solely on the tone it was spat in. But as the years passed, I began to realise that bullies were not always wrong.
Coming to terms with my sexuality was a relatively painful process. I knew my parents wouldn't take it well, and the more I dwelled upon it, the more isolated and alone I felt. If my father sending me here had hoped to pull me away from painting and literature, he had truly failed, because in my despair I only become more engrossed in the art world. At age 16, I was asked to leave boarding school for my 'underperformance' in maths, science and physical activity.
My father was furious. My mother was distraught. I retaliated by signing up to an art's course at the Royal College of Art in nearby London. I attended the classes, and for the first time in my life I made friends. I really felt like I belonged there, and it hurt all the more knowing I had been denied it for so many years. I met a guy, we hit it off... One thing lead to another, and I found myself with my first boyfriend. It was time to come out to my parents.
It didn't go well, and within an hour of telling them, I was hitting the streets of London with nothing but my leather jacket and a pocket full of savings. I stayed with my boyfriend for a while, but it didn't work out. I had family in Germany, so I decided I would head there. They'd heard from my dad and turned me away. So now, I was not only alone, but I was alone in a foreign country.
It turned out fine. I knew a lot of German. I got a job in a gay bar, and ended up renting a room in the owner's apartment. He and his partner were infamous drag queens in the underground art world of Berlin, and soon enough I was a part of that scene too. I made films and took photos, and we arranged screenings in the bar. The community really embraced me as their own, especially Raja and Helga, whom I was living with. They both mothered me. I was happy.
When I was 17, I began to realise I had a gift. It wasn't a particularly fantastic gift, but it was the result of a mutation none-the-less. The thought terrified me. I'd already been exiled by people I loved; I couldn't have that happen again. So I exiled myself before they had chance. Within a night I was gone, taking all my possessions with me. I never looked back. It seems stupid to me now, almost two years later. They were loving people. They would have accepted me. All I knew at the time was that I needed to get away.
So, I've been living on my own now in a different suburb of Berlin. I rarely bump into old pals from the scene, and if I do I just pretend to not know them. I'm struggling to control my powers. I'm constantly aware of all the mirrors in my apartment building, it's near impossible to think. Sometimes I'll wake up in the middle of the night, lost in the mirror realm with no idea how I got there. It takes me ages to find my way back to my room. I need to get a sense of control, and if that means I have to go back to school... Then hand me the uniform.
CHINK. The red bottlecap soared through the air and landed tinnily on the hard, sticky floor of the bar. The music was loud and decidedly campy as Mason handed the bottle of lemony-looking liquid to a young, blonde female. She thanked him and left, vanishing into the crowd of buff gay men and their entourages of liberal women. The crowd tonight was largely German - tourist season didn't properly kick off for another month or so, when the city held its annual "Internationale Filmfestspiele Berlin". The lights dimmed, interrupting his trail of thought. As the music trailed off, a spotlight illuminated the stage, and out tottered a tall, chunky lady to all the whooping and wolf whistles the inebriated crowd could muster at this late hour.
Of course, the word "lady" was used in the most metaphoric sense of the word; this lady had plastic breasts, a strong jaw and a mountain of neon green hair atop her aged but immaculately made-up face. Helga Holla, one of Berlin's finest drag queens and a regular fixture in the gay and art scenes here in the German capital. Mason grinned bemusedly as he watched his housemate work the stage and maintained it as he spotted Raja observing from the sidelines, just as she did every night; eyes wide in the admiration only a devoted lover can possess. Raja and Helga were each other's number one fans, and it was - quite frankly - adorable.
"E-excu, I mean uh... Entschuldigung?" came a male's voice, attracting Mason's attention from the glass he was absent-mindedly wiping. It was not common for customers to visit the bar whilst Helga or Raja were performing, but also not entirely unheard of. Mason chuckled at the man's poor attempt at the language, but it was always endearing when people tried to make the effort.
"Hallo," Mason began, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Was soll ich Ihnen bringen? Ein Cocktail, vielleicht? Ein Glas Wein?" He spun the words rapidly and with precision, as a spider spins her web. The young man's face was flooded with panic as he began to rummage around in his pocket for his smartphone. Mason laughed. "No need, my friend. Just joking with you." He smiled warmly at the man, who looked relieved. "What can I get you?"
The man chuckled; he was embarrassed but clearly saw the funny side, and Mason appreciated his smile as he ordered a vodka with Redbull. He was quite attractive, his light blonde curls pulled back with a traditional bandana, revealing his angular face and smooth complexion. He adjusted his glasses as Mason handed him the drink. "Are you here alone?" Mason asked. The man nodded apprehensively, taking a sip of his beverage. "May I ask why?", Mason pushed.
"I, uh... I actually just moved here. I don't have that many friend back home, you know..." the man mumbled. It wasn't hard to tell he had confidence issues, but he had a lot of accidental charm. He was endearing. "I kind of just wanted to--"
"To get a fresh start?" Mason interrupted, smiling as the man nodded once more.
"Yeah, exactly that." he replied.
Mason smiled in return. "What's your name?" he asked.
"Ben." he replied.
"Well, Ben. I know exactly what that's like. I just moved here a year and a half ago, actually." As he spoke, he scanned the crowd for people he knew. He eventually made eye contact with a friend of his, Monika. She was German but she spoke good English, and she was here with other people Mason knew. He shouted her over.
"Was geht, artfag?" she laughed, slightly drunk as she and her friends approached. Mason laughed too.
"Monika, this is Ben." he said, gesturing towards the new arrival. "He just got here from England. Doesn't really know anyone, if you get what I mean." He and Monika exchanged knowing looks, and the whole group smiled at Ben warmly.
"Do you like art, Ben?" Monika purred, wrapping her arm around the alarmed man's shoulders.
"Y-yeah, I... I love art. I just graduated from Central St. Martin's in London." he said, seeming a little overwhelmed by the warm welcome.
"Well, Ben. You're gonna love it here," he smiled, before winking platonically the man whom Monika was now draped over. "I'm Mason, by the way. That one's on the house."
With super human muscles, my strength is far beyond that of any ordinary person. While not visible upon my frame, my strength is quite fearful. Due to the fact that my body would break under the sheer pressure of my strength, my power is accompanied by enhanced durability, but only enough to prevent my power from being harmful to myself. As of now it does not effect my exterior frame further than protecting me from lighter bludgeoning.
Passive - My strength is on par with ten grown men at all times, greatly enhancing my capabilities such as power and speed.
Active - With enough adrenaline, I can infuse my muscles further and gain more strength, however it drains me drastically and leaves me incredibly fatigued once the adrenaline leaves my frame. At this level I could rip a vault door from place but it would leave me tired and useless until I manage a good rest.
Drawbacks & Weaknesses:
I have no defensive powers. My skin is just as vulnerable to blades and bullets as any other’s.
I have no tricks up my sleeve. My power is very straight forward and enhances my physical capabilities but it doesn’t stretch beyond that. I cannot ever lift a truck or toss a car. The latter could be possible if I activate my powers further but it would leave me fatigued and drained.
If I stay in my 'powered' mode for too long, my body will start hurting and the next day it will feel like I have been through heavy workout and I'll be incredibly sore.
About You
Family:
I’ve lived with my dad, Kyle, my whole life. Mom passed away a few years back. Her name was Maria.
Personal Statement:
I grew up with an American father and a Swedish mother, both of whom are incredibly open minded and accepting individuals. They raised me rather well, but throughout my childhood, I kept mostly to myself and it grew with the years. Being a small, fragile looking little guy kind of left me out of most things. It’s okay, though. I had a few friends that I hung out with from time to time.
It was early that I learned that my mother had been struggling with a terminal illness but it didn’t show itself very often. In fact, she was a very strong woman but with her energy being constantly sapped, it eventually became too much. What could be considered a perfect little family was down one member December of 2012. Her passing was hard on both me and dad, but together we managed to struggle through it.
With her gone, I grew even more reserved and kept to myself most of the day. The passing of a year was enough to eventually crack a small hole in the shell I had created and I started to speak more and spend more time with my father. Our relationship grew stronger once the mourning had been going on for a while and things started looking up.
Kyle continued with his yoga studio, a rather successful business, and my grades at school were picking back up. Before and after my mother passed on, my life was rather straight forward. My supernatural ability showed itself very recently, a month ago actually. It’s been really hard to deal with and I’ve accidentally broken several things because of it. I know that I'm strong but I've never used it to hurt anyone, ever.
I guess I am recorded as a behaving kid but I’m not a saint. I slip up at times and sometimes really mess up. I try not to, and I always try my hardest at whatever I have been tasked to do. Dad always says that a mistake is just another stepping stone to success. He’s all “Yoda” sometimes.
I get along with most people but I’ve had ‘that one bully’ following me around in every school I’ve been to. For most part, people leave me alone and while considered weird, I’m not someone people usually dislike without reason. At least I’ve gotten that impression.
Since an early age I’ve found great interest in the concept of mutants and powers all together. Given the fact that I noticed how I was 'different' at such a young age, I quickly grew interested in what other people could do. I happily spent many hours on the internet, reading up on various incidents concerning powers and mutants. It kind of caused some paranoia, though. So many people had problems with their powers and so many accidents had occurred. It filled me with a hint of worry. What if that would happen to me? Mutants are considered walking bombs by some and others simply hate them and I understand why. We are unpredictable, dangerous and a sneeze can lead to an inferno from some of us.
All of this did however add to my shyness, and wanting to stay away from others. Staying away from others means that nothing bad could happen. I don't want to add to the statistics of mutant accidents and disasters. As most things have two sides however, it made me think about how far a person is willing to take this. How far is a mutant willing to take their powers in order to gain something? I could use my powers to hurt those who bullied me. Used wrongly, the power of Strength could do a number on almost anyone, a bad thought.
I have decided to stay on the good side of everyone and just keep my powers as low key as I can. That way I don’t get into trouble.
Oh, and I do have some hobbies, too. I love medieval history, especially swordsmanship. You might not think a shy little guy like me knows his way around these things but I have been studying it for a while now. It’s only in theory, though. I’ve never actually held a real sword. I also enjoy learning about the history of weaponry… Is that bad? I don’t know…I just think they’re really interesting. Well, I know how to sew and people say I’m good with a needle.
I love colours as well, especially black and pink together. Maybe you can tell on the pink stripes in my hair or the various bracelets I wear...or my shirt in the picture. I also love Converse shoes and have a few pairs of them, pink, green, red, blue and purple. Oh, and I have a cat named Fang. I like cats.
Blasting music into his ears was a habit. No, it was required. Casper had often stated that without music, he can’t function. With the headset firmly planted on his head, the young man turned to the song ‘Masterpiece’ by Madonna just before his attention turned back to the shooter game on his Playstation Vita.
Lately he had been rather distracted, not getting enough sleep. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, because everything was going so well. His dad’s business was blossoming, no one had made life hard to live and every day passed without any notable casualty. Another shot was fired. Might as well keep going, one of them was bound to hit the spot. Maybe that was the problem though, the fact that everything was going so well. Maybe it had pulled the vigilance out of him.
“Casper!” A sudden voice brought the boy back to reality and after almost dropping from shock, he turned to meet the voice. It was Gregory, the café owner. Casper always used to sit in the corner of that café after a long day at school.
“Yes…?” The boy returned, pulling his headset down to his neck.
“Your dad’s been calling you.” He handed Casper a phone. Oh, this happened sometimes. Casper had his music blasting too loudly and his mind tended to wander off. It could leave his cellphone vibrating in his pocket without him noticing it. Luckily Kyle had the number to Casper’s favourite place, and knew the owner.
“Oh…” He returned, reaching for the phone. “Hello?”
“Habibi, why don’t you pick up?” Kyle was a good man, always calm and collected. He was also incredibly patient and into all the new age stuff Casper could barely understand.
“Sorry…” Casper replied, lowering his head slightly. Worrying his father wasn’t something he liked to do but…it just happened sometimes.
“I am on my way home. Do you want something to eat?” Given the fact that the two were complete opposites, it was safe to assume that their eating habits were as well. The social, fun loving and spiritual father was a vegetarian, but Casper barely even ate vegetables.
“A burger?” He spoke, hoping for something greasy and unhealthy. Funny, he never gained any weight and still looked like a skeleton, despite all the burgers he ate.
“Would you like some gasoline with that?” Kyle joked. While trying to get Casper to eat healthier, he wasn’t a tyrant about it. Sometimes it was hard to believe that Kyle even could lose his cool. “I’ll be home in thirty minutes, habibi. Love you.”
“Love you too, dad.” He hung up, handing the phone back to Gregory. Well, that was his queue to leave. Putting the headphones back, Casper finished his tea and slipped his bag on. It was a simple shoulder bag made out of cloth, by his father. The man owned a small new age store where he sold bracelets and other trinkets that he made. People seemed to really like those things and no matter Casper’s opinion on the whole religious aspect of it, he liked them too.
The way home was an eventless process with the occasional car passing by. Casper always did enjoy taking walks, though. They were refreshing to say the least and he could always escape into his own little world with every step he took. Upon reaching their apartment, Casper stepped into his room and dropped his bag on the bed. He hadn’t told his father of the sleeping issues, not yet. Should he, though? Things were going so well, he didn’t want to ruin it. Perhaps he could start seeing a therapist, they tended to help, didn’t they? Well, he knew one thing that was bothering him, his powers. What if he ever screwed up and NEST came to get him? He had enough control of his powers to never use it accidentally but you’d always hear about these perviously ‘normal’ people who’d go nuts and start killing everyone. What if one day that would happen to Casper? Not likely, Casper could barely hurt a fly if he tried. Was it this that was bothering him? Maybe, but it was too general, too broad. This couldn’t be it.
Hearing a key slide into the slot noted Kyle’s arrival. He could think about this later. Right now though, he didn’t want to spoil dinner.
Hair Color: Multiple albino labyrinth burmese pythons replace their hair
Eye Color: Dark yellow irises with slit pupils and bright yellow sclera.
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Height: 5'11
Weight: 135lb
Powers & Abilities
Power Name: Prehensile trichokinesis with healing potential
Power Description:
"Asides from the obvious physical mutation, these snakes can grow up to 20 feet in length and inject a powerful healing serum. My physiology also mimics some that of a pythons .
Abilities:
In detail; what does your gift allow you to do?
"When father got me 'probed' the shrink typed this up"
Gene is a copy cat Gorgon. Her power’s are very alike to those of the mythological serpentine beast.
Her main power is prehensile trichokinesis; Otherwise known as “hair manipulation”. The difference between most with this power and Gene, is that her ‘hair’ is composed of snakes. The venom that each snake contains is not lethal, but the polar opposite. The “venom” is an extremely powerful healing substance that can cure aliments ranging from physical wounds to tumours. Gene’s yellow pythons are incredibly resilient and are not severed easily.
Gene also manifests many of the physiological adaptations of a snake. This includes a flexibility that is parallel to professional contortionists. This is complimented by her collapsable spine and ribcage. While her eyesight is certainly lacking, her body is incredibly sensitive to vibrations and can detect movement through vibration in the air and ground.
"Thanks doctor Duebeau."
Drawbacks & Weaknesses:
In detail; what are the limitations and weaknesses of your power?
"I have not done this much writing in years, forgive the fact I keep copying and pasting to save my wrists."
Gene has incredibly bad vision. Her prescription for both eyes is an average of -5.00. Due her bizarre eye physiology, she can not wear contacts and is forced to wear glasses.
The snakes can not extent past 20 feet. The do not move more than 30mph at their fastest.
Gene is cold blooded; She is incredibly sensitive to changes in temperature. If her surroundings become too cold, she either enters a sleep like state and can even die.
If an individual strikes her snakes, she feels the pain just as strongly as the snake does. They are appendages, not separate entities although they do display a level of sentient awareness.
"Thanks doctor Duebeau."
About You
Family: Edward William Simmone (Father) Rose-marie Simmone ([DECEASED]Mother) Shirley Vontutton ([EX]Step-mother) Cameron-sue Sagness-Knight ([EX]Step-mother) Edward Jr. Simmone (brother) Maximillian Simmone-Vontutton (Step/half brother) Millienum-marie Simmone-Knight (step/half Sister)
Personal Statement:
I was born in Monaco to the second richest Monégasque family next to the Grimaldi's. My father was the heir who fell hopelessly in love with my mother while he was visiting the Ukraine. My mother was definitely the one who wore the pants, or so the servants use to tell me. My father was a Lord Henry, Dorian Gray-esque sort of man. Aesthetic was everything to him and I certainly agreed with this belief. My mother was far more pragmatic, more amused by what laid underneath, rather than how pretty it’s shell was.
Clearly they got married, and eventually she did fall for all his quirks, or so I was told.
I was born as I currently am. My father being a superstitious and under educated fellow thought I was a curse and almost had all my little snakies cut off. My mother put up a huge fit, she adored my pythons. She thought they were "exotic" and played with them almost as much as she did me.
Small countries breed small minds, and apparently by the national height average here, small people as well; Monaco was one of the top funders of Human's against Mutants, with reported donations even coming from the Grimaldi's after a band of mutants tried to over throw them in 1994. So, I was a bit of a coveted secret of the family.
Sometimes I think, even if Monaco had been more mutant friendly, my dad still would have locked me up because I distorted the nuclear family of the playboy and mail order bride. I never really respected that narrow family model.
My father did lavish me with anything I wanted, and at one point even tried to spoil my babies. Least to say I would rather have bleeding haemorrhoids than ever experience my father trying to feed pythons that do not require their own substance. My mother just always laughed at him.
Comparatively, I just stared blankly at him until he bribed me with designer dolls and outfits.
My father built me my own wing of our mansion with a sealed outdoor portion. So I guess artificial outdoors was more accurate. Hey, wasn't all that bad. I could see my utter enjoyment in the two way mirror. There's nothing better than seeing the rain and never feeling it, right? I found friends closer than one would figure. My abilities were always potent and I would bemuse myself with them. My pythons became my closest friends at a really early age.
I guess because I never really had the chance to meet friends or even really need them, I became very content being on my own.
My mother was my hero growing up. I write this because I figure this trope is important in these types of high school essays. Not that I ever went to an actual high school, or school.
There was no need, my mother had a teaching degree and was my tutor up until the 2nd grade before the incident.
She taught me to embrace my differences and use them to better myself. She was invaluable for that, I do not think I would have survived with out her constant preaching of self love. “Variety was the spice of life”, and I am as rare and as luxurious as saffron.
My mother passed away in a car crash when I was seven years old. I was not allowed to attend the public funeral, instead my father held a small private ceremony in our home.
My mother’s death caused me to become incredibly depressed and angsty. Asides from all the other on-goings of my life, this was the one tragedy that actually impacted me. I could careless about the ignorance of my father and my country. I started to pick up embroidery to distract myself from the overwhelming sadness that captured me. Embroidery was a very popular hobbies in the Ukraine while my mother was a child and it made me feel closer to her, even post mortum.
I started to make quilts, pillows and things of those genre. My father would often pay me out of a sort of pity and allow me to spend my money as I pleased.
This lead to a drug problem. Cocaine was popular among my servants and I had money and spinal fluid to share. It eventually progressed to herion and all sorts of opiates. I never really cared about my own health, the amusement I felt seemed like a fair enough trade. I started buying pounds and then kilos, never fearing police since even my birth certificate wasn’t on government and police files.
I am quite hedonistic and impulsive, as my father’s euphemism would put it. I stopped when my father introduced me to a mutant who’s ability was to nullify the power’s of anothers. My pythons dropped into strands of golden hair and my face almost instantly sunk in.
I looked too much like my mother to look like such a drug addict. It summoned a storm of powerful emotions that shock the core of my being.
So, I stopped and it was a painful process but I grew from it. The extra money I had went towards expensive toiletries and expanding my wardrobe from baggy t-shirts and boxers to more extravagant things; Things my mother would of loved.
This mutant also revealed to me that my pythons contained a healing ability that kept me perpetually healthy. Which explained why I never had an overdose during my darker years.
Over this time my father married and remarried a couple times, to women I never really met. I had a couple of half siblings whom I occasionally entertained in my wing of the house.
I was never really close to any of them.
I got a physical and mental exam two years ago which revealed I had an antisocial personality disorder coupled with sever depression. Which I thought was an extreme exaggeration.
I am tired of being hidden, a bird in a golden cage is just as discontent as a bird in a wooden one. I hope to join PITY to escape my oppressive country and shameful family situation.
“Your mother would not like this sort of behaviour.” A dainty male voice scolded in French, Monaco’s native language. Gene rolled her eyes dismissively at the notion her father trying to discipline her. She began to slice through a large, alabaster crystal mound that laid on top a silver tray. Gene was brazen with her drug addiction, she did not even attempt to hide the illicit substance or its use from her estranged father. The pythons began to dance upwards, glaring at her father as subtle hisses background their aggression. “Papa, mother would hardly approve of half of your actions as well. Defiance apparently must be hereditary”, she spoke smoothly, brushing the drug into thin lines with the use of a single razor blade, held loosely between two manicured fingers. “Genevieve! Control your pets! I can not tolerate such explicit behaviour in front of the younger children.”
“They see me more as servant than a sibling…Why worry? just hand me a maid uniform and the problem is solved.” she mumbled back, venomous yellow eyes matching her father’s glare. Her pythons slowly lowered, curling around her neck in a protective scarf. “—Plus my quarters are locked and their are more drugs at their private school than in my room.” She lied, minimizing the quantity of cocaine her chamber’s held.
“Genevieve Rose-Ore Simmone! Do you think I am stupid? You’re debit card reports almost 40,000 euros withdrawn in cash in the past four weeks and you want me to believe that, that measly pile is all you have?”
“No, papa of course I do not think you are stupid.” Gene replied, stressing each word with a sense of exhaustion as she had done so many times in the past. “You spend the same amount on tips in a month, that is petty change for this family. I would almost dare to say you should be proud of how conservative I am…” She trailed off, a blanche line disappearing up her nostril as she spoke.
“You are being blatantly disrespectful and I do not appreciate this tone. You are a part of this family and should act like it!”
Gene paused, raising her eyebrow in disbelief at his over familiar statement. She was far from angry, she was more of less just impressed by the sheer stupidity of the emotional manipulation he was trying to pull. Her lips curved into a smirk, she shook her head with a subtle chuckle. The notion that he was her father in any sense but biological was hilarious in her mind. “Show me one family photo with me in it.” Gene cynically challenged him, smiling at the stumped reaction of her frustrated father.
I constantly emit some sort of field that makes people uncomfortable, making eye contact with me produces spontaneous (really really bad) headaches, and I constantly read the minds of those around me to find out what's hurting them. I can't help any of it.
Abilities:
I can help people with emotional problems. I can also feel physical pain, so I'm okay with first aid and healing type stuff, as long as the person is unconscious, so they don't try to get away from me. The... field I produce gets more powerful with my emotions, so it's not too bad when I stay calm - people can still be around me, if they want, they just get sort of vaguely uncomfortable. I'm also really good at being alone, you know, when I want to be.
Drawbacks & Weaknesses:
Nobody can look me in the eyes without severe pain, nobody ever really wants to be near me, animals hate me, and I always have other people's voices in my head. This is all compounded when I get upset - people start vomiting, screaming, freaking out, collapsing, it's... bad, when that happens. This can put a damper on a social life, as you might imagine.
About You
Family:
Father: Timothy Jackson Mother: Abigail Jackson Sister: Sarah Jackson
Personal Statement:
I think I'm a pretty normal person. Or, was. I'm from the town of Bellevue, Idaho, which is sort of the middle of nowhere, I guess. I've lived here all my life and I'm not especially well traveled, though I used to think a lot about going to Europe some day, maybe. I tend not to get out too much, I stay in my room a lot. Like, a lot a lot. I like to read, and that's... pretty much it for what I do, I read a lot. I'm a Catholic, and pretty religious, but don't worry, I'm not going to like, try and convert anyone. My family situation is good, but it's been sort of deteriorating since my mutation developed. My parents are... understandably weirded out by the whole thing, but my sister's been pretty understanding, all things considered. I haven't really been to school since it happened, either, the police wouldn't let me. I'm not, like, super smart or anything, but I used to do pretty well in class. I know this sounds sort of stilted, I'm sorry, I'm not great with people. It's been sort of... hard, since I got my powers, but I'm hoping this school can teach me how to control them, let me live a normal life again. Thanks for your time.
Everyone had good days and bad days - Greg was no different in that respect. Of course, most people's bad days involved a bad work experience or a string of rotten luck, not laying in bed with your hands on your heads, listening to every problem anyone within half a mile of you ever had.
Greg was having a very, very bad day.
Black eye, beaten, bloody, hungry, hating, hated, tall things take from small things. The little boy down the street. Some of the other kids had taken his lunch money, and hit him when he tried to stop them.
Left me, left me, skinny bitch, scratched an itch, did I not do enough? The woman in the next house over. Her husband had left her for a younger woman. She thought it was her fault.
Bouncing baby boy, bloodshot, bare-faced, sick in the sink, it's coming closer coming closer it's not my son. Greg already knew that one.
Greg blinked his eyes and tried to focus them, becoming dimly aware that he was sitting in the corner of his room facing the door, wedged between his bed and the wall. His hands were on his temples, squeezing, trying to force the voices out of his head. It wasn't any use. He wanted to tell the woman that it wasn't her fault, tell the boy that he'd been very brave, tell the other one... so many things. But he couldn't, because they were out there, and he was in here, and it had to be that way for them.
There was a knocking at the door. "Greg? Is everything okay?" His sister's voice. Sarah's.
Weaker, bleaker, burning from the inside out. He's crying, dying, it's made of him and growing dim. Someone's father was dying of cancer.
He opened his mouth to respond, but his throat was dry. He heard her pushing the door open and reached frantically for his glasses, but they were on the other side of the room. He threw his hands over his eyes just as was about to enter.
"Don't come in!" he snapped. He could feel the field around him. On good days it was flickering and weak, when he was calm and content, and his sister could enter the room, and talk to him as long as she could ignore the goosebumps and the unease. But today, when he could hear everything in the neighborhood, when he was tear-stained and hurting, the field was as strong as it ever was. It was like a wall, unwavering, and he knew that if she or anyone else stepped foot in it, they would get sick, or panic, or scream.
His eyes were still covered, but he heard her footsteps stop at the door. "Okay, Greg. I won't come in." Silence for a moment. Then, concerned, "Greg, did you do this?"
Greg peeked over his hands for a moment and scanned the room quickly. It was a disaster area. His chair was upended, books and papers were strewn all over the place, the sheets on the bed had been torn half to ribbons. Someone had clearly been punching the wall, and it wasn't hard to guess who judging from the blood on his knuckles.
He didn't respond, just sat with his eyes covered. They were silent, for a moment, and finally his little sister spoke up again. "Look, we're about to have dinner. Do you want me to bring you up something?"
Kissed me, said she'd miss me. Wished me. Gone now, dawn now. Always was. Someone had been skipped out on. He wasn't happy about it.
Greg nodded. "I... yes. Yes, please, that would be good. Thank you."
She turned, and he heard the door closing again. "I'll leave it outside your door," she said, and was gone. Greg was alone again, with the voices.
I have the ability to manipulate light, easy as that.
Abilities:
Due to lack of training, my abilities are a bit... Haywire, to say the least. I naturally attract light, kind of like a glow-in-the-dark sticker! Put me under a lamp for a few moments and then flick it off and you'll see me, clear as day, emitting a white-yellow light from beneath my skin. I have yet to fully understand why this happens, but let's just say I would make a perfect roommate if you need a nightlight to sleep. Light manipulation is where I have most of my knowledge. Every since puberty I've been able to generate light with slight strain. A snap of the finger can summon a spark, a waving motion can produce a beam, and all this light is for me to control!
Moving the light is easy, it flows like water if I concentrate enough, but I can also solidify it to produce shapes, projectiles, and platforms that I also control. This might be my main form of defense, as these shapes are indeed just solidified light. They can burst into a blinding flash if dropped and cause serious damage if set off too close to someone. Other then that, I can also bend the light, allowing slight visual warping and invisibility to me and those in my general vicinity. A slight movement in the peripheral, dousing a lamp's light for a moment, or even a made up shadow are easy to create if I'm concentrating enough, and I'm sure I can produce more illusions with the right amount of light present.
As for invisibility, it is easiest to do to myself then to do to others. A shield of light is key, as without it the trick is basically useless, and with a few hand motions I can bend the shield to render myself and those within invisible. We are completely gone to the naked eye, but we will still emit sounds and appear on any heat-detection devices. I am also only able to use this skill is we are stood still, movement can very easily disrupt the shield and since light isn't solid when bent, you'll walk right out into the open. Other than that, my ability allows me with few useless skills, such as producing colors from thin air and making nifty, cordless lamps for those who ask nicely.
Drawbacks & Weaknesses:
- The dark is my one big fear. Being extinguished, put out for ever, it is so easy to be blotted out. Darkness can overwhelm my light if I am not careful. If I am stuck in a dark room for over five hours I become unable to generate my own light, and any attempts can overexert my body.
- Over using my power can lead to painful body and head aches. Creating solid light and bending it are the two main factors of these painful contractions.
- I am not exactly in control of my powers. I have been known to glow brightly or even vanish if emotionally unstable. Don't get too close if I start getting mad, your eyes are more valuable then my feelings.
- No true offensive power. Blinding/distracting people and hiding are my main abilities. And I'm no thick-skinned strong girl either; I bruise easier than a peach.
- I'm always extremely hot, even in the dead of winter. My hands and feet burn like I have a fever, and my face is almost always flushed from the heat. I keep many paper fans around for when it gets unbearable.
About You
Family:
- Father: Julian Edwardo Rios, 47 - Mother: Kayla Smith Rios, 45 - Brother: Ross Kyle Rios, 22, estranged
Personal Statement:
Without truly realizing it, fireflies have always been a big part of my life. Okay, that might be a bit weird to start off with, but trust me it's important! Growing up in New Orleans, right on the edge of the bayou, nature was always around me. The humid summers always brought an abundance of mosquitos, spiders, and, of course, fireflies. Small, glowing orbs that skimmed the water and clung to the grass right outside my house. I would run through the waist-high turf on those cloudy nights, ignoring my mother's pleas to get out of the mud and let her check for ticks, just to see those bugs leap up and coat the star-filled sky with yellow and green. The were always brief in their arrival, but every summer since I could remember their appearance are as clear as day, stuck in my mind like an oil painting.
I suppose I was inspired by those gleaming insects. They were always... Free. Living the high life, if only for a few days. The early summer nights were theirs and theirs alone; and their beauty and grace always humbled me. My father took notice of my fascination, and took to calling me his "little firefly" ever since the appearance of my little mutation. As I grew and my powers started to develop, I took lessons from the fireflies. I let their lights stain my skin, leaving gleaming dots among my dark flesh, and watched as they generated their glowing abilities with a sense of repetition. They taught me how to conjure the gleams they produced, and showed me the many ways my body differed from that of normal humans. They were my inspiration, my reason for waking on those muggy nights and walking aimlessly through the high brush, ignorant of the other bugs that may threaten my lessons.
My family was my other main source of joy. My mother and father were the true ideal couple, they loved like no one else could. It was as if every day was the first day they met, and every night they would lay with me and discuss the beauty of the world and myself and our family as a whole. I never knew any of my grandparents, were never introduced to either side of the family, but I remember seeing letters in the mail with unfamiliar first names and my last. They were always scraped, along with the ads and magazines that the mailmen would bring from time to time. I taught myself not to question why, and simply made excuses for my folks. Everyone has their secrets, after all. Despite that, I also have (had?) an older brother, Ross. He went off to join the army when I was fourteen, and to tell the truth we never really got along. He called my fascination with stars and fireflies "weird" and "stupid", so I in turned said that his love of video games made him a "friendless loser". Those were how the big fights usually started, anyway. To say I don't miss him is a lie, though, I would kill to see his scuffy face again.
My school life leading up to PITY was rather uneventful. I was an average student in science, below average in English, and above average in math. My varying report cards never really affected me the way they should. I found school to be the less stressful part of my life, while staying in a group of friends became my number one cause of panic. I could never hold good relationships with people as I am always described as being "weirdly cheerful and unnaturally distant". I could never really wear my emotions as clearly as I wished, and my face was always smiling, so I suppose most people thought I was fake. I managed to snag a few lovers in my freshman and sophomore years of high school, but each ended awkwardly and without much fuss. My parents simply say that I am just a bit too lethargic when it came to conversation, and I guess they're right in the end.
My mutation first began to appear after my first period at the age of twelve. My mother was discussing something in my room, me lounging lazily on my bed, and after she finished speaking and rose to leave I requested she shut off my lights. The iridescent bulb flicked off in an instant, but instead of the room turning dark my skin began to visibly glow. My mother's reaction was a bit harsh, she screamed and fell back, but after a few moments she rose to ask if I hurt anywhere. Stunned by my own glow and doubly fascinated, I shook my head, and then simply asked,
"Does this happen to a lot of people?"
My parents were slightly distraught over me being a mutant, but they each got over it in their own way. The kids at school, however, either never found out or began to avoid me. Keeping my mutation a secret was easier said than done. A girlfriend I had managed to score at the age of sixteen found out one sleepless night and spread the news all around school the next day. I became somewhat of an outcast, but it didn't really bother me too much. Loneliness is a heavy burden to bear, however, and the fear of abandonment began to set in after a year of eating lunch alone in the bathroom.
Back-stories aside, I must point out that I have many interests to share. Astrology, painting, and algebra are my main favorites. The thought of tracking stars and forming colors always gets my creative juices flowing. As for math, well, I've always had a knack for equations and numbers. No use hating it, right? As for training my abilities, I've always had a bit of trouble controlling myself. Finding this school seemed like pure luck, and I'm hoping that this application may make me seem fit to attend. I need help, and hopefully PITY can spare some room to give me some.
"Phoebe Kate Rios! You open this damned door right now! Don't you mess up that sink!"
The peeling, white door rattled, brass door-knob simply refusing to turn, and Phoebe felt a grimace (or perhaps a smile) form on her lips. Her hands reached to pull the sink's handles further, the stream of steaming water soon loudly gushing from the faucet without delay. Phoebe listened as her mother grunted, whispers drowned out by intense flow of water, and after a second of silence from both parties she continued on applying bleach to her hair. Her kinky, uncontrollable, black hair. Just running her fingers though the afro mess above her head made her feel uncomfortable. She was craving something... Unnatural. Lighter. Something that would completely ruin her hair. Bleach seemed like the best option.
"C'mon, P.K! Your hair is beautiful ya don't gotta change it!"
Her hands clenched, nose turning up at the pleading of her mother. That very attitude was what spurred her wish to change. Contrary to popular belief, Phoebe liked to do the opposite of whatever is said to her. Making her feel unable to change and be herself just seemed to strive to rebel. And so, here she was, a fifteen year old child with hair coated in a chemical that gave her headaches and hands massaging the white goo deeper into her roots. They would get over it, maybe even like it in the end, and that single thought is what gave Phoebe the force to continue. Eventually, after smoothing over some stray curls, her hair was entirely coated, and she covered the mess with a spare plastic bag before sitting cross-legged on the toilet seat. The small bathroom was now deadly quiet, save for the brewing summer storm outside and the rushing water from the small, porcelain sink, and Phoebe let her eyes wander across the green-tiled space. Each shadow, each moldy corner, each sliver of peeling paint was familiar to her, it was the family's only bathroom after all, and as the steam stained the messy mirror and the storm continued to wail against the white-painted window a feeling of uncertainty spurred in her chest.
what if it doesnt look good? what if my parents really do hate it? what if the kids at school make fun of me? what if wha
A crack of thunder caught her off guard, and a small cry of fear escaped her mouth before the lights flickered and vanished all together. If not for her glowing skin the bathroom would have been swallowed by darkness, and after a moment of catching her breath she rose, fixing the bag on her head before reach forward slightly to turn the sink off. She listened as rain slapped the window and her mother shrieked with fear and/or excitement and her father thumbed around the house loudly, probably heading out to check the breaker. Her head had begun to burn from the bleach, but the silence of the bathroom and the smell of chemicals and the life that continued all around seemed to calm her nerves, just enough for her to smile and begin to laugh at the thought of having blonde hair once more.
After twenty minutes of sitting still and glowing, she rose, sticking her head under the stained faucet and turning the hot water back on with a flick of the wrist. The bleach melted from her curls, filling the white sink with thick, white liquid, and the harsh smell of the chemicals and the steam filled her nostrils and throat, forcing Phoebe to hold her breath and simply scrub. Eventually, the bathroom flickered to life again and the bangs on the door began once more.
"Hang on, ma, I'm awlmost done..." Phoebe muttered, straightening, examining her newly-discolored hair in the smoky mirror. A smile parted her dark lips, and after a second of preparing herself she turned towards the door, unlocking and pulling the door open. Outside, her broad-shouldered mother stood, a look of disapproval clear on her face. Her dark eyes scanned the smaller body before her, up down, and then with a half-hearted sigh she held forward a towel. Phoebe took it with a smirk, throwing it over her soaking mob before tilting her head and asking,
((To help filter through some of the unreliable narration, I'm going to put stuff that was officially filled out, a la her parole officer/psychologist in juvy in blue and have the regular text be what Lynn wrote. Okay, I'm colorblind, so I THINK it's blue but it may not be hahaha. Let me know if this works, and if not, what needs to be fixed!))
PITY -Court-Mandated Application for Academic Year 2015/2016
Student Name:
Cordelia Lynn Holmes. (Nickname: Lynn).
Gender:
Female.
Nationality:
American
Age:
17
D.O.B.:
Exact date unknown due to poor documentation of early years-she names December 31st, 1998.
Appearance [Please attach a photographic image of yourself for our records]
My probation officer said to take a nice respectful picture of myself for your files so here ya go. You're not going to accept me so why the hell bother. I know how this works, not getting my hopes up again. School sucks but I hear you guys have a pretty dope cafeteria so I guess it's a mixed blessing or whatever that phrase is. Uh description. I'm like 5'2 or something, I don't remember the last time I checked. Shit, when was the last time I was in a doctor's office? People make short jokes about me sometimes but generally if you kick those people in the nuts really hard you wind up standing taller than them so hey funny how that works. I'm like a hundred pounds or so. I think it's supposed to be higher. Fuck it. I've got a couple tattooes. Big-ass phoenix going down my back and left arm. It's pretty badass I'm not gonna lie. Got a sleeve of the four horsemen on my right arm. That's pretty boss. Nothing on my stomach. Should probably get something to cover up the ribs. Uh clothes are normally whatever. I...found...some pretty cool shoes. Got a pair of jeans with holes and stuff in them, but they're comfy as all hell. Big-ass red sweatshirt. It's baggy. People give you less shit when you have baggy clothes on because they think maybe you're packing. Which my probation officer has told me I am also not supposed to do. I got a little chip on one of my teeth from that time I pissed off those Mexicans. Or maybe they were Puerto Ricans. I don't know, I was pre-occupied kicking their asses to find out for sure. Yeah how's that for a school application. can I apply for security or some shit instead of being a student? Okay what else. Uh, hair, normally back in a ponytail. Also the hair and the eyes change color sometime. It's a thing, just roll with it. I got a bunch of scars. Not those sideways "I'm really sad" kind but like the real ones you get from out and doing shit. One on forearm from a barbed wire fence, a few on my legs from whatever. Got one on my knee from trying to jump out of a car. Didn't work out so well. Uh I also got a scar over my nose, going all horizontel. Touches both cheeks. You want more identifying features go ask the Chicago PD.
Hair Color:
Brown. Hair color is subject to frequent and unpredictable change when powers are used.
Eye Color:
Blue. Similar to hair in color variation..
Ethnicity:
Caucasian. Exact ancestry unknown.
Height:
5'2
Weight:
100.
Powers & Abilities
Power Name:
Oh, they're supposed to have names? Um, shit. Uh, the flame...no that's dumb. Gimme a minute. Lynn's mutation is dubbed "Phoenix".
Power Description:
I'm a phoenix, or whatever. Lynn is capable of igniting into a phoenix-like state; she does not undergo a major transformation, but her body ignites in flame.
Abilities:
Are there a lot more sections? Because I'm already tired of this. Fine. The highlights. Basically I'm like a phoenix or something. Got the tats to match it. Whenever I get all fired up (hah that wasnt even intentional) I start to smolder up a bit. Hair lights up and stuff. Makes me tougher. I get angry enough or scare-uh, serious enough, goes all out. Ignite more, helps amp me up. I think I heal quicker from stuff but I don't really know. Not like that movie with the guy with the claws. Wounds and stuff usually calterize I guess. My hair and my eyes change color sometimes. Red, white, blue, yellow, fire stuff. So that's pretty dope. Oh and stuff around me is...hotter? Nah that's not right. Like shit warms up more easily. Water boils faster. Shot a gun one time, barrel was warped as all hell. Guess the heat and cold don't bother me a whole lot either. But that could be a side effect of my other power, not being a little bitch. Lynn is capable of drawing upon the Phoenix to offer several advantages. When "dormant", she maintains an unusually high body temperature. This gives her some degree of resistance to bacterial infections and denaturalizes some substances, which helps explain how she's managed to scrape by without major health complications from the streets. When drawing upon her powers, Lynn begins to heat up considerably. At a certain point, she ignites entirely-her hair elongates and bursts into flame, as do her eyes. They match each other in hue, shifting from white/red/violet etc. While in this state, Lynn gains more strength-this is nothing phenomenal, but she's able to hit harder than a 100 lb. girl should be able to. Additionally, she gains a degree of durability and stamina. She also causes things to ignite more easily around her-this is a passive ability. Water boils at a lower temperature, guns fire at extremely dangerous temperatures (barrels can warp and it may case premature ignition of the bullets in the magazine), and objects are much more flammable. Similar to a phoenix, she has some degree of healing capabilities. It appears that the majority of this power goes into staving off the effects of malnutrition and sleep deprivation. When injured, her flames will generally cauterize the wound. These abilities are not rapid-she is not capable of recovering immediately from serious wounds. She does appear capable of bouncing back more quickly from major wounds-she would spend less time in the hospital, for instance. She also appears to be immune to extreme heat or cold, Lynn did not seem to notice when he adjusted her cell's air conditioning to laughable extremes.
Drawbacks & Weaknesses:
Well normally my clothes aren't non-flamamable. So that sucks. I burn out too. Dunno how to describe it. I get hit too hard or go too long and I just...skin starts peeling off like ash. Fire sputters and goes out. Hair falls out, my vision gets all weird. Cold. Really cold. Like beyond temperature cold, you know, like something...I dunno. Start thinking about dark shit. It's not fun. So on general principle I avoid getting my ass kicked. Happens if I get hurt real bad too, the...burnout. When I'm trying to warm back up (takes a while) it's not...I dunno what happens if something happens then. I guess I burnout for real, you know? Never played with it much to find out. And I go through cigarettes real fast. It sucks. I can't like control it either, I'm not like those guys from that cartoon with the bald kid. Whenever we get fucked up we watch that sometimes. Also, whenever I let the fire-stuff start happening, I get, like, super hungry afterwards. And I'm usually pretty hungry. So that's saying something. Lynn can't extend the immunity to flame to other objects-burning through clothing could be...problematic. Additionally,her powers take a considerable toll on her (already strained) metabolism. She doesn't have enough raw material to power her abilities, full-throttle, for long periods of time. When exhausted, the flame will go out and she becomes greatly fatigued. Her regenerative abilities also have their breaking point-when confronted with extreme trauma, her flame will similarly go out, and Lynn reports extreme coldness. This coldness is, apparently, psychological to a degree, as she becomes extremely withdrawn and timid until she warms back up. In this state, she is very, very vulnerable, and none of her usual fighting spirit or vitality seems present. She lacks the biological materials to sustain her abilities for very long. While not a supernatural weakness, her lack of schooling, paranoia, and pride seem to constitute character flaws. The latter of these two are exacerbated by her "burned out" state-when observed in this state, she curled up in the fetal position and trembled for several hours until her flame returned, little by little. Physical or psychological stresses can bring about this state: whether it's being severely harmed, fatigued, or shell-shocked. Burning out comes with a total loss of morale, hindered senses, and loss of fine motor skills.
About You
Family:
None. Really appreciate the reminder, though, thanks. Lynn was seemingly left at the orphanage as a young child, presumably by her father. Her mother suffered severe burns during childbirth and her paternity is unknown-to what degree Lynn is aware of this is unknown. Sensitive about the family issue.
Personal Statement:
The hell is a personal statement. Fine. My name is Lynn. I do not like filling out applications. Pretty sure I spelled half this shit wrong. But half right for somebody who dropped out of high school's pretty alright. Reading is stupid and gay anyways, I don't need to be good at it. I am a dear friend of the Chicago Police Department and they really like reminding me I have one year unil I start going to big girl prison. I like reminding them their wives are probably out sleeping with police officers from a city that doesn't suck so much. But now I'll be in New York in your school or whatever so that's cool. School's kinda pointless, but the judge said it was this or juvy and I did juvy before and it was boring as all hell. So I guess I'll stick around your school long enough to get a degree so I can be a happy member of the real world. What? That not enough? Fine. I don't play well with others. Most people are dicks and most people deserve what's coming to them. I don't like cops, rich people, and have been told I have "trouble with authoritity". I'm kind of a loner. Most people get on my nerves. Most people don't have to deal with real shit, so most people aren't worth talking to. Here's my daily routine. I wake up at whatever time I wake up at and then go to the nearest TV and watch the news to see if I recognize any names on there. Usually a few people show up. Then they cut to the royal baby or some shit, which is just wonderful. Then I'll go and find food somewhere. Sometimes I skip this step. Uh, usually I skip this step. Normally try and figure out where I'm stayin' that night early on. Word gets out I'm a mutant, it's a lot harder to find places. I've got too many tattooes to really get a lot of help from shelters, plus I've been in one or two once and a few jackasses came looking. Don't want to get anybody else caught up in all that you know. Then I'll try and earn some cash, I got a few people who are cool with the mutant thing cause I do good work. I got quick hands, all I'll say about that. Then I'll get some food if I can, try and spend the rest of the doing whatever. Every now and then when I'm feeling like a functional member of society I'll go try and get a job. That usually ends up the same way. Dropout mutant with no references and criminal history? Yeah can't imagine why Hobby lobby didn't want me working a register. It's whatever though. I do pretty fine. Try and avoid familiar places. Where I grew up-piece of shit orphanage with piece of shit nuns in charge of it-or school. Couple teachers there were pretty decent. Don't like seeing them. Or kids I used to go to school with. Wasn't a mutant before I dropped out, just...hung with the wrong crowds, went down a slippery slope, all that other shit they throw at you in PSAs. But I'd do it all again you know. People always talk shit about drug dealers or whatever. Not all bad. A few assholes, but I know some good guys. Tough to earn respect being a skinny ass white girl but I made it work. Damn I rambled. So yeah accept me to your school or whatever, I dunno. Im sure your guidance counselor will turn my life around. Assuming your school is not full of rich fucks Ill make friends, do all my work on time (unless its retarded) and be like the coolest person ever. Yeah. Woooooo. I dont know how long that old-ass judge wanted this thing to be. He only said i had to APPLY to get out of goin to juvy. I'm pretty sure. Wait, shit, he might not have. I shoulda taken this more seriously. Uh okay. talents. Im okay at singing. Mostly rap. I write some too. I guess I'd be alright at sports, I got quick eyes and reflexes. Also I'm pretty good at picking up on whenever people are lying because Ive spent a lot of time around teachers and cops. I keep my word and stuff. Also I'm not bad at like fighting and stuff. No, shit, I can't say that to a school. Uh. Um. I'm very determined...and keep on going no matter what life throws at me. Yeah. That sounds right. I'm also poor as hell and bisexual after a few drinks so yeah wooohooo I'll make your demographdimograp fuck whatever that word is-numbers look really good if you take me.
((STORM))
Despite our-repeated-insistences, Lynn does not appear to have taken this application seriously. This is not a surprise-perhaps as a result of dealing with less-than-reputable types for so long, she is extremely headstrong and confrontational. She will reject orders from authority figures simply to cause controversy. This appears to be saving face-when one on one with her parole officer or myself (Chicago Youth Correctional Center, Criminal Psychologist) she is more leery than outright aggressive. She possesses a deep cynicism of society, particularly those whom she views are more privileged or powerful-hence the trouble with authority. This stems from empathy-she mentions lost friends quite frequently, and bitterly questions why money is spent on X and not helping others. She displays genuine concern for others, albeit is careful not to let it show-while in juvy, several younger girls were harassed by the older inmates. Over the course of several weeks, each of the older inmates were overheard discussing that the water in the showers was blisteringly hot. Despite her lack of much formal education, she is perceptive and intelligent-Lynn is quick-witted, and several police reports have shown her ability not only to twist the letter of the law to her advantage, but to come out on top of gang members/lowlifes who harassed her. She also displays a fondness for art, although is extremely protective about it-Lynn very visibly does not want anyone knowing of her more personal side, and took care to ensure her poems and sketches were promptly destroyed before someone else was able to read them. The few that we recovered mostly seem to deal with issues of loss/fear/family. Tends to avoid actual conflict-she tries to avoid fights whenever possible, but her pride does not always permit this-visibly does not enjoy violence, however. Showed considerable protective instincts for younger girls in juvy and was repeatedly overheard trying to talk them out of whatever they'd done, help with whatever issues they posssessed. When apprehended, several filled out job applications were found in her belongings, along with a very battered, old teddy bear, which had a faded tag attached: To Delly, From Mom. While physically unassuming, she is cunning and determined, and has learned brutality is at times necessary. This being my main point of concern, and the reason I'm passing along this application (which is example enough of her anti-authority stance) to your institution: her parole officer was able to talk the judge into offering her the choice of juvy or going to your institution. A quick, by-the-numbers summation of her life follows:
December 1998: A woman in the Chicago area, possibly Lynn's mother, dies from severe, unexplained burns during childbirth. Mutations generally do not peak until puberty, which would explain how this outlier slipped past CPD's eye. December 1998: Lynn is found by St. Theresa's Home for Disadvantaged Youth. No official documentation beyond a note with her name. May 2002: Lynn is enrolled in kindergarten. Performs admirably, model student. June 2004: Lynn becomes more reclusive, sullen. Performance in school slips. July 2004: Lynn begins interfering with the nuns' carrying out of punishment, becomes increasingly more argumentative. Slowly but steadily Lynn begins acting out more and more. An escape attempt. September 2006: Mutants attack White House. Public backlash ensues. November 2006: Internal Review of St. Theresa's finds the disciplinary practices of some of the nuns to be needlessly cruel. These are fixed, but Lynn remains hesitant: doesn't act out as much as before, but remains reclusive. Has trouble connecting with the other children. January 2007: Lynn attempts another escape-after several years of disciplinary struggles and paperwork, Lynn is shifted into a foster home. March 2007: Lynn's foster parents register as sponsors of HAM. Lynn's school performance is acceptable, but seems to have trouble focusing. August 2013: Lynn becomes a freshman in a Chicago High School. Reserved. Takes a large number of extracurriculars, notably ones which keep her at school and away from home as long as possible. September 2013: Lynn volunteers at the concessions stand of her high school for football games. Large discrepancy in sales begin showing up. September 2013: St. Theresa's reports a break-in. Nothing reported stolen, although nuns find large quantities of candy. For fears of it being poisoned/"razor blades in the apples", candy's confiscated. December 2013: Lynn attends a New Year's party, during which time she becomes intoxicated. Returning home, foster parents are furious-relations begin to become increasingly strained. February 2014: First of Lynn's friends to be arrested for misdemeanors. Lynn's schoolwork begins slowly slipping. Loses interest in extracurriculars. Does not pursue a driver's license. April 2014: Lynn is caught trying to break into St. Theresa's; fallout at home, school, and with the law follow. No formal charges issued but Lynn receives suspension. Marked drop in school performance afterwards. June 2014: Lynn begins smoking cigarettes. July 2014: Foster family's donations to HAM increase. While Lynn does not out herself as a mutant at this time, there are noticeable discrepancies. Lynn's reports about her family become shorter and shorter. Relations extremely strained. August 2014: One of Lynn's known associates receives 10 years in prison for drug-related crimes. August 2014: Lynn receives her first tattoo. This goes over poorly with foster parents. September 2014: Lynn attempts to join an afterschool program, a la "Big Brothers/Big Sisters", application rejected. September 2014: Lynn's grades drop further. Struggling to pass at this point. Several classes dropped. November 2014: Local mutant girl beaten, raped, and left for dead in the street. Aggressors unknown, but suspected gang affiliation. November 2014: A local trap house burns down. No gang members were present, owing to a series of bizarre events that led to everyone leaving the house. Several thousand dollars worth of illicit materials are suspected to be lost in the fire. Lynn sent to school therapist for irritability and jumpiness in the following week. December 2014: Following a run-in with the police over driving over the limit without a license, Lynn is kicked out of her foster home. December 2014: Lynn arrested for setting off fireworks on New Years from a water tower. Curiously, police did not locate a lighter or matches on the scene. Community service is the sentence. January 2015: St. Theresa's children continue to receive little presents. Local toy stores and candy shops report minor break-ins with minimal losses. January 2015: Gang war escalates. Numerous gangs in Chicago suffer casualties, some at the hand of local law enforcement. February 2015: Lynn caught trying to break into a police car. She is carrying felony-level quantities of cocaine (albeit no trace in her system) at the time. Pleads not guilty, refuses to speak during hearing, spends next months in juvy. March 2015: Lynn's behavior in juvy noted as standoffish but not necessarily hostile. Does not shy away from conflict-several fights reported, most of which Lynn emerges the victor from. Several guards accused of sexually harassing inmates and several inmates with a reputation for brutality begin to suffer from mysterious burns. June 2015: Lynn released from juvy. Presumably out of shame, visits to St. Theresa's stop. June 2015: Girl matching Lynn's description narrowly avoids apprehension following reports of pickpocketing. July 2015: Lynn, as per the sample post, misses a parole hearing, and fills out application for PITY.
There is not a clear correlation between these events-at least, not one that the CPD has discovered. It's my suspicion that, if Lynn spends time in a hostile environment for more months on end, it will become exponentially more difficult for her to recover. While convicted of past crimes, Lynn is not violent; repeatedly, she's demonstrated attempts to avoid direct conflict when possible. While troubled, and confrontational, she doesn't appear beyond recovery-all reports of her, from her school psychiatrist, to foster care report letters, to my own assessments, indicate more of a troubling reclusive nature. I firmly believe if she is surrounded by criminal elements for the next five months, she'll emerge a much more hardened individual. Given that she already resists attempts to receive help, this is obviously not ideal: accepting her to your institution would offer a much better environment for her. This would serve several advantages: primarily, Lynn's future. Academic probation would serve as a good motivator for her, and while resuming life in school would be difficult, I think an atmosphere of similarly abled (and, I suspect, similarly isolated) individuals would help her regain some semblance of normalcy. Furthermore, the current atmosphere towards mutants is...volatile. If allowed to go unchecked, it's possible Lynn will wind up committing more violent crimes-as any in her situation would do. She has repeatedly shown an aversion to using her abilities unless pushed to the breaking point, but does not hold back when that point is reach. While not to the same degree as the White House attacks, your institution does have the opportunity to avert more mutant backlash in one of the largest cities in America. While Lynn has committed wrongdoings in the past, I've looked through files of mutants in other cities and seen she is not an isolated incident-helping her recover could offer a foot in the door for enacting similar programs for kids in similar situations. Her crimes have not been of malice, and her motives, if flawed, are understandable-she's been hurt, and is attempting to deal with it in the only way she knows. Show her another way.
Considering the extenuating circumstances, I ask you to consider accepting Miss Holmes to your institution-I and her parole officer will maintain correspondence with your disciplinary staff and Miss Holmes to ensure her adherence to any guidelines. She is well aware of the legal repercussions facing her should any illegal activity be continued while at the university.
((This is a fair deal longer than 2-3 paragraphs-I apologize for that just started and it kept on going. Normal posts won't be such a tank, I promise))
Cordelia was a pretty recognizable figure-not that she was famous, but she generally stuck to the same ensemble. A backpack held together by electrical tape, blue jeans held together by duct tape, and a face that appeared to be held together by a permanent scowl. A crier on the street turned to offer her an advertisement and not-so-subtly withdrew. He may have a suspicion that Lynn was not entirely interested in Chicago's opera house.
If you were to watch Lynn as she walked-well, you'd have to do so from a distance, and very subtly, or else you would have a hundred pounds of fury with nothing better to do coming to ask you a few questions. I digress. You'd notice she walked quickly, the seasoned walk of a city native. Her eyes flickered back and forth as she darted in and out of slower people on the sidewalk, just keeping a good sense for where she was. Lynn didn't really stick to the nicer parts of town-a pinch of paranoia carried you a pretty long way. Occasionally she'd shudder, miss a step. Clutch her chest or rub at her stomach. A wide and weary yawn. Her neck twisted to unhealthy angles as she walked past food vendors. Occasionally she'd pass the sorts who linger outside the tourist traps, panhandling or sleazing. Lynn's reaction was varied-to a few, she'd roll her eyes, call them by name, give them a jovial "Fuck off!". A few she ignored, keeping her eyes straight ahed and moving on through. A handful brought a quieter reaction-Lynn would let her eyes roll over them and grimace a bit before she recovered. That wasn't her. She wouldn't be that. No. Of course not. She was different.
Stop to smoke. Supposedly, those things were pretty bad for you. Lynn figured even if she did live long enough for that to matter, the fact her body spontaneously burst into flame kinda offset any health risks. She was gonna be breathing in smoke (or breathing it out) one way or another. Might as well get a little chemical tranquility in the process. She leaned back against a corner, backpack cushioning her frame (underneath that sweatshirt, Miss Holmes, just how skinny how are you?) as she took long draws. Her eyes stared off across the street, not really focusing on anything. Occasionally a noise would break her reverie, making her flinch and jump up, right hand falling to her back pocket, her other clenching around the lit cigarette (which would flare up with hunger). These little smoke breaks never lasted long-she burned through the whole cigarette in maybe two, three minutes. She was pretty environmentally conscious-there was never any butt to leave lying on the ground.
The hours would pass. These got spent in a myriad of ways-Lynn had a few usual haunts, and was somewhat in-between posses. There was a sizable number of mutants in Chicago's underground, and it...complicated things. Gang wars had a tendency for escalation whenever the superhuman were around. Between arrests or deaths, Chicago's gangs were a revolving door since mutants went public. Lynn watched the morning news every day. Read the numbers and tried to see if she recognized the faces. Not much else she could do. She did little jobs-pickpocketed a bit, occasionally did some running across town. Guns or drugs. These were riskier, and she didn't get too many offers. Fine by her.
Around once a week there'd be a run-in with the law-Lynn, for her trash talk and put-on bravado, was pretty Machiavellan about what she did. The girl stayed clear of anything violent, and the serious stuff was few and far between. A mutant girl was enough of a target-one without the money for legal fees or any real allies? Lynn played it pretty smart. Relatively speaking-the girl was still not in the best of situations, and whenever she put her head down at night (wherever it wound up being) she'd get that low feeling in her gut. Tick. Tock. Not many people ran in her circles past the age of twenty five. Sooner or later she'd get her ticket.
Lynn walked slowly, one arm clinging to the pack slung over her shoulder and the other hanging at her waist, fingers dancing about. Immediately, she got that electric-wire fear of stepping between a mother bear and her cub. The alleyway was pretty narrow, and a casual glance over her shoulder confirmed Lynn's suspicions. Blocked in. Shit. Ahead there were two of them-Lynn didn't recognize them. Didn't see any noticeable marks, no lightning bolts from the brotherhood, not any colors she picked up on. Might've just been loners like her. Lynn kept walking steadily, but began to prepare herself. In most fights, Lynn was generally outgunned. She fought holding nothing back out of necessity-a hundred pounds and a few hairs over five foot? Not exactly the top contender in street fights.
"You lost?" one of them asked, sizing her up as she had done to them. Within about three seconds, both parties had full situational awareness of the other. Lynn was walking alone and, judging from her dress, not going to be going to the cops about this. These thugs were not tough enough or smart enough to roll with any real group so they were hanging here, in the middle of nowhere.
Lynn sighed, more resigned than really frightened. The girl may not have been able to make above a C, but she was far from foolish. She stayed cold and collected in situations like these-it would be later, when she was lying in bed? That's when the panic sets in. "Fuck off."
There was a brief pause-the thugs weren't really used to that kind of brevity.
"You know who you're talkin-"
"I don't give a shit who I'm talking to," Lynn said with a genuinely bored tone of voice. "You're either gonna try and jump me or let me by. Let's just get this over with, one way or ano-"
Lynn had a code of honor-it was warped, perhaps, but it was there. She stuck to her word, tried to avoid messing with anybody who was, you know, actually a good person. Her cynicism made the threshold for "good person" pretty damned high, but she wasn't evil. Just lost. Regardless, she didn't really like to take chances, especially when she was outnumbered three-to-one. So, halfway through her sentence, as she continued walking forward, Lynn drove her knee into the groin of the first unlucky, would-be mugger. He yelped, pained and surprised, and staggered back. His partner was caught off guard but had begun to recover, reaching for something. Lynn didn't really want to find out what-not hesitating, she shifted her weight and threw all she had at the second guy, forcing him to stagger to the side a step or two and delaying whatever nasty trick he had up his sleeve for a moment or two more.
The third one-from behind-kicked the back of Lynn's bag and knocked her to the ground pretty easily. She caught it in a roll and bounced up, making up for muscle mass with quickness and coldness. Lynn didn't half-ass her punches, and unlike a surprising amount of the people she'd been forced to fight, she fought to win. She didn't care if she played dirty. Lynn grunted and felt her sweatshirt becoming uncomfortably warm-sweat started to course down her arms and torso, and as she breathed out (through closed teeth-if you open them, it's a lot easier to get knocked out, and Lynn preferred to not be unconscious in Chicago's streets at night) a wisp of smoke darted between her not-so-pearly whites.
Her hair and eyes began to shift in color-ever so slightly, and Lynn darted forward, letting the bag fall from her shoulder. It landed behind her, provoking another startled grunt-one of the other two had tripped on it. Lynn didn't want to try and focus on any one of the three and wind up getting suckerpunched from behind as a result.
Unfortunately, the other one had recovered faster than she thought, and she wound up getting suckerpunched from behind as a result. For the second time in about ten seconds, Lynn fell to the concrete, starting to bounce up before another kick knocked her back down.
"'Fuck off'? You know, manners go a long way wit-" Lynn didn't really care to hear the rest of his speech, especially with his dirty-ass shoe pressing down on her neck. Her right hand snaked up-(the sweatshirt's sleeve, too bag, fell back and her tattooes bared to the night air) and her fingers laced around his ankle as she pushed up as hard as she could. It wasn't going to budge his leg-not with brute force. The stench of burning denim followed shortly by burning flesh, however, did make the man fall back. Lynn's form glowed softly, her hair beginning to well and truly ignite-the ponytail burst free from its bands and fell to her shoulders as Lynn scrambled back up, pressing her back to the wall and crouching, offering as little vulnerable space to them as she could afford. Her eyes began to smolder, matching her hair as they climbed to a furious red.
The other three, who, in all fairness, had probably not been able to anticipate this as an outcome to their evening, stared in varying degrees of shock.
"Whenever," Lynn panted, "I force-feed you your own dicks, do you want them cooked medium, or well-done?"
There was a moment of silence in which the thugs considered a great many things. The rising air temperature around the scrawny girl, a long series of unfortunate life choices that had led them to this point, and the rather nauseating proposition Lynn offered.
About twenty seconds later, Lynn picked up her bag and began walking out of the alleyway, cursing her stupidity for walking down it to begin with. Her body shook with adrenaline. Christ, they hit hard. Lynn rolled her neck around a bit and massaged the spot where she'd hit the concrete that second time. Her shaking fingers fumbled with her backpack's outer pocket for-oh, those bastards. They'd taken her cigarettes. "Well, this is shaping up to be a pretty good night," Lynn muttered, taking out her fury on a nearby trashcan. It smashed against the wall and fell with considerable noise. Shit. Also probably not a good idea. She emerged from the alley, hair tussled, skin slimy with sweat, and the faint odor of singed clothing lingering about her, and walked straight into her parole officer.
"Aw, damnit. That trashcan was like that when I got here."
He stopped and sniffed the air for a moment, glancing at her clothes, and then back at her eyes. He could've sworn they were a different color last time he saw her. "Looking for you. Skipped out on your hearing this morning."
"Wait, shit, what day is it?"
"Tuesday."
"Tuesday? It's Monday!"
"No, it's Tuesday."
Lynn frowned, making the scar on her face stretch down to mirror her lips. Tuesday. Shit. That...would probably not look good in court. "Uh, I'm, like, 1/8th Cherokee, and, uh, it was a holy day..."
"Not in the mood.Get in the car. Assuming I can talk you out of skipping your meeting, they've been throwing around something else instead of juvy."
Lynn was helped into the back of the car, something that was not at all unfamiliar. She took the opportunity to lay down across the back of the seats. Her parole officer hadn't handcuffed her-while she would never show otherwise publicly, she did hold a degree of respect for the guy. He was a cop, which made him by default a douchebag, but he was always pretty decent to her. Lynn figured it wasn't cool to be a dick to people that helped you out where they could. "Something else? What, like, picking up trash or..."
"Nah. School."
"Oh, Christ, just kill me now." She paused. There was a moment of silent understanding between the two-her pride would never let her say thanks, but...going back to juvy would not be ideal. He picked up on it, and didn't need to press. "...well, I guess I'll, uh, check that out." she closed her eyes before the post-adrenal hunger kicked in. "Is there gonna be a lot of paperwork or whatever? Because last time you made me do that, it really sucked. Like, a lot."
I can secrete mucus sort of like a frog but less poison and more corrosion, hehehe!
Abilities:
Let's get this Big One out of the way- when it comes to life or death situations, Mucus wraps around me like a bubble and protects or heals me. Thing is, most of the time Mucus doesn't know the difference between life and death so if my heart rate goes a little too intense for its liking- i.e, getting hype at an event- if I don't think about it, I may find myself wrapped up in a Big Ball of Protective Mucus.
For the most part, I don't have a bubble and it stays dormant. Mucus can be secreted from my body, or straight up replace my body parts. In the few years I had the power, it's let me do a few things- Construct or Deteriorate.
In terms of Constructing, if I so wish it, my body can become entirely mucus. It helps when say, I get an arm clipped off, I can use the mucus to (I hate using this word) regenerate the missing limb. I can do the same for simpler things, like cuts or bruises- who knows, maybe I'll be able to iron out my wrinkles when I get older! Assuming, of course I live that long. I can do the same to other people, Constructing, though not at as big as scale. I assume though, that if I were to form my bubble and let them stay inside with me, I could heal a broken bone or two.
Moving on to Deteriorating, sometimes the mucus has about it a corrosive ability. From college ruled lined paper to car doors (which was, by the way, an accident), the mucus that I choose to spread over it can burn it off. I can do the same to myself in that I can like, let an arm go but why would I do that? And I could probably, I mean I can do the same to other people, but again, why would I do that?
The two are just a few basic ones in terms of my abilities. If I try, I can form the mucus into tentacle like coverings over my arm, and it helps flinging the mucus around. That way, instead of being up close and personal, I can use Deterioration at a distance. I'm also trying stuff out like coating things in mucus for like an added kick- example, coating a rock in corrosive mucus and throwing it so that it eats away at nearby things. Like a grenade, except less explosive. The corrosion works quickly though, and I've got a bad throwing arm, so it's more trouble than it's worth.
Given that mucus is fluid, I'm gonna chalk up my flexibility to that and not to my mom's side of the family. I can also harden the mucus if I want, but only as hard as a bouncy ball. Good for durability when it comes to falling off things, if the Bubble doesn't pop up first. For the most part hardening it doesn't do much except make it glitter all pretty like under the light.
Drawbacks & Weaknesses:
Overall, Focus is a big Must when it comes to using my ability.
Construct and Deteriorate look the same and feel the same, so I have to be focused otherwise I'll end up burning someone's leg off instead of healing it. That said, when my arms are in the tentacle covering, it's at a medium between C and D. I have to take care that Deteriorate is only at the ends where it's shooting out and not near my body, unless of course I want to accidentally have my arms eaten away.
There's a limit as well on what I can Construct. I can't revive the dead- there's like a half second limit on me fixing a hole in a heart, but given that the mucus has other tissues and organs to move past, no doubt I won't be making that limit in time. Same thing for other fatal shots- once you're dead, your dead. The rule goes for me, too, the mucus won't work when I'm in the dead. That's it, Game Over.
Time is very important when it comes to Deteriorate- sure, I anything the mucus touches "catches on fire" immediately (figuratively speaking), but burning through things like metals and rock takes a while, you know? Think of like pouring boiling water in the middle of a block of ice- it's hot, but takes some time for the thing to make a hole, gets mo ba?
I also have to eat a lot to keep up this sort of thing- although it's mucus, it's still sort of technically part of me. Though I know hunger takes its toll on any person, it goes twice as bad for me- control becomes shaky at best and at worst I start sweating Deteriorate everywhere. It's not a pretty sight.
The cold also totally hampers my abilities, it freezes up my mucus without me wanting it to. And it's harder than the mucus' typical limit of a bouncy ball, it gets hard to move around and even simple things like bending forward starts to hurt a lot- like having rubber bands wrap tightly around you and pinch at skin... except everywhere.
One of the greatest things about having mucus abilities is that I can heal myself the best using Construct. One of the worst is that I can hurt myself the easiest with Deteriorate. It makes sense- it corrodes anything it touches, and I'm usually the closest thing it can touch. It sucks I'm not immune to my own ability, but Construct deflects Deteriorate most of the time, so I just gotta stay focused half the time.
About You
Family:
• Alyanna Garcia Torres, Mother, 37 • Victor "Beboy" Allan Torres, Father, estranged • Maria Analynn "Lia" Torres, Sister, 20 • Anton Maria Fe Torres, Brother, estranged • Lola Betty Ramas Garcia, Grandmother, estranged
Personal Statement:
I don't suppose you're asking for a backstory are you? There's not much to tell- not for me, anyways. My mother on the other hand was a teen mom to my dad back home in the Philippines. Like good Catholics, the two got married and decided to raise the kid. Thankfully, the two had been dating before the whole pregnancy thing, so at least they'd already gotten a preview of the Married Life. I was born three years after Lia, my sister, was. The two of us became one another's best friends for the brief five years before my brother was born- she taught me how to chase chicken and how not to give money to the squatters in the city and how to climb bookshelves. After Anton was born, the duo didn't become divided, rather, it stayed a duo. Just... with different persons.
The age difference between Lia and Anton was huge, and she found herself taking care of the baby more often than playing with me. I mean, I helped take care of him, too, but I also couldn't help but find it a bit unfair that not only was my mother distracted by the new addition, but it also detracted Lia from playing with me. With my two people I normally played with, who else was I supposed to turn to, my father?
And I would've, if he wasn't so hard to talk to. He was the Discipline in the family, the one with the belt and the one with the loud voice- it was hard talking to Authoritative Power like that, especially to a kid like me. Instead, I opted for playing with the kids in the neighborhood and getting into trouble. Looking back on it, I guess if I hadn't caused so much trouble I wouldn't have gotten punished as much as I did.
Three years later, my parents decided to go to America for a few months to try and land a house and job. We spent those months with the rest of the family in my father's house, dictated by Lola Betty, a woman with a sweet name and smelled of tobacco. She didn't smoke, but her husband did when he was nervous and boy was that man always nervous. Lola Betty knew how she liked the house run and the addition of three runts meant an additional amount of chores that could get done quicker and better. Nevermind that Anton was only three, we had to wax the floors with him in our arms or back. Needless to say, I was glad to get out of that place and into America. I remember, it was February and I was eight, just about to finish fourth grade. When I arrived in New Jersey, it was snowing and cold. Like, really cold! Unbearably cold! Looking back on pictures always make me laugh because we had to layer in thick mountain gear for the simple suburbs.
My time in the American school system went pretty well- the lessons in Philippines were a bit more advanced, so I had better grasp of some things than other students did most times. I was terrible at math which was sucked because science was really cool and I couldn't grasp the maths behind it. If there was one thing I was good at though it was sports and literature- I liked reading and climbing the rope in gym. The only trouble I had sometimes was fitting in- we moved from our apartment in South Jersey to a bit farther up in Pennsylvania where we hit the jackpot of white suburbia. I was in sixth grade, so thankfully everyone was also transitioning to the middle school, but not so thankfully I didn't know how to talk to white kids. It may sound silly to you reading this, but there's a big difference when it comes to talking or eating or studying with other ethnic kids compared to white kids.
I've got the social skills of a butterfly though, and managed to awkwardly force myself into some friendships here and there. They were shallow for the most part, either with girls who prepped for gym by wrapping their hands around their thighs and complaining about how wide they were getting, or with girls who were shaped similarly to me and smoked weed with boyfriends twice their age. In this safe balance, I never worried much about my weight (I mean, I worried a little, but like who doesn't) and also jacked up my troublemaking skills by hanging with high schoolers and sneaking out of the house.
My abilities showed up when I was in eighth grade, the same time I got my period. I'd gotten it that morning and was feeling sluggish, and got smacked in the face with a volleyball. It hit so hard that I remember there being an imprint on the bridge of my nose for a week, not to mention the nosebleed I got afterward. After washing my face off and heading out, I felt much better, and it wasn't until my bad habit of pushing my glasses up did I realize that I forgot to put them on. It was like one of those book or movie revelations- everything seemed to work in slow motion as I ran to the bathroom where I'd left them. I'd always admired green eyes, and like a miracle, I got them- they weren't like the natural ones some of the white girls in school had though. It was an unnatural hue, like they'd glow in the dark- they did eventually, in pitch blackness.
Afterwards, the abilities continued rising. I broke a bone falling from a tree, but on our trip to the hospital it finished healing. It didn't worry my mom- less hospital bills, she used to say- it didn't worry her until I started... burning things. At first, it was the pillows or the bed, which I easily covered by using towels and the excuse that I was afraid of leaking on my period. She noticed though, after she caught me in a lie- I was just grabbing the car door and burned it off. Though my mom told him not to, my father called Lola Betty regarding the matter- she, a hardcore Catholic, immediately told him to leave me and my cursed body. He took Anton with him, only ten years old, afraid that I would infect him. My mom ended up taking me out of school, and I was homeschooled by my sister who changed her major from Pharmaceuticals to Science Education, just so she could know how to teach me easier.
Homeschooling was fun, I learned a lot more with the frequent field trips, both with my abilities and science (we skimped on maths because I was obviously reluctant on taking it). Lia was a big supporter on letting me explore my powers, and I was happy to have someone to share it with- even when I burned off her arm did she talked me through healing her. I was sixteen, she was nineteen, and it was the first time my big Protective Bubble appeared. The healing was terrible and shaky, and she said trying to use it was like "Having jello for a hand", but as she practiced with it, got a better handle. You can still tell I did some damage though, her tan skin sprinkled with different sized spots of pitch black.
Even though she acts okay, to me the sight of her arm reminds me of how... easily out of control it can get. And how I'm really shitty at healing. I'm a creative kid- I like reading, the arts, climbing trees and flying kites, and I always try to get creative with my powers. But it's hard when it's just me, you know? I have to cover myself with healing mucus before going to bed, which is actually just a mattress now because my mom said that it was cheaper to buy just that than a whole new bed every time I burn through one. I can't watch movies that excite me too much or else I'll get covered in a big protective ball of mucus, and frankly, I've gotten tired of climbing the same old trees. I'm ready for a real school, with teachers who sort of understand what I'm going through and not just a sister and mother who Care Very Much. It almost seems like fate that I got a letter from this school, and I hope my application is suitable enough for PITY to take me in.
Shit. Shit, shit, sh- "Shit!"
"Watch your language," chided a lighter skinned Asian, with deep black straight hair. In comparison, Jinkee's light brown curls looked like a mess- a sweaty, frizzy mess. But hair was of no importance, not now. Not when there were far more important things to be worrying about.
The younger of the two clenched her fist and fought the shock in her legs, finally running towards her sister. It was so slow, so unbearably slow, and she wished she could run faster- Lia was holding back tears. "Ate, Ate Lia," whimpered Jinkee as she knelt over her sister, shaking. Her hands hovered in the air, unsure. What should she do? What was she supposed- Fuck, why did this, Shit, Shit, Shit-
"Yanna."
Hearing her given name focused Jinkee, and though her sister's voice was shaking and small, it was still firm. That gave Jinkee a bit of hope- at least one of them here had their head on straight. "Yanna, listen to me," started Lia who interjected her sentence with a wince. Instinctively, Jinkee reached for her arm, only to reach air, and panic set in her body.
"You can heal this, Yanna."
She couldn't.
"Take a deep breath, come on. Over my arm."
Hands shaking, Jinkee reached over her sister's missing limb, trying to call up her power. It wasn't working. It wasn't working, why did she think it would work fuck- "Ate we need, a hospital- quick-" But before she could pull away to reach for her phone, Lia's working hand grabbed at her wrist. Tight.
"Yanna. You can do this. You can fix me."
Whispering, Lia added, "Just take deep breaths. Like we practiced." Jinkee could barely hear her over the buzzing in her hair, tears stinging at her eyes. Her hands held Lia's arm, and she shook with how much force she was trying to force out. And when that didn't work, she did what she hadn't done in a while-
Dear Lord if You're out there somewhere fix this fix her I promise I'll never practice this around her ever again please save her You can do anything right You work miracles aren't I a miracle help me Lord do something anything do something do something fix this fix it dear Lord I will pray every night I will use the rosary every night I will go to church every Sunday Lord I know You're out there please, please-
And when she felt a tugging, her eyes opened and found herself in a green world- looking out was like looking through green glass. Her hair floated around her, the coolness of the mucus acting with fluidity, like water. Looking down, Jinkee noticed what had been tugging at her- Lia, with her arm almost fully healed.
The shock and joy was so surprising that the bubble popped and disappeared, leaving the two of them in the grass, covered in green mucus. Looking at her sister's arm, Jinkee felt a pang of guilt stab at her stomach, the dark spots covering it a mark of her failure. She reached for Lia's arm once more, ready to bargain with God and try a second time, only for Lia to reach out for her first.
"That was awesome!" she cheered, resting her darkened hand on Jinkee's shoulder- "I've never seen that one before, that was really cool!" Jinkee couldn't help but giggle at the absurdity of the situation. Her sister, who practically'd almost lost an arm was there patting her wet curls and complimenting her. Meanwhile she, who hadn't done much but have a panic attack, was still having one despite the problem having mostly passed.
Feeling herself being pulled, Jinkee let herself fall against Lia's shoulder, taking a deep breath. Under all the smell of singed skin and hair, Jinkee could still smell the shampoo she used earlier that morning. Lia's hand rose to pet down at her mucus covered hair, and it was only then did the two share tears. Jinkee didn't know where the mucus end and the tears begun as they fell on her cheek, but she didn't care.
"I can change my skin into any metal that I can touch, an manipulate it from there."
Abilities:
-Can change my skin into any metal of my choosing as long as their is an existing source of it, no matter how small or large it is.
-Once I transform, I can manipulate the the metal, I can transform my hand weapons at will, as long as I am in that form.
-I am given Enhanced Strength and Durability when using my power.
-I can partially transform, meaning I can change my arms into metal if I wish.
Drawbacks & Weaknesses:
-One of the biggest drawbacks for this power, is the fact that all metals are a conductor, so electricity will be once of my greatest weakness. Extreme heat and acids will also weaken me.
-I cannot transform without an existing source of metal.
About You
Family:
"So, my mothers' name is: Lue-Elan. A hard working and loving woman, and my world."
"My father's name is: Sam. A lazy food for nothing man who I despise, he is abusive to Lue at times and I have to defend her. He causes a lot of Storms."
"And may sister's name is: Unique. Yep, that her name. She is sort of like my father, lazy, she likes to spend her time with friends and never works for anything.
"Grandmama:
Weird witch woman."
Personal Statement:
"My life has not been the greatest, my father is an electrician. You would assume we would be well of, but we aren't, there is not money, are father works, but we never know we're the money goes. At an early age I had to get a job, taking out the trash for the elderly, cleaning their homes and what not. My mom worked also, as a cook at the local fast food restaurant.
My father usually had came home drunk and unable to even walk upstairs to get to bed. Mom would come home after he did, and would have to cook for him, even through he almost never ate due to the fact that he had passed out by the time it was finished. If she came home late, he would try to beat her. But I was always there to stop it from happening, but I am not always their. All though I was in high school, did not get home till 9:00 PM or later because of work. I would usually find my mother in the kitchen, bruised, with my food hot and ready. I would never say anything about it, knowing that she would never leave Sam, no matter what he did, she was to loyal for her own good. My sister usually catered to my father's good side, I never cared to find out how my father could keep enough control over himself to not hit her or me, but my mother.
My schooling life was not the greatest also, in all truth I was smart, my grades were great for a boy like me, but most of it involved lots of time studying, most of which I did not have. Despite that fact, I was regularly accused of cheating by my classmates. I would usually be proved innocent, but would never get out unscathed. I would usually be beat up, but that never meant I did not fight back.
But things started to change when I developed my powers. At first, I thought I was monster, and in truth, I was. I was protecting my mother from my father when my rage took the better of me, and I had gone to grab the aluminum bat with my skin changed into the aluminum itself, I only transformed for a few second before changing back in unwitingly. They were both horrified, they ended up both thinking that it was an hallucination, but I knew that it was not, an I will always know it was not.
"Well, umm, thanks for the time, and what not."
For once in once in his god forsaken life, the house was quiet. It was usually so loud that the police no longer bothered to come over when the neighbors reported them. Usually the TV was blasting, dad was yelling, Unique had even louder with friends over, and mom was arguing with dad. If he wasn't down stairs yelling right back at dad, then he was studying upstairs in his room. Unfortunately, that was not longer an option for him, school was over, he graduated. Unfortunately, that day was not a day for celebration, at least for Kane, it just meant he had lost another possible escape root from this home. Fortunately, in celebration of his graduation, his grandmother came over. The only person his father would never disrespect, was his own mother.
Grandmama was a weird woman, to say the least. She had money, their was no doubt about that, her husband was a successful entrepreneur. But, she had lived her life deeply entrenched in the mythical New Orleans voodoo and gris-gris. "Vivre la vie comme à l'entendent." His mother always said, it was not a common saying in the New Orleans lingo, but french was still a big part of this city. It all translated to: "Live life the way you, see fit." She could live her life, and him his, but that did not stop him from being suspicious about her ways.
"Grandma wants you." A voice said from his doorway. Kane didn't bother to look back anyway, he knew who it was, her usual contempt could be heard in her voice, Unique.
"I'll be down in a few seconds." Kane mumbled despondently, slightly angered for the interruption of his quiet.
Kane sighed as his sister sneered at him and slammed the door, causing some of his old figurines to fall to the floor. He wondered if she gained some kind of enlightenment when she did things like that. Kane left his desk, and was about reopen the door when a shiver went down his spine, he felt this anytime he was about to make a descion. He could here footsteps on the other side, suddenly, scenarios randomly started playing in his head, one was of his grandma at the door, in anger because he made her wait so long. Another was that he would find no one, and would walk down the stairs to meet his grandma on her way out the door, another was that he would simply change his mind and go back to his seat, and his grandma would walk in anyway.
He opened his bedroom door and strolled down the stairs. About half way down he meant his Grandmama, she seemed to be furious, which was a big problem.
""Boy, I called you an hour ago, were was you." she spit at him, anger etched into her features.
Kane stepped back about, trying to avoid the spit that was flung from her lips. "I wasn't told to come down till Sis told me a few minutes ago." He said quietly, he hated speaking this way, but he had to show respect to her, he did not want to become a frog.
"Mo chagren, cher" she said sadly, "I did not know, please forgive me boo." She placed her hands on his shoulder. "Boy, it's time we talked." She said carefully. He noticed his mother at the bottom of the stairs with a concerned look on her face. Kane frowned, what the hell was going on. Crap, she had told her about the incident.
I can change my entire physical appearance at will, even my clothes. Also, I heal pretty quickly too.
Abilities:
I can change within just a few seconds, and if you're watching me closely as I change you may just notice me blur out of focus for a second or two. Also it doesn't make any sound when I change, so I could change and no-one would notice if they weren't paying attention. I can change into anything I can imagine, so long as it's humanoid, and if I'm copying someone I can mimic their voice as well.
Drawbacks & Weaknesses:
Well, I can't change how much I weigh, and an X-ray of me while I look like a guy shows that on the inside I am still female. If I am a 'guy' I am not actually a guy. I have none of that, ability, it just looks like one. Also, the appearance of warm clothes does not actually make me warm. I can look like i'm ready for an arctic expedition, but really I shouldn't even be outside in a light wind. I can't actually change into an animal because I can't change my weight or physical strength to accommodate that form. I'd probably end up hurting myself if I tried.
I suppose this is where you want me to put my 'story' or whatever, right? Fine, but it really isn't so interesting.
I like to read and sing, I consider myself to be quiet most of the time (Though I've been told that i'm not), and I like to observe what's going on around me more than I'd like to be a part of it. I've always tried my best to live up to my parent's expectations, seeing as the other option would get me very close to the edge of their patience. I've always had good grades, and attended church every Sunday with my family, and I never did drugs or anything else like that. I got a lot of praise, and I almost believed that I was one of the few people in my town that had any chance of leaving without any dumb ties to force me back. My family runs a camping shop with basically everything you could possibly need to live anywhere for a few years, let alone the 4 or 5 weekends the people who bought this stuff were actually going to use it for before they completely lost all their interest in the sport.
So, anyway. Yea, I was a good kid. At least, I believe I was. One day though, culture shock. My best friend turned out to be a mutant, and being that basically our entire town was a part of HAM, she had to hide. She was still herself, I could tell that, but she looked like something my dad probably would've tried to banish to hell, or wherever. She couldn't stay in the town anymore, maybe not any other town either, so I helped her to sneak out with some stuff from the store so she could camp out for a while. I even gave her one of those disposable phones so we could stay in touch too.
I'm glad to say that she still answers my calls, although she won't tell me where she is anymore, and that worries me a little. Anyway, after the whole episode where her parents freaked that she ran away, Life kinda died down for a couple of years. Until I became a mutant too. I don't really remember how it started, I just know that one day I was at school, skipping class, and the principal literally just walked by me on his way to the teacher's lounge, like he couldn't see me or something.
I tried to call out to him, to ask what his deal was. He was probably one of the strictest guys you'd ever meet, and he definitely didn't just walk by people who were breaking the rules. I thought he had something going on, something bad enough to make that guy forget to scold a kid was definitely something to worry about. So, I had started to ask what was up, but I stopped when I heard my voice.
Somehow, as I would figure out later, I had changed into the form of my English teacher, the teacher of the class I was skipping, and by changing to look like him I could copy his voice too. At the time I was really confused, I did end up having a conversation with the principal, and got the rest of the day "off" because he noticed that I was acting strange and jumpy. He thought that I, my English teacher, had too much stress or something because of a group of students who had been going around and causing trouble all through the school recently.
Needless to say, I got out of there quick. I went home first, where I locked myself in my room and tried to figure out what was going on. That's when I figured out that I could change into anyone, on the outside at least. I ran tests on myself for the next few days, I even snuck into the clinic in town and had someone help me take an x-ray of myself, drugging them during the entire thing of course. Every time I answered a question I had about myself, two more seemed to take its place. After about a week though, I realized that I would have to leave town too, just like my friend had.
The reason? I couldn't really control it yet. I kept changing in public, and while luckily no-one really noticed other than me, eventually someone would have. I took a bunch of stuff from my family's store, packing it all into one of those heavy-duty packs you see people use when they climb Mt.Everest or wherever, and I left a suicide note on the windshield of my dad's truck. Then I left, hiking through the forest and eventually crossing the border into Canada.
Nothing really has happened since then that's interesting enough to mention here, up until when I got your letter that is. Which I guess brings me to my worries; I like to blend in, and my power helps with that, but somehow you found me, and I'm not sure how because I- This letter and application just, appeared in my bag one day, and I have no idea how. I just got to the nearest town, but when I got this I was literally in the middle of nowhere.
So, I have some questions to ask, but I guess those can all wait for until I meet you. I'll be hanging out in this town for a while, so if you wanna sent me another letter you can just do it normally, rather than being a ninja and sneaking it into my pack again. Goodbye for now I guess.
Erica looks up from her notepad and the strange application she was filling out, flinching at the loud crash of thunder that was way too close for comfort. She took a peek out of the small crack in the door to her tent, immediately regretting the decision when her face was pelted by the cold shards of hail mixed with the large raindrops of the storm around her. She took a towel and wiped her face off, turning on her small battery-powered radio.
The signal was bad, but from what she could make out, Erica figured that the storm wouldn't last long past sunrise, and began preparing to sleep. She packed everything up in her large, waterproof camping bag. Everything except for the letter and application to PITY, which she carefully folded and put in her pocket along with the one picture of her parents that didn't make her want to cry when she looked at it and her cell phone, which she always kept off so that she couldn't be tracked.
Finally hunkered down for the night, Erica drifted off into an uneasy sleep, only interrupted once by an extremely loud crash of thunder near dawn, and hopefully near the end of the storm. Once the storm finally was over, she cleaned up her camp and set off for the nearest town, to finally send the strange application and figure out what to do while she would wait for a response. Just before she decided to send it in, she made a few changes to the last section, adding in her worries for the future and a bit more personal information than she had originally planed to before forcing herself to actually put it in the mailbox to send.
Once it was no longer in her possession, Erica relaxed a bit, which was a mistake. She noticed in her reflection in a nearby shop window that her eyes were now two different colors, her shirt was a bit too girly of a style for a man the age that she looked, and her socks were now severely mismatched. Erica ducked into an alley as quickly as possible, changing into an easier form to hold. She was now a middle aged business woman wearing a simple blue dress, accenting the decidedly smaller curves of this form. She left the alley and went to the only hotel in town, booking a room indefinitely and locking all the doors and windows before settling in to live for a while.
–Vision-reliant distortion of space, allows me to warp to another location. – Happens instantaneously, to the point where one might question if I was where I was at all. –Retain possession of clothes and materials on my person at the moment of transport. –Ability to transport some objects (not people) with me, however weight does effect effort. –Can be used in rapid succession in short-distances.
Drawbacks & Weaknesses:
–Must establish eye-contact with someone to activate power, be it another person or myself via a mirror. –More effort used to move away from someone than towards them, and covering large distances quickly leads to debilitating exhaustion. –Cannot flay others, the warping effects only myself, and has no direct negative effects on those around me. –I have to be able to see where I want to warp to, meaning I can't go backwards or out of my peripheries.
What can I say? I was born special. God, Lady Luck, good ol’ cosmic chance, whatever it was, it decided I was gonna be grand. Powers? Yeah that’s all well and good, I hid that until I was seventeen, but I’ll tell you where the real attention is, the spotlight. Oh man, that’s my home right there, center-stage, title-role, headliner, whatever, just let me up there. I sing, I dance, I act. I know most modernly-enacted plays by heart, at least all the important parts, even got to get up on the, ahem, Abbey Theatre once, maybe I’ll go back, who knows? I guess for clarity’s sake it’s worth mentioning that I found out my ah, unnatural talent when I was sixteen. If it was around before, who knows, hell, I didn’t even do anything with it for a whole year. I was Fernando in the local theatre’s “Tempest” rendition, I didn’t have time to be a freak. In fact, the second time I used the power is the reason I’m here. Closing night, the curtains draw, I get a call from…I get a call and I need to go home. Actually, I’m not really feelin’ the rest of this story, you guys need the grit? Can I just sum it up for you? Parents saw me use my power, and it was either this or hit the road. Cool? Okay, enough history lessons, let’s cut to brass-tax or whatever it is you yanks say, I entertain. You’re looking at a star here, some real talent, and I’m not afraid to say it. I’ve dealt with the cutthroat business of the theatre, hell, I’m a natural shark. You learn how to work people there, you end up with a silver tongue, and mine’s sterling. Truth is, and take this to heart, no one’s just gonna notice you, you don’t just get attention, aye? Life is one big competition and love, I’m not out for runner-up. I know what I said before but let me tell you, no one is born this good, even me, I clawed my way to where I am, my name is picking up worth, and one day I’m gonna mean something, because otherwise, you die and no one remembers who you were. No one even cares, except for the few people who knew you enough to keep from forgetting you. Sometimes that’s not enough, sure as hell isn’t for me.
There was no better feeling than delivering a soliloquy on stage. The warm spotlight, the raw emotion, the fact that no one dared to take their eyes away from him. What kept the nostalgia away however was perhaps the second best feeling, the after-party. It was easy enough to pick out the actors from the crew and the guests. Most of the stage-folk had come straight from closing, so remnants of costumes made up a good portion of the goers.
An hour in and Chess had shaken probably twenty hands, downed at most three free-drinks (he’d be driving home after-all) and gotten a number from both sides of a cute little relationship. The girl wasn’t theatre, he ditched her number as soon as she turned around, the boy he’d seen at a few sets though, cute, big-type, might call him over one night.
“Abbey!”
He nearly dropped his cup when he heard that voice. Turning he saw his sister Nora meandering through the crowd towards him. She looked so out of place, long dark sweater, baggy pants and comfy shoes. Her wide eyes were curious as anything, her figure hunched away from the noise around her but she kept a smile at him. She held a red cup in her hands, Chess felt his stomach churn.
“Nora, how’d you get here?” he snatched the cup from her and took a quick sip, brow furrowing. “Who gave this to you? I swear to god they’ll be cleaning props forever, you’re too young to drink, you know you’re too young to drink.”
“So’re you,” she mumbled.
Chess’s lips pursed, and he dumped the drink away. Nora had that look on her face that came around whenever he got “too frantic” as she put it. “You’re right,” he said with a sigh. “But really, you shouldn’t be here, I thought you went home with mum and dad?”
“I told’em you said I could hang around.”
“Oh god, they don’t know you’re at a party, do they? Nora you don’t live in the dorms, if you go home smelling like alcohol they’ll kill you.”
She rolled her eyes. “I said we were gonna go get coffee and hang out with your playwright buddies. I just kinda wanted to hang out tonight. Missed you since you moved in here, y’know?”
Chess couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. It had been at least a week since their last sit-down together, and he’d been feeling a bit of a void too. The parties were entertaining, the attention more so, but he got both from Nora without having to put on a fake smile for the people he didn’t care about. Around her he actually got to relax, and maybe that was the better feeling.
“Yeah, same,” he said, and gave her a hug. “Let’s dodge this place, though, I know a top café in the area. I want to hear about your year so far.”
Before I finish my character sheet I wanted to know about my power being acceptable. Namely because it would play a large role in my characters personal statement. Please feel free to PM me concerns or comments so we don't flood the OOC with just my character power conversation.
PITY - Application for Academic Year 2015/2016
Student Name
Devin Coal
Gender
Male
Nationality
Canadian
Age
18
D.O.B.
April 6th
Appearance
Hair Color
Brown
Eye Color
Vantablack
Ethnicity
Canadian / Irish / Polish / German / French
Height
162 cm
Weight
69 kg
Powers & Abilities
Power Name
Black Eyes
Power Description
Mental and physical control over Dark Matter that collects in my eyes.
Abilities
My eyes are somehow capable of collecting dark matter in the same way a magnet attracts other metal. At least that is how the doctor explained it. It means that supposedly, with a lot of concentration, I should be able to control this matter by either combustion through the process called annihilation or solidify it. A lot of these words I don't entirely understand, but they are how the scientists talked. One thing that happened during the testing was I seemed to 'infect' a doctor with the matter when I got scared and my eyes shot some matter at him. The matter hit his eyes causing him to lose his eyesight, but it quickly returned when I calmed down.
Devin's eyes are lined with an unknown substance that collects antimatter.
This matter can be controlled by Devin mentally concentrating.
Devin can concentrate and move the dark matter from his eyes; thereby, 'curing' his blindness.
This energy can be released only from his eyes.
The energy can either become explosive or solid though if it is a solid
Drawbacks & Weaknesses:
I don't really know. I am still learning what strengths I even have with this power. I guess if I don't concentrate the matter returns to my eyes and I return to being blind.
About You
Family:
Mother-Linda Coal Dad-Sean Coal Sister-Emily Coal
Personal Statement
I am special even for most of your applicants I guess. Being both special in the powers way and special in the normal way means I check plenty of boxes when I have to fill out forms like these. That said the most common questions I get asked are usually the best to get out of the way. I am big into music and my favorite sport is baseball. It has the best soundtrack. Also the large amount of numbers let me understand the game nearly as well as everyone else. Other sports like Hockey or Football are a little trickier for me.
It has only happened in a small scale, but I am scared to touch other people with my hands. The doctors said that dark matter can go through a process called annihilation which is where matter and dark matter meet causing them to both explode. Not sure if you have a special place at the school for people like me, but it would make me feel better if people didn't get scared around me.
I know I am lucky in the grand scheme of things. My disability hasn't destroyed my family, but seems to have brought us all closer together. They are excited for me, but I also know they are worried about me. They think I might mope around because they don't know what else I can do, but I am excited to learn about what my abilities can do. After all learning more about how I can control them could be the key to unlocking my ability to see. I don't dislike being blind mind you. I came to terms with it a long time ago, but if there is a chance to improve my sight I want to take it and will apply myself completely towards that goal.
The constant buzzing of Devin's alarm clock woke him with the same relentless efficiency he had come to expect for its kind. Groaning over his inability to catch up on sleep he reached over to slam a hand on the snooze button. In a flash light that exposed his clean, almost pristine, room came through his eyes as his eyes fired a short burst of dark matter. When it made contact with the alarm clock a white light exploded and the clock was blown up into several dozen pieces.
It was several moments before Devin was able to relax. He swore at himself over the broken pieces of the alarm clock could be felt around his feet. When he got up from bed he had to slide his feet across the carpet so he didn't step on any sharp pieces of plastic. Nyx, his seeing eye dog, was already up and off the bed. She had a habit of sitting next to him while he dressed for the day. His shirts were mostly organized by his mother, but for the most part a white shirt and jeans was the look Devin sported during the weekends.
After putting his shoes on Devin clicked his fingers and Nyx moved next to him. He put her harness on with little difficulty. With everything locked and loaded the two made their way towards the back door of the house. When he opened the door he could tell it was going to be a beautiful day from the warm feeling he got as he was bathed in the morning sun. The two left the house just as he heard his sister starting the shower.
As Devin walked down the sidewalk he heard all the familiar sounds of his street welcoming the morning. HE could hear Jane and her friend Michelle going about their morning jog. They said hello as the passed and Devin nodding back with a smile. The sound of doors opening as those with jobs downtown headed out early to beat the traffic.A school bus also made its way down carrying the chaos that was 30 plus kids between the ages of terror and spaz. All of these were a part of the picture Devin had for his street and he loved every one of them. Turning the next block he decided it was time to head back. The sound of a light rumble could be heard and Devin wasn't interested in racing a storm home.
When I concentrate, I can move, bend, twist, throw, push, pull and squeeze things with my mind. I practice a lot on cigarettes, cans, pens, tennis balls, any small, light thing. When I am using my ability, my eyes will glow bright blue and begin to release some sort of cyan steam or smoke, which causes me no harm. Anything I am using my abilities on will also begin to glow a faint blue.
Drawbacks & Weaknesses:
After long sessions, I get really bad headaches and nausea, and I usually have nightmares if I use it heavily before bed. It can also be very physically draining. If i've used it a lot that day, my eyes might look a bit red and sore. In terms of how 'competent' I am at using my ability, the only things I can move in a controlled manner are usually no bigger than a computer. So I could potentially use a pencil as a weapon 'cause I can 'fire' it, 'cause it's small and light. I could throw, say, a printer, but it would be slow and sluggish and not go very far. I've never done any of these things. I have lifted a grown human being before, and have also pushed a car, but both of these occasions were accidental. I moved the car when I was around 17, because I got stood up on a date, and I just really wanted to fling her car into the sky, but I knew I couldn't. But I was really mad, and I managed to just give it a budge and it jumped a few feet backwards. I was just as surprised as the little kid watching me on his scooter. As for the person, I was in a boxing match, he wasn't harmed, and I honestly have no idea how I did it. I think it has something to do with my pulse or blood pressure, because in both instances my heart rate will have been sky high.
About You
Family:
Mother: Kim Reed Father: Riley Reed
Personal Statement:
I was born in London, but moved up North to Sheffield when I was 3. I was a pretty average kid. Not academic, but very creative. No surprise, because my Dad was an artist, but also an alcoholic. Don't get me wrong, he wasn't by any means good, but I think his art was so boring that it made me want to make exciting, interesting art. Stuff I was into, like comics and stuff. My mother was a caretaker. The next part of my life I think as a defining part of my story is my introduction to martial arts. I began studying karate at age 10, then went on to study Muay Thai boxing at 14, which is also when i began competing. Personally, I think if it weren't for my love for martial arts distracting me, I would have developed my abilities sooner. I first began to experience my mutation at 16, but my parents often recalled strange moments that suggested I had an ability around my early teens. The first thing I did was show my friends after i started pinning a stick around in my hands, but without touching it, if you see. They thought it was cool, told their parents, and they didn't muck around with me after that. I lost a lot of mates because of it. School didn't really know. Well, I mean, they did, but just like everyone else they just kind of... ignored it. Pretended it wasn't there. I didn't really mind because i tried to spend as little time in that building as possible, and my grades weren't the best, not even in my art class. I just wasn't motivated. I just wanted to train. Around 17, after balancing my time neatly between martial arts and 'freak practice', as I called it at the time, I started having strange outbursts where I couldn't control my telekinesis. Nothing dangerous, but I would only need to think about something at times and whatever it was would just fling into the hair, or break into pieces, or whatever. There was one time when i was hitting the bag. I was tired, fed up, I think I'd had a really bad day, and I just think about smashing the shit out of this bag. All of a sudden, it breaks off the chain and slams straight into this little kid. He didn't really come back after that. But I make light of what was ultimately a very serious moment. The way i saw it was that my mutation... mutated more? Became stronger, like a muscle. I was having freak practice pretty frequently towards the end of my 2011, so surely that will have made the ability stronger? That's what I figured anyway, and I didn't really know who to ask for help at that time. I was just trying to keep it under control with more practicing. But then, on April 12th 2014, I was competing. The first fight I'd had in ages. I was pumped, i was having fun, I was buzzing. The final fight came up, I'd made it that far. i was super determined, the first time I'd been really joyful in a while. But sudddenly, I go in for a flurry and after the third punch - that's how well I remember it - the guy just goes flying up in the air, glowing blue. And he's just up there, levitating, looking down at me looking up at him. He looked really terrified, and as I looked around I could see people noticing my eyes and whatnot. Suddenly, my trainer come up and gives me the biggest slap he's ever given me. The guy drops, twists his ankle when he lands, I get banned from competing in the sport ever again. It was in the paper, you'll have read it. And no, it wasn't intentional. Then, after that, I had a real down period for a few months until my trainer actually showed me your place. So, yeah, I'd like to join. Not because I feel like I need to be 'contained' or anything like that. I just want to know what it feels like to be classed as weird if you don't do something extraordinary on a regular basis.
These moments before the actual fight were always the hardest. That's what loads of people said anyway. But for me, it's just a time to relax. To find comfort in the complete lack of control you have in this situation. You're gonna fight, you can't not now, it's gonna happen whether you're ready or not. Some boxers, you know, they'll jump up and down on the spot like fucking kangaroos, punching air that doesn't punch back. Others, they go all quiet, staring into space preparing themselves for the oncoming shit storm that's gonna smack 'em square in the face any minute now. My coach, Nix, he always used to tell me to breathe. Just breathe. Think of nothing else, and just take in just that little bit more chi energy with every breath. What bullshit. You don't have to do any of that before the fight. All you need to do is kick back, relax, and sit there with a big fucking grin on your face. Then when your coach tells you it's time to rock, you walk out with a big grin on your face then, too. And before you get in the ring, you keep grinning at everyone in the audience, at your coach, at any friends our family you have in the audience. You just keep grinning. Then, when you get in the ring, and that big ugly bastard you're about to trade numbers with waddles up to you with the rage of a thousand damned souls behind his eyes, you stop smiling. 'Cause now, you're not before the fight anymore. You no longer lack control, and therefore, you have to concentrate real hard on not getting the shit kicked out of you. In fact, now you have complete control, 'cause you know that when he steps over there, you'll get in with that hook, or when he throws that jab you can roll and get his ribs, whatever. 'Cause you know you've got control over the situation. That's the scary part for me. 'Cause, when I'm in control, if I mess up, that's it. It's my fault, no one else's. But here, in this shitty little changing room, where I can hear the angry dads in the audience yelling, and Nix is trying to teach me how to inhale oxygen, I can relax, knowing that i don't have to worry about anything, 'cause I can't fail in here.
I can separate myself from my organic body and become a floating humanoid mass of bioelectric energy.
Abilities:
In my Electro-Specter form I can fly and levitate. I can emit electric discharges as either directional or radial blasts. I can use cables and wires to get around faster by “entering” them.
Drawbacks & Weaknesses:
I can’t stay out of my body for longer than an hour or I’ll pretty much just disappear. I get weaker over time and it shows because I get less and less glow-y. Also my body wasn't resistant to this whole thing at first so that’s why I look weird.
About You
Family:
Keagan Bale (Father) Sophia Bale (Mother)
Personal Statement:
I grew up in Philadelphia. My parents were normal folks and so was I up until I was 10. I did the Electro-Specter thing for the first time in the bathroom and caused a blackout in the apartment complex by accident. My parents were scared and they thought I’d died. Got back into my body and burned it pretty good in the process. Went to the hospital, came back after a while. Mom wanted me out of the house but dad wanted to keep me around. She left and the two of us just stayed in the apartment for a while. He admitted he was disturbed but he still helped me keep my head down. I practiced every now and then and the power came to me pretty easily. I still got burned a lot though and we couldn’t fix that. Eventually we found out about PITY. Dad sent a letter and we got the application form. You know the rest.
I didn't really want to list my hobbies and stuff here but my dad tells me I should fill out the page more. I like techno music, strobe lights, neon, graffiti, and ninja stuff. For a while I've wanted to be a disc jockey but I don't think that's gonna work out. I wear these tinted goggles to help me see because my eyes are really sensitive from all the burns. My nerve endings are pretty damaged too so I don't feel a whole lot of stuff. I also twitch a lot because of it. I can't say some words properly because I don't have lips anymore. I think this is enough.
"Excited?" Keagan asked.
Zach turned his head, lowering the volume on his phone. "'Hat?" He replied.
"I asked if you're excited."
Zach leaned back in his seat and sighed. "A'out as 'uch as any'ne else 'ould 'e." He turned his head to stare out the window as the car drove along the highway leading out of the city. He wasn't depressed though, he wasn't leaving much behind. He didn't have any pals here, mainly due to his appearance. That and he didn't get out much until now. So this whole experience just... wasn't bringing up much of a reaction out of him.
Honestly, he was expecting some weird things to go down once he got there. A thought most likely bred by all the online stories he'd been reading, and the movies he'd been watching. People with super powers in any situation eventually stirred shit up. It was unavoidable. It was expected. And God knew if anyone would share his mindset once he got there.
"You'll do fine." Keagan replied, "This'll be good for you."
"'Hatever you say." Zach said, raising the volume once more.
I can change how well others perceive me (and perhaps other objects)
Abilities:
My ability affects the minds of others, so it's a little difficult to explain since I never experienced it myself. I only know what my friends and family tell me, so my explanation might not be entirely accurate. With my ability, I can change the minds of other people in how they perceive me. I can become completely imperceptible to a person, meaning that they will not be able to see me, hear me, smell me, touch me (well, I will feel it but they won't), taste me, or be able to register my presence or interaction with the world. If I apply my power enough, they even become unable to recall any memories concerning me. To them, it will be like I never existed until my power wears off. On the other hand, I can make people hyper aware of my presence. They can be looking away from me but know I'm there, in the same way you can normally "sense" other people around you. I draw attention to me. People's eyes are drawn to me and their senses in general are more responsive to anything I do. For instance if another person and me are speaking at the same time at the same volume to a third person, I could amplify my words in the third person's mind. They won't necessarily be perceived as louder, the person just pays attention to me more I guess. Those are the two extremes of my power, but I can work in between them.
While most of the things I do with my power require direct concentration, I can passively make myself stand out more or less to small degrees to entire groups of people. If I don't want to be seen or bothered, people just pass over me. When I'm doing something impressive or just want to be noticed, I stand out more. Becoming actually imperceptible to one or more people or really forcing someone to look at me requires active concentration and focus.
My power works on just one or multiple people at one time. Like you'd think, it's more difficult to affect multiple people, and it's easier to make myself more perceptible than less perceptible. My power mostly applies to me and anything small I touch like my clothes. My ability to hide my clothes with me makes me think I should be able to do the same for other people or objects, but I haven't been able to do it.
Drawbacks & Weaknesses:
I cannot read the mind of people I'm affecting so I have no way of really knowing that it's working.
My ability doesn't affect machines such as cameras or microphones so they still record me.
Any real use of my ability requires active concentration.
It is almost impossible for me to become imperceptible to someone who was already focusing on me.
I don't know if I'm capable of using my power on more than one person with different effects on each one.
OOC Note: Psychics may be resistant, immune, or aware of the ability's use depending on their specific ability and proficiency with that ability, but Celso has no way of knowing that himself at this time.
About You
Family:
- Father: Martin Olivero - Mother: Cecilia Olivero - Sister: Cecilia Olivero - Brother: Cesar Olivero
Personal Statement:
I have been aware of mutants all my life. My uncle Cesar was a mutant and an outspoken activist. He wasn't famous like Adrian Costa, but he was gaining some renown in the city until he passed. He wasn't killed or anything, it was heart disease. My father will tell you they did try to kill him though. My father and mother are also politically active, just not like he was. But that is common here. My older brother in particular has always been fascinated by mutants and equality for mutants. He loves studying mutants, and has spent a lot of time researching abilities and events and cases. He's going to school to become a lawyer, even with all the corruption. He really took after his namesake, except he's not the mutant.
I tried to avoid a life full of concern for strangers like my parents. Like many teenagers, I wanted to distance myself from my family. Keeping informed, forming opinions. It all seemed like a chore. My concerns have always been swimming, football and River Plate, girls, and doing well in school to make a good life for myself. That was really it. I competed as a swimmer, among the best in Buenos Aires for butterfly stroke. Football I play for fun and am somewhat good. I was going to be an engineer like my father, but then a teacher showed to me the power of written words. Writing became another interest and passion. I thought why do engineering work when I could be a journalist or author? When I discovered my ability, it did not change anything. There was no reason to worry about how the world treated mutants. I could easily hide it. I have known about your academy for a while. My father had told me about a school that had closed down. I laughed at the idea of ever attending a place like this. I didn't need it.
I discovered my ability a few months before my 16th birthday. My brother and sister were away, and my parents began to ignore me. No matter what I did, they would not respond. I spent one and one half hours trying to make them see me. When my sister returned, she surprised me from behind as I yelled at my father. In that moment, that I was surprised, my parents suddenly became very aware of me. I think I nearly gave my father a heart attack going from full imperceptibility to pushing myself fully onto his mind. I was afraid then, but now I love my ability. It's harmless, easy to hide, useful, and fun. When I want to be left alone, I'm left alone, and everybody pays close attention when I'm swimming or playing football. I don't accidentally disappear or make myself obvious as much these days. It still happens more than I like.
Until a year ago I thought I could live my life without thinking about other mutants. They could be like the starving children of other countries. A sad detail in the world, but one I could pretend I was too busy to worry about. Cesar changed my mind. He planted an idea that I have not been able to let go. In his time researching he found many times when mutants were talked about unfairly. People like me who had their stories forgotten, or twisted, or who had no chance to even have them heard. He suggested to me that I could tell them. I realized how my ability and my writing could go together. I could tell a story no one else could, and help tell those of other people. I now see why PITY is a good place for me. I do not know anyone who is like me. The world refuses to understand us. I want to tell our story, but I cannot do that without living it and also knowing other people who are living it.
Celso quickly glanced back over his shoulder, back at the park and the group playing soccer on the open field. He gave a quick wave goodbye. He and Cesar had spent the morning and better part of their Saturday afternoon at the park, involved in a few pickup games. The walk back to their home would take a while though and the sun had started to set earlier as winter approached. He and his siblings were going out to celebrate his last weekend before leaving and they were going to need a nap. His brother walked on his right, whistling a song that had been playing nonstop on the radio. Celso carried the bag containing their cleats and soccer ball slung about his shoulder. As the sun began to dip behind the tall buildings, it momentarily reflected off one of the puddles in the street left by the previous night's storm.
"So Cecilia says you won't leave Monica alone."
Celso turned to his brother, feigning a look of confusion. "What did she tell you?"
"Something about Monica talking about you, always looking your direction. She doesn't think it's an accident."
A grin spread across Celso's face. "Just like I told her, I'm not doing it. It must be my natural charm and good looks."
His older brother merely rolled his eyes. "Sure. Just listen to me when I say to stay away from her friends." He smiled, "Or at least, make sure Ceci doesn't know."
The two burst into laughter as they remembered the way their sister blew up years ago when she discovered her twin brother was dating her friend, and they'd somehow managed to hide it from her.
"Chamuyero," Cesar chided playfully. "You better behave yourself while you're gone. Who knows if those American girls will put up with your shit." Celso could feel his brother's eyes on him as they walked. "Be careful," the older brother continued. "I'm thrilled for your opportunity. But some mutants can be dangerous. Their tantrums will have much worse consequences than yours." He laughed again. "I'm a little bit jealous. You're going to get to know so many special people in person. You'll learn so much."
Celso merely nodded, not wanting to think about it. Despite what he'd written in his application, he still wasn't quite sure how to feel about this. Sure, it was going to be fun. But did he really want to just take this dive into a world like this? He didn't need the help controlling his ability. Even after his accidents, few people even suspected him. Now here he was about to publicly label himself a mutant. Still, nothing said he had to stick to the plan of doing something. The Institute's stated purpose was to simply allow them to live normal lives anyway wasn't it? He had his doubts, considering the government's involvement. And yet even with those doubts, he couldn't deny his curiosity. He shrugged and looked forward. Ice cream sounded good.
"Call up Ceci, see if she want meet us for some ice cream."
