In the wee hours of the morning, the guild's Hollow was quiet. It was a good time to beat the crowd and get a little exercise in before the day began. Orren's personal favorite was a swim in the indoor pool, kept at a refreshing 78 degrees year round. He got up around 5, donned his swim trunks, and made his way down to the gym. One of the many perks of joining the Guild was the gym: it was kept in good shape and well supplied with enough equipment, the pool of course, and even a sauna room. What more could a guy want?
Orren dumped his towel in a chair at the poolside and dove in. He, personally, wasn't one of the more paranoid types that wore their mask even inside the safety of the Hollow. Honestly, he didn't have much of an identity to hide. Superhero-ing was a full time job, and he didn't really know anyone outside the Guild that a villain could get their hands on. After a few laps, Orren got out and dried off. He headed back to his room to wash off the chlorine and get dressed; other heroes would be getting up soon and then the whole damn place would be chaos as usual.
Orren entered his room to find that his roommate was still sound asleep, curly hair sticking out from under his blankets. Orren was one of the few that actually shared his room, and it was mostly by accident that he did so. When Dylan had first come to the Guild, he was deemed 'unstable', and needed to be watched 24/7 to make sure he didn't get up to anything. Orren was saddled with clownsitting duty, of course. Dylan moved into his room and just sort of stayed there. There was plenty of space for the two of them, and after the first few days, they'd gotten the kid a bed.
Dylan had made major improvements since then, but Orren still couldn't help but feel bad for the guy every now and then. The clown was handed a pretty raw deal. From what he'd shared with his deemed 'best friend', he'd lived with his asshole uncle for most of his childhood. He'd forgotten what real parents were like; what acceptance and love felt like. Sooner or later, he'd gotten smart enough to run away. Then came the circus. Orren had thought that running away to the circus was just a cliche; no one actually did it. But he supposed he was wrong. Dylan always got a wistful look in his eyes and a stupid grin on his face when he talked about the circus. Smelly animals and hot, crowded tents; Orren didn't see the appeal. But Dylan had loved it. He was treated like family there. Until his powers developed and ruined it for him.
Dylan was fired and left to his own devices. He'd found himself homeless; nowhere to go and no one to take pity on him. People were afraid of him; shelters wouldn't let him in, no one would give him work. He was fucked. His only option was to steal what he needed and hope he wouldn't get gunned down. Dylan would walk into a gas station, grab and armful of whatever food was closest to the door and run. Of course, after a while, the places would station police outside their doors. The clown had to travel if he wanted to live.
The day Orren and Leech had found him, he was wearing the same dirty, smelling clothes he had the day he was fired. Dylan had a little dufflebag filled with all his worldly belongings; mostly his clown suit and circus paraphernalia. Orren remembered watching as Leech told him to quit fucking around with his powers, the confused expression on the poor kid's face. He had been bone thin, marred with infected wounds from where terrified people had attacked him, and his bag clutched close to his chest as if he was afraid they'd steal it from him. There was no way Orren could just walk away from that; it was like leaving a puppy to starve. A big, gangly, horror inducing puppy.
Orren got the Guild to accept him with the understanding that any fucking up on the clown's part was on his head. Dylan had cleaned up and filled out fairly well. He no longer looked like some kind of horrific Nightmare Before Christmas cosplay. Still, the clown didn't escape all mental scars. Orren had never said anything to him about it, but he occasionally caught Dylan sneaking bags of chips and snack crackers into his side of the room and squirreling them away, never eating them, but just hiding them here and there. It was like he secretly thought that they, too, would turn on him some day. That basic human needs like food and clean water would once again be taken from him. There was just something about a sad clown was extra depressing. It made Orren appreciate the fact that, even though his father was gone now, that he'd at least had a caregiver that gave a shit about him.
Orren could still remember the sounds of gunfire and his own crying. His father had been killed in a shootout between a crime group called the V Street Gang and the police. Orren had never found the guys responsible, and the lack of closure still hurt him. Luckily, he wasn't one to dwell on the past. The black haired man gathered up a clean uniform and went into the bathroom for a quick shower and a change. By the time he was done, it was almost 7. Surely there would be other people up by now. He left his room, leaving Dylan to likely sleep till noon again, and went down to the kitchen to see if breakfast was afoot.
Orren dumped his towel in a chair at the poolside and dove in. He, personally, wasn't one of the more paranoid types that wore their mask even inside the safety of the Hollow. Honestly, he didn't have much of an identity to hide. Superhero-ing was a full time job, and he didn't really know anyone outside the Guild that a villain could get their hands on. After a few laps, Orren got out and dried off. He headed back to his room to wash off the chlorine and get dressed; other heroes would be getting up soon and then the whole damn place would be chaos as usual.
Orren entered his room to find that his roommate was still sound asleep, curly hair sticking out from under his blankets. Orren was one of the few that actually shared his room, and it was mostly by accident that he did so. When Dylan had first come to the Guild, he was deemed 'unstable', and needed to be watched 24/7 to make sure he didn't get up to anything. Orren was saddled with clownsitting duty, of course. Dylan moved into his room and just sort of stayed there. There was plenty of space for the two of them, and after the first few days, they'd gotten the kid a bed.
Dylan had made major improvements since then, but Orren still couldn't help but feel bad for the guy every now and then. The clown was handed a pretty raw deal. From what he'd shared with his deemed 'best friend', he'd lived with his asshole uncle for most of his childhood. He'd forgotten what real parents were like; what acceptance and love felt like. Sooner or later, he'd gotten smart enough to run away. Then came the circus. Orren had thought that running away to the circus was just a cliche; no one actually did it. But he supposed he was wrong. Dylan always got a wistful look in his eyes and a stupid grin on his face when he talked about the circus. Smelly animals and hot, crowded tents; Orren didn't see the appeal. But Dylan had loved it. He was treated like family there. Until his powers developed and ruined it for him.
Dylan was fired and left to his own devices. He'd found himself homeless; nowhere to go and no one to take pity on him. People were afraid of him; shelters wouldn't let him in, no one would give him work. He was fucked. His only option was to steal what he needed and hope he wouldn't get gunned down. Dylan would walk into a gas station, grab and armful of whatever food was closest to the door and run. Of course, after a while, the places would station police outside their doors. The clown had to travel if he wanted to live.
The day Orren and Leech had found him, he was wearing the same dirty, smelling clothes he had the day he was fired. Dylan had a little dufflebag filled with all his worldly belongings; mostly his clown suit and circus paraphernalia. Orren remembered watching as Leech told him to quit fucking around with his powers, the confused expression on the poor kid's face. He had been bone thin, marred with infected wounds from where terrified people had attacked him, and his bag clutched close to his chest as if he was afraid they'd steal it from him. There was no way Orren could just walk away from that; it was like leaving a puppy to starve. A big, gangly, horror inducing puppy.
Orren got the Guild to accept him with the understanding that any fucking up on the clown's part was on his head. Dylan had cleaned up and filled out fairly well. He no longer looked like some kind of horrific Nightmare Before Christmas cosplay. Still, the clown didn't escape all mental scars. Orren had never said anything to him about it, but he occasionally caught Dylan sneaking bags of chips and snack crackers into his side of the room and squirreling them away, never eating them, but just hiding them here and there. It was like he secretly thought that they, too, would turn on him some day. That basic human needs like food and clean water would once again be taken from him. There was just something about a sad clown was extra depressing. It made Orren appreciate the fact that, even though his father was gone now, that he'd at least had a caregiver that gave a shit about him.
Orren could still remember the sounds of gunfire and his own crying. His father had been killed in a shootout between a crime group called the V Street Gang and the police. Orren had never found the guys responsible, and the lack of closure still hurt him. Luckily, he wasn't one to dwell on the past. The black haired man gathered up a clean uniform and went into the bathroom for a quick shower and a change. By the time he was done, it was almost 7. Surely there would be other people up by now. He left his room, leaving Dylan to likely sleep till noon again, and went down to the kitchen to see if breakfast was afoot.