Yo, this is super cool. I'll try to get a character up soon (likely a Guide of the Maester's children, formerly a Flesh Runner).
Ivory Chime
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Location: Warehouse District.
Interactions: No one else.
Time: Evening.
It's just… a bunch of ants. The problem of supplies is important to both me and these ants. Clay dropped another small piece of bread on the ants' path. A colony lives and breathes because of drones and workers. Persisting in the service of a Queen. They're so smart - but so simple, too. I wonder if they would, in time, realize I am the one feeding them? I know they're not as smart as birds, but do they have enough sense to recognize a source of food? Could I train ants? Not that I need or want to, but maybe -
"Are you feeding ants?" Zack said, nearly giving Clay a heart attack.
"What the hell, man?" Clay blurted out before he could stop himself.
"You weren't answering your phone," Zack said. "So I slipped in through one of the holes in the roof. C'mon. I could use your help. Also, maybe don't feed the ants in here," he added.
Clay collected himself. If Zack needed his help then it was for a break-in. And considering Clay had already given half a loaf of bread to the ants over the course of several hours, he could do with some food himself. He nodded to Zack, gesturing him to lead the way.
Luckily it wasn't long - the path to Warehouse District from the Shanty wasn't exactly busy. "Today we're raiding some apartments," Zack said during the walk. "Nothing too heavy - just some light shopping, basically. I picked out a few where the people don't always come back early, so we should still have time. Still, eyes out, bud. Keep it quiet and it should all be fine." Zack did the 'breaking in' bits, so Clay was mostly just backup in case he triggered an alarm. Clay didn't mind - safety first and all that, and in any case it was better than staying home and feeding ants.
"Here's first stop. Field up, bud," Zack said. Clay concentrated for a second and sound melted away, replaced by the blessed sound of nothing.
It only took a minute for Zack to get the lock. The two of them stepped inside. Zack went straight to the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets in search of anything useful to fill his backpack. Clay, meanwhile, merely looked inside the fridge for a second, and, finding nothing too tempting, settled on a nice glass of wine. He took a seat on the floor, tilting his back and closing his eyes as he drank (faster than he probably should) and letting the mute field relax - enough that he didn't need to concentrate, just enough that it was still muted enough to hide the sound of banging cabinets. Zack would take a little longer, so why not enjoy a good drink?
Felix froze outside his front door, keys in hand. It was open. Only a few inches but definitely not double-locked, which was how he left it this morning.
Fuck. He’d been broken into. So much for a relaxing fucking evening. He carefully placed his satchel and takeout to one side in the hallway, momentarily lamenting that his halloumi would be getting real cold. He stepped toward the door, listening keenly for any noises inside his apartment. Hearing nothing, he sighed in relief and pushed the door open to step inside. He stepped tentatively toward his kitchen-diner stopping every couple of steps. The stabbing of last night still fresh in his mind, his imagination had clung onto the possibility that there was a knife-wielding gang in his kitchen and it refused to let go.
Nearly at the archway and still hearing no noise at all he chided himself for being stupid. If anyone at all was in his flat he’d have heard them by now. He closed his eyes and shook his head. Get your shit together man and promptly turned on his heel, collected his bags and walked straight into his kitchen. Everything happened at once.
He immediately registered a black guy in a tracksuit rummaging one of his cupboards, jars of spices falling onto worktop and floor. He then noticed a blonde guy sat with his back against his fridge, eyes shut drinking a glass of his wine! Before he could stop himself, his body reacted. Takeout, satchel and keys dropped to the floor and the shout of “HEY!” was out of his lips before he could stop himself. It was only then when he heard his own voice muffled as though smothered by someone else’s hand or echoing from a distant apartment that his mind caught up with his subconscious. The clattering cupboard door. The many falling glass jars. His shout. There was no noise.
The sound of 'Hey!' was muted, like a whisper through verbal fog. It took a second for Clay to realize that the soft sound was of someone's voice, and not Zack's. His eyes slammed open to the sight of a man who looked distinctly not pleased. He scrambled to his feet, spilling some wine on his red shirt. Mouthing a Fuck, he strengthened the mute field to a near total silence, drawing the hand with the wine back (keeping a careful grip on the glass) and reaching his other hand forward. The stance was meant to evoke some sort of offensive power, though in reality he had none, but the other man didn't know that. Zack also turned, putting his hands up slightly in a more non-violent gesture.
Zack gestured to Clay, who let the field go to nearly normal volume levels so Zack could talk. Clay's eyes flicked over to the mess of spices and jars and felt a little guilty - mostly over the mess, if not the stealing bit. Eyes going back to the stranger, he put on his best serious face.
"Look, bud," Zack said, his tone placating, "this doesn't have to go bad or anything unless someone makes a move. Don't scream or my friend here will mute you again. There's two of us, one of you, and we can make you quiet, so we just have to be reasonable. So, ahh…. Maybe just let us go with what we have, and we'll let you off nice and easy."
Felix met the sitting stranger’s eyes as they opened and couldn’t help but take a step back as he scrambled to his feet, wary of the outstretched hand. He was a Variant. One of them was causing the silence but the other might… well… be able to do anything. His mind went automatically to the news from last night and the redacted details in Connor’s file and he couldn’t help but gulp nervously, Adam’s apple bobbing. The lack of any noise at all was incredibly disconcerting. Even more so when his mind, none too helpfully, jumped to the thought that: no one would even hear me scream...
He was reaching for his phone when he realised it may be a futile gesture in a dome of silence. Proven when the generic white noise of his flat came flooding back to him all at once. The hum of the fridge and the bustle of the street outside, both suddenly deafening. As was the voice of burglar seemingly in charge. Felix went to open his mouth to respond but quickly stopped as he realised the seriousness of the situation. The guy that was covered with half a glass of his refrigerated white had the bizarre ability to cancel out sound. But if that was the biggest threat the guy could make… then that meant he didn’t have any offensive powers himself. Right? It was a gamble, but Felix was fairly certain he was safe. Well… safe-ish. He still couldn’t fight them both off if push literally care to shove.
With him judging the silent fridge raider the biggest threat, he looked the blonde up and down. If he’d have passed him in the street he’d have probably given him a second glance with that handsome face but up close the unkempt (and now wet) clothes and a stale smell gave away the fact that this heist was less for a kick and more for survival. He’d done much outreach as part of his father’s church before the incident. Helping the community was why he’d become a teacher. He was reminded of the previous night and the bright, deep, inky eyes of Connor’s brimming with admiration for his good deed. These guys were Variants. Like him. And he’d help them if he could. They just didn’t have to know he was one too. Right…? He stared straight into his hazel eyes and finally spoke.
“Okay,“ he said quietly moving his hand away from his pocket. ”Take all the food you want but then please leave, unless you want my help…?” He hoped that was the right balance of acceptance and confidence as he continued to stare the brown-eyed blonde down. If only he knew that the teacher was like him too. That he could genuinely help him. But given the situation he wasn’t sure the other guy would give him a chance.
"We'll take the food, but we -" Zack started.
There was a pulse in the mute field where everything got very quiet for half a second then returned to normal. Zack recognized it - a signal from Clay to stop talking. He stepped back, and Clay stepped forward.
Clay lowered his arms, staring intently. What was the stranger's game here? Helping a bunch of robbers, regardless of how bad Clay imagined they must look, was a move from left field, especially since the robbers were robbing him. The stranger wasn't visibly a Variant, but that wasn't a guarantee. Still, Clay wasn't one to flat turn down an offer.
Realizing he'd been staring without talking for a fair few seconds, he spoke, his voice soft and calm. "Why help us, what's in it for you, and how can you help?"
"Cl-" Zack began to protest. Clay immediately turned up the mute field before Zack said his name aloud. Clay put a finger up to his lips and mouthed no names before letting the sound in again.
"Condor," Zack started again, using Clay's alias, "We don't know this guy. He's a stranger, a non-Variant, and we broke into his apartment. What makes you think we should risk it, especially after -" his eyes flicked over to the stranger for a second "- all that stuff yesterday?"
Clay thought for a second before replying. "We take what we can. He seems harmless enough. I say we give him one chance," he said, emphasizing the one.
Zack opened his mouth. Then he closed it. Then he opened it again. "Maybe. But we have a lot of mouths to feed. One guy helping can't feed the whole Underground. We still need to steal what we can, too."
Clay nodded, making a sort of reluctant expression and waving his hand vaguely. Then, to the stranger, he said, "What can you do for us that we couldn't walk away with right now?" He took a sip of the wine he still had in his glass, then frowned as he looked at the spilled wine on his shirt. Oh well.
Felix felt his pulse throbbing in his neck and the sweat beading on his temples as he watched the muted exchange in front of him. He quickly abandoned trying to understand their conversation - who was he kidding - he couldn’t lip read. At least it gave him time to come up with a decent answer to the stranger’s questions…
Why? Because he was a nice guy? Because of the guilt he felt at owning a nice apartment? Because they obviously needed help and he could provide it? Because he was also a Variant?
How did he benefit? Shedding his guilt of being so comfortable when others were not? Him helping Variants without him being public about his abilities? That warm fuzzy feeling from helping someone? Them not stealing any of his more expensive belongings in return for some help?
How could he help? He could offer them money.. Hell - he had enough from years of ‘donations’ in his name. But if they knew that, things could turn ugly real quick. He’d seen what greed did to people who were far less desperate than these figures appeared to be. He had a bag of old clothes in his closet that he was meaning to take to the thrift store down the road that they might want. But they could just as easily take that as well...
Suddenly, the sound flooded back into the room, momentarily disorientating him again. How did they cope with this happening over and over again? "What can you do for us that we couldn't walk away with right now?"
He turned to face the blonde one more and fought down the irritation at him continuing to drink his Chardonnay in front of him. But the momentary glance the thief gave to his shirt sparked an idea.
“I mean a hot meal, a shower, laundry or even a warm bed for the night?” he suggested openly. Then, realising that sounded a bit creepy and weird, “it wouldn’t be a problem, it’s only me here.” And with that he mentally kicked himself. One - that was even fucking creepier and two - now you’ve told them that you live alone, so no one will come looking for you. Fuck. “I just want to help.”
Clay's face remained neutral, but inwardly he was thinking fast. Technically most of those things weren't priority over what they could walk away with right now.
"That's all good, but this is only one apartment. We can't just…" There was a noticeable slip in Clay's voice for a half second as he really thought about it. How would it feel to finally have a hot meal? To be clean again? To sleep in something besides a sleeping bag? Just thinking about it made him acutely aware of how hungry he really was. It had been so long…. But this wasn't about him. This was about the Underground. But then again…
Clay covered up the small pause by taking another sip of wine, inwardly cursing at himself for making such a clear verbal slip up. "Okay, look. I know we broke in and, uh, broke some stuff, but if we're talking like this, this isn't aggressive negotiations. Reasonably, if you're offering to help, I assume you mean for more than just a one-time thing?"
Zack shot him an incredulous look. "What the hell are you doing? We're not here to recruit people."
Clay muttered back, "But we take what we can, remember? We're being given an opportunity for support past a one-time break in. Just let me talk." Zack nodded reluctantly.
Besides, something Zack had hinted at earlier was stuck in the back of Clay's head. What happened yesterday - Variants were usually already given shifty looks at the best of times. Right now was distinctly not the best of times. Of course, Clay wasn't visibly Variant, but considering where he currently lived - that abandoned house, filled with stolen goods and what little personal stuff he had - conclusions could be jumped to pretty easily if someone found his hideout. Food is still a high concern, but shelter and safety were becoming increasingly more important.
Picking his words slowly, Clay said, "Look - I, personally, appreciate this offer. I also know you're only one guy, so I don't expect you to hand us enough food to feed every Variant in New Haven. I'm a little suspicious, but you seem alright, sorta. Maybe my friend here can skip this apartment completely in return? I mean, we have other places to get food from." And also I really want a good meal for once and a night's sleep not spent shivering in a sleeping bag and hot water running all the dirt away and a roof that rain doesn't leak through, he thought but did not verbally express.
Not aggressive negotiations? Felix struggled to muffle the look of incredulity as it crept across his face. They’d only gone and broken into his apartment, smashed up his stuff and then threatened to attack him with some unknown Variant abilities. Non-aggression - my ass! And yet there seemed to be a ring of truth to the stranger’s words. Felix was warring with two conflicting thoughts as the interloper stood there confidently sipping wine that was not his. Either this guy was so casual because he was very dangerously powerful and Felix would never be considered a threat, or he was telling the truth and they genuinely meant him no harm.
He could lend little thought to the issue as he strained to follow the conversation that was being had opposite through the bizarre audio vacuum that his kitchen had become. His quandary was solved with genuine surprise thought at with the fridge-raider’s response. So they were both Variants after all. Here to collect food for not only themselves but others in need. The existing twisting conflict within Felix surged into a tempest.
He wanted to help these guys even though they had broken in. Even more so now he knew they were Variants like him, facing even more prejudice than usual given yesterday’s events. Yet if they were affiliated with Pariah Underground he risked getting involved in something that may result in illegality or his secrets becoming exposed. He had a good life now…
And who was he kidding, the guy was right. He was one guy with limited means. How could he support an entire ostracized group of society? But a Maya Angelou quote from the battered notice board of his old community centre surfaced from his repressed memories: “giving liberates the soul of the giver”. Shouldn’t he still try to help? Anyway, maybe helping Variants would provide more undisturbed nights of sleep like last night? Sure, it was a selfish thought but it further supported his desire to help.
“You’re right,” he replied, holding up his hands in admittance. “I know I can’t do much but I’d like to help in any way I can. Even if it’s just helping you, so that you can help others...” He hoped he was making sense, but wanted to appease the small worry still in the back of his mind that he was about to end up dead, beaten, robbed or all three. And so before he could stop it - the statement burst out of his mouth: “Please stay and give me a chance to talk because well...” What are you saying?! “I think there might be another way I can help...”
There was a strange sort of silence, tinged with a sort of awkwardness and mild shock. Clay and Zack were surprised enough to be holding a conversation with their 'victim', and now he was offering to help them more than they asked for?
"What else can you do? I mean, unless you're hooking up with the head of NOVA or something, I can't imagine what else," Clay said, managing to keep his vaguely bemused grin down. In a slightly more kind tone, he said, "I already appreciate a place to rest for a bit. What more could you offer to some petty Variant thieves, especially after yesterday?"
Zack shuffled a bit. "A little too generous," he whispered.
"Nah, just nice, maybe," Clay whispered back. Clay was aware he was probably being a little too friendly with someone whose apartment he broke into, but hey, what the hell. Not every gift horse needed to be looked in the mouth, right?
Felix sensed that the blonde guy was warming to the idea, definitely on a personal level. But it was also becoming obvious that he was going to need to tell them the whole truth if they were ever going to believe him and leave his apartment without robbing him blind, or should the phrase in this instance be mute?
“Okay, hear me out.” he started, before taking a deep breath. “I’m more like you both than you think.” he continued, the words loaded heavily with suggestion. “That’s how I can also help you and your… friends.”
Clay couldn't help but smirk. "So you're a Variant? I mean, that's the only way I can see you being 'like us' being beneficial." Clay was about to speak again, but forced himself to pause a second. He needed to be a bit more tactful; he had found the hint in the stranger's words a bit pointless when he could've just said it outright, but then again, Clay had met plenty of Variants who, for instance, hated themselves just for being Variants. Not everyone was a 'proud' Variants, and even around other Variants they might hesitate to identify as one of them. It was understandable - like muscle memory, an instinct to not reveal something as potentially socially damning as it could be.
"Well… uff…" he exhaled slowly. "We… definitely started off on the wrong foot. Let's, uh, all calm down?" He smiled disarmingly. "Sorry for breaking into your house and drinking your wine and also breaking some jars? But, yeah, if you are a Variant, we can always use some help. Or help you, if you need any." Zack, meanwhile, seemed more skeptical. However, he wasn't butting in, so he didn't seem to have too big a problem with wherever the discussion was going. "Look, man, we - well, Iwould be happy to help. We're not bad people, we just needed food. We're not going to hurt you and, well, I guess we won't take your food since you've already seen us both and you say you can help anyways. If that helps."
Felix let out a sigh of relief, his whole body visibly sagging. ”Thank fuck for that.” Felix replied. Picking up his bags to place them on the breakfast bar before motioning at the blonde guy to move out of the way. God he really did smell...
Felix grabbed a large wine glass and the loud glugs of his pour filled the room promptly followed by a collection of loud gulps as half the glass’ contents disappeared down his throat. Felix leaned back against the worktop now within touching distance of the guy he had only moments ago considered a criminal. "Yes I’m a… Variant," he managed to admit. ”But I have my reasons for wanting to keep it a secret.”
The teacher looked around the kitchen at the destruction of his normally immaculate space and started to pick up some of the larger shards of glass. He just kind of wanted them to leave if neither were going to take him up on his offer. ”I’ll clean up and you can take the food by the way,” he admitted, looking at Zack. ”Next time just ask, but promise me it’s going to good use?” He didn’t mind supporting the homeless or less fortunate but he drew the line at fuelling a criminal organisation or a squat full of junkies.
Zack scoffed. "Of course. I don't steal for drugs, I steal to help my fellow -"
"Ah, ah, no preaching and try to play nice with the kind man," Clay teased. Turning to the stranger, he continued, "Glad we could talk business, sorry about the mess. Looking forward to working together, thanks for the drink. And, uhh… sorry for real. Didn't really mean to put you through something too stressful or make you tell us you're a Variant." He paused. After a second he pulled out a sticky note and a pen (two things he never left 'home' without) and wrote a number on it. "This is me," he said. "You can put that in your contacts and text me or something. I wouldn't expect to use it often, but you can never be too careful. And your secret is safe with me. And him." He gestured vaguely towards Zack, who was already moving towards the door with the backpack of food.
Clay took one last sip and put his glass down. "Catch you on the flip side, partner. And hey, maybe I'll take you up on that warm bed you promised some day," he said with a smirk, then immediately felt embarrassed of himself.
As he opened the door out, he suddenly felt tired to the bone. Today he'd talked more than he had all last week, and of course he had to be friendly and chatty - and vaguely assholish - to someone they were robbing. Of course he had to flirt a little, practically not on purpose, just because it felt good to talk to someone. Someone who, again, was getting his apartment robbed by Clay. He sighed. Time to go to the sleeping bag and stay in there for a couple days, he thought to himself. A wooden expression, dulled and neutral, slid over his face like a mask as he walked away, trailing behind Zack. Time to calm down.
Felix’s downtrodden expression quickly morphed into one of silent fury.
“try to play nice with the kind man...Glad we could talk business...thanks for the drink.”
The dickhead had broken into his flat, broken his stuff, stolen his food, threatened him and drank his wine. And yet despite Felix letting them both go scott free with not only his pantry but his secret, he still had the tenacity to make comments like that.
He looked down at the crumpled post-it by the fridge and stifled a laugh. The irony of this being the first time a guy had either given him a number or been inside his flat since his move to New Haven over a year ago, was not lost him. Nor was the suggestive nature of the guy’s final comment as put down the other wine glass, now empty. Now he was being hit on?! The cheek. He needed guys to literally break into his apartment to get a date. God that was truly sad.
He followed the two interlopers out of his flat and watched them walk down the hall. Of course it was just his luck to be burgled by a confident, attractive, gay Variant. Despite his relief at them leaving, his indignation at the intrusion and the rising panic that now three people knew he was a Variant, his own body chemistry betrayed his true emotions as he felt his cheeks flush and fists clench.
“I’d make you shower first before getting into my bed.” he replied with a weak smile. ‘My bed’. God what a stupid thing to say. Why did he just insult and simultaneously flirt with a criminal?! He turned to head back into his flat, gasping as he realised his hand was bleeding from where a shard of broken cardamom jar had sliced his palm. Oh great. Just great.
Clay was nearly down the hall when the stranger spoke up - "I'd make you shower first before getting into my bed." Clay's stride only paused a second when he heard it, but mentally he made a series of assumptions along the line of was that… an insult or just him getting in the last word? I don't smell that bad, do I? I made him angry, didn't I? Out loud he didn't say anything. He was tired of talking now that the adrenaline of the situation was going away. Now he just wanted to go back home and feed the ants. Well, mostly he felt like maybe going home and sitting down and never moving again, letting nature decompose his body right on that spot, but he couldn't exactly do that.
"We still have a whole list of places to hit, even if we avoid this area specifically," Zack said once they were outside. "We need to be more careful, especially on watch -"
Clay waved his hands vaguely and shook his head. "I'm going home. Too much talking."
Zack's face, for just a split second, took on a furious expression. Then it smoothed into mere irritation. "Fine," he muttered, waving his hands in a gesture that seemed to mockingly mimic Clay's. Still, Zack knew Clay couldn't be swayed to change his mind, so off went Zack to do what he could alone.
Clay watched him go for a second, then sighed. Well, if there's anything I can do, it's push people away, he thought. Just like his old friends, his family, and now, apparently, his fellow Variants. Whatever. And he began the walk back home in resounding silence.
Clay Kincaid
The Shanty - Clay's Hideout
Clay didn't mind the layout of the house. Sure, it was an abandoned house and the lack of light at night spooked him. Sure, it was almost completely barren except for three chairs, Clay's supplies of varied nature, and a sleeping bag. Sure, it had no running water, forcing Clay to steal bottled water and substitute showering most days with wet wipes and deodorant. Sure, it had no power, meaning Clay had to conserve battery on his phone, charging both it and a backup mobile battery in public locations that allowed it. But it gave him a solitary place to 'live' and some privacy. People tended to avoid the house because they felt it was already occupied by a few people; in reality it was almost always just Clay, unless he was entertaining another Variant guest of some sort. At day the light filtered in through the holes in the roof (which Clay was aware wasn't a good thing but a minor beneficial side effect of gaping holes in the ceiling), and on the occasion it rained, pretty much everything was kept in one of the rooms with an intact ceiling. Supplies were rarely a problem, given the ease with which Clay could steal.
Of course, since Clay found the arrangement so tolerable, he also found no compelling reason to change it. So, after a busy day of reading and wandering the city, Clay was cleaning the hideout for no good reason.
It was almost pointless - he cleaned it nearly daily just to pass time, and you can only clean so much in such an empty place. Yeah, there was nothing gross growing in the house or anything, but that just meant he spent more time sweeping. Sweeping a hideout with holes in the roof that let the leaves and rain in. None of the other Variants that passed through seemed to care about the cleanliness so long as it had supplies, but here Clay was, sweeping while distracting himself mentally by thinking about how stupid he was for doing it.
When Clay's phone vibrated in his pocket, he took another few seconds to contemplate the futility of sweeping before checking it. It was a FriendBridge message from a Variant called Zack. Zack was a low class Agile Variant who mostly helped run supplies between Pariah Underground people.
Zack: I'm out back, let me in
Zack knew Clay well enough that he knew Clay didn't like surprise visitors. The back door wasn't locked, Zack was simply being polite. He also knew Clay might have had a small mute around himself and might not have heard a knock at the door and texted him instead.
Zack entered silently when Clay opened the door, only giving a small wave. Zack stopped by Clay's hideout enough that he had gotten use to Clay's version of 'communication' or lack thereof. Clay waited while Zack grabbed a bottle of water and a candy bar.
"Some of us are meeting in the Warehouse area soon. Real soon, so maybe you should come with," said Zack after he finished the candy.
Clay didn't do anything at first. Then he nodded. He didn't elaborate, but Zack knew better then to push him to speak. Clay only stopped for a second to grab a candy bar, then the two were off.
●○■○●
Ville Rouge/River Street
Zack was nice enough to not speed ahead of Clay, instead walking next to him down River Street to the Warehouse district. Clay kept his gaze down - not just because the crowds here made him uncomfortable, but also because the shop windows made him want to slow down to look. Recently he'd been (unsuccessfully) attempting to cut down on buying shiny trinkets and whatnot, most of which ended up in a backpack he kept in the hideout almost exclusively for such things. It already had enough shiny garbage in it without him trying to add more.
Suddenly Clay realized his mind had wandered enough that Zack had said something and Clay hadn't responded. He looked up, giving a small apologetic smile to Zack.
"I asked, how's life holding up? Still living off of the supermarket harvest?" Zack repeated.
Clay nodded, smirking. He made a rubbing motion with his hand over his stomach; the 'harvest' had been good.
Zack smirked back. "Cool, dude." There was a pause. "You consider, like, rooming with someone else or letting someone else room with you? I mean, they announced more missing Variants. You should play it safe, man."
Clay didn't answer immediately. When he did he did so verbally, mostly because it was faster than trying to explain with only gestures. "I'll consider it. I don't like... being around others often. But you're right." He seemed like he had something else, but didn't continue. He preferred to keep his time talking to a minimum.
Zach nodded. "Cool, man. Well, we're almost to the Warehouse district; we'll see what the meeting's about. Then maybe you can think some more, huh?"
Clay nodded, silent again.
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