Writing Challenge: 150 stories. Go.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#129 – Disinterest

Josh didn’t know why he’d even agreed to come here. The drinks were strong, and the music was fine, he supposed. But it was a singles bar, and the problem with singles bars is that men went to them to remedy being single.

Josh didn’t mind being single; he definitely didn’t view it as a problem that had to be rectified. And if his apartment was a little lonely some nights, he dealt with it, just as he had every night before coming here. Besides, he had a rabbit, and Cottontail helped with the loneliness. She gave him something to talk to so he didn’t sound crazy ranting to himself, and she gave him something to cuddle with that was warm and soft and never judgmental.

Also, she knew her place. She never complained at him when he worked late; she never tried to come between him and his best friend. She was the perfect roommate in that regard.

So Josh didn’t understand why he had agreed to come to this bar.

Well, he knew why; he just didn’t want to admit it.

Every so often, a man would come by his table; most of them were far too young for Josh, but they didn’t realize that. It was the curse of being so baby-faced; these men thought he was in his late twenties; thirty at the most. They had no idea that he was a decade older, and he was sure that as soon as they found out, they would turn tail and run.

That was fine with him; he didn’t want random hookups with anyone. Josh had never been interested in casual sex.

His thoughts flashed back to his last visit to Vermont; where he and Sean had drank too much and they’d woken up in Sean’s bedroom under the covers together. His stomach knotted with guilt at the memory.

To his credit, or more to Sean’s credit than his, this never happened when either of them was in a relationship. Even if the time at the New Year’s party had happened immediately after his breakup with Saul.

Still, if he was a better person, he would learn not to drink as much around his friend; he would show some modicum of self-restraint to prevent from taking advantage of the telepath. Instead, he didn’t, and again and again, he took advantage of Sean and then was left with shame and guilt afterward.

For some reason Josh couldn’t fathom, the telepath still considered them to be best friends.

Sean was interested in relationships; he still had dreams of settling down and starting a family, even if every year made that goal a little less likely. Josh had given up on a family life; he’d given up years ago. He wasn’t interested in relationships at all.

That wasn’t entirely true, and as a smartly-dressed young man in a business suit smiled at him, Josh looked down at his drink.

He was interested in one relationship; it was just one that most people didn’t recognize as being worthy of all his attention. Romantic relationships were supposed to take precedence over friendships; not the other way around.

Josh disagreed.

Finishing his drink, he flagged down the bartender and ordered another. Just as the bartender arrived, he saw twinkling blue eyes and a familiar smile.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” the telepath said, taking a seat across from him. He ordered a Gibson from the bartender and then immediately returned his attention to the attorney. “You know how the LIRR gets during rush hour, and my mother insisted I stayed until my plate was cleared. Some things never change.”

“No,” Josh agreed, trying not to notice how Sean’s shirt complimented his eyes. “I guess some things never do.”

[Cobalt Weaver]

8. Solemn

Cobalt doesn’t smile very much. Even now, when he is no longer as miserable as he used to be. He isn’t used to the motion—it never occurs to him, at least never fully. The range of Cobalt’s smiles are a language in and of themselves, but they rarely stretch across his face. Yet somehow, he finds himself surrounded by people who never stop smiling, and he doesn’t know how this happens.

He is nine years old when he meets Danny. And they cannot be more different. Danny smiles so brightly he almost shines, and Cobalt finds himself trailing after him, just the tilt of the corner of his mouth carrying the weight of his happiness. The sisters used to worry about him, because he was so solemn and so unhappy. Now, he at least isn’t unhappy. He can’t help being solemn. But when he is ten, Danny presses an airplane into his hands and urges him to play pretend.

Cobalt doesn’t know how, but he tries anyways.

They stumble through the early evening, the grass tickling their bare feet, shoes discarded as a summer tradition. Cobalt doesn’t like the heat, and Danny is sometimes too impatient for shoes. Danny holds his plane aloft and makes ridiculous noises, running as fast as his little legs can carry him. Cobalt follows suit, tripping over his own feet. Their little voices raise up in the warm summer air, and one of the sisters watching snaps a picture for one of the albums.

Cobalt’s smile is tenuous and shy, but warm and shining, a mirror of his very best friend’s.

--

Elaine Tonaya has a picture of the three of them that she keeps on her dresser. She treasures it because it is one of the few pictures she has of all of them in one place. They are about eighteen in the picture, and Morgan is a toddler. She had surprised the both of them, wrapping an arm around Morgan and Cobalt and instructing them to smile, holding out the cheap camera in front of them.

Morgan’s hand is in his mouth and he’s drooling. Cobalt isn’t even looking at the camera. Instead, his eyes are on her, and he still isn’t smiling very much, just a tiny tilt of the lip, but all of his affection is held in his eyes. He didn’t even have time to raise his shadows. It is the most honest Elaine had seen him yet, and that would change over the years she would know him, but it is precious because it is the first time she sees him smile at her.

--

Ben somehow tricks smiles out of Cobalt all the time, and Cobalt doesn’t know what to think about it. So he kisses him instead, and tries to communicate how much it means to him.

--

Cobalt doesn’t know how he managed to get the friends he did, and he is sure they look quite the sight together. That Cobalt can walk between Josh and Riley and have a completely ludicrous conversation about nothing in particular is sort of a testament of how strange life can be, as far as he’s concerned. Josh mostly dominates the conversation because Josh likes to talk and Riley and Cobalt are more content to listen. Josh never does anything by halves, and that includes smiling. He beams and beams as though everything is the most exciting thing he’s ever heard. Cobalt doesn’t know how he gets his energy, but it’s somehow never aggravating.

Riley, on his other side, is quieter. He has a shyly joyful grin on his face that always seems tinged with reflexive fear. Cobalt doesn’t understand it, and will never ask. He knows how much a relief it can be to have people who don’t know about whatever ugliness that happened in your past. He understands how important it can be to have people who don’t treat you different. So he lets Riley smile and Josh talk and maybe later he’ll meet up with Danny and contemplate how the world has twisted and changed them both. And he’ll remind himself to smile widely, just because he can.

[Dr. James Campbell]

127. Precipitation

It was raining again. Nikki was pretty sure it had rained at least a little every day for the past few months. He was also pretty sure it was his fault.

But Jessica's uncle had asked him specifically to make it rain that night, and he had agreed. He'd even managed to make lightning strike the transformer outside the dorm building, so the security system was out and the alarm hadn't rung when they had sneaked out the fire door.

"They're here." Jess whispered, and she put her arm around the younger kid. "Unk says your dad and a friend are coming, and we need to stay quiet when it gets dark."

"It's already dark." Nikki whispered back, "And how do you know?"

"Unk can text me and I can read it in my head."

A few minutes later, they understood what Hart had meant by getting dark. Suddenly, all lights were blotted out, and Jess clung tighter until they heard the voice.

"Nikki, Jessica. We're here." Chase wrapped his arms around both of them, then picked up his son to hug him tighter. "I'm so sorry, Nikki. I wanted to come get you before, but they wouldn't let me."

A strange voice whispered then, and the darkness faded enough so the students could see Chase's outline and the profile of another, shorter man. "We have to get going. I've got shadows over all the security cameras, but we don't know when someone will come check."

"Right. Jess, Nikki, this is Cobalt. We gotta go." He finally put Nikolai down, but he took the blond boy's hand anyway as they all started to run across the grounds. He wasn't going to let go again.

The group made it to the fence with no problems, and the shadows faded away entirely as the two men helped the kids over. On the other side, Hart had the car door open already for them to scramble inside. Cobalt went over next, and Chase was about to haul himself up when he heard a shout behind him.

"What are you doing?" A flashlight panned over the scene as Malcom came running up. The light was quickly blotted out, however, and the security guard suddenly realized he couldn't breathe. He tried his radio, but it was filled with static, and the rain started coming down even harder.

The wind picked up, and the guard sank to his knees. The radio and flashlight were pulled from his hands, and he didn't hear the car start up or someone scramble over the fence. However, right before he was about to pass out, he heard someone yell something, and then the air rushed back into his lungs again.

The rain kept pouring down, and Malcom heard a car speed away as he gasped for breath until the world stopped spinning.

[Dr. James Campbell]

138. Charisma

They couldn't win everyone over. But of the ones they could trust, they could try.

"Chase, I can't do it. I can't leave the students." Clarisse's voice was barely above a murmur, and she didn't look at the other person on the park bench. Instead she looked everywhere else, paranoid someone would see them together. Someone would report them, and she wouldn't be able to help anyone. "I need to stay with the ones who I can help. Everyone's so scared, even the ones with the less dangerous powers."

"What are they doing to them?" Chase also didn't look at her when he spoke. He knew what she was risking. He knew he was a target, even with an old pair of Jamie's glasses--they weren't prescription, they were just because his face felt naked without them--and his blond hair dyed dark. He was one of the "dangerous" ones, and so was Nikki.

"Nothing, just....keeping them separate. They still come to me with things like scrapes or bruises, but they're not being abused." She took a sip of her coffee. "Have you talked to Sean?"

"Not since I left." He got up suddenly and turned to go. "Take care of yourself, Clarisse."

"Wait!" The woman stood too and grabbed his elbow, stopping him. "Is this what James would have wanted?"

"Yes."

***

"Blue!" Leila was surprised when she opened her door and found her old partner on the steps. She was even more surprised when he didn't object to the quick hug she subjected him to as a greeting. "I haven't heard from you in so long. Are you okay?"

"Yes. Kind of. Listen, I need your help." He fidgeted slightly and pushed his way inside so he could close the door behind him. "I need some money."

"For what?"

"That's the thing. I can't tell you. Any real connection will undermine the work you're doing. You're the most prominent meta left in politics." Instead of his old, grouchy self, Cobalt just seemed paranoid

"I know that, Blue. But I can't just give you money. What's it for?"

"I'm helping take care of some kid....s. In hiding."

The blonde woman blinked twice, then shook her head. "You really shouldn't have told me that."

"I know." He turned to go. "Sorry."

But before he could leave, she sighed and continued. "Send someone to my office the day after tomorrow. Someone who looks official, like an intern. Political consultants get paid pretty well."

***

"Hello there, Morgan? I'm Hart. I'm a ....friend of your uncle's."

The teacher shook the other man's hand, then gestured across the table to the empty seat. "Cobalt said he had something important to tell me. Is he okay?"

"He's fine, he's just...I have a message from him and a message from Chase Campbell. Cobalt said stay where you are and take care of your mom. Chase said he wants to ask you to risk everything again."

Morgan just stared at the stranger for a moment, then rubbed his brow right between the his eyes. "And...who are you again?"

"I'm Hart, and I was nominated to do this because they couldn't agree on what to say to you. If you're interested, be by the dock on the north side of the lake at nine tomorrow night." Hart hadn't sat down, and he turned to go.

Morgan let him.

***

"Roman."

"Get out of here, Chase."

"No, I need your help. I'm trying to protect my family."

"I am too." Rome looked around the empty room, as if someone was watching the small living room.

Chase was quiet for a moment, then asked just one word. "Isaac?" He didn't have to wait for an answer, just nodded, and turned to go. "You'll get a text later, with a number. If anything happens, if you need help, call us."

***

"Chase." The redhead had dyed her hair too, and if he hadn't arranged this meeting himself, he'd have thought he was screwed when she recognized him. "Were you the one who got Niko and Jessica out?"

"Yes."

"How can I help?"

He could only stare at her. It had never been this easy. "I need a teacher. We've only got a few kids, but--"

"Done."

[Danny Silverman]

122. Softer


At times Danny Silverman worried the Mother Superior. He sat there with wide eyes whenever she called him to talk to him. This time was because she wanted to know why he wouldn’t talk in class. His eyes were large and dark behind his glasses, and he stared at her as if afraid something would come out of her wimple.

“Sister Innocence says that you don’t talk in class,” she said. “And don’t answer questions. Why?”

Danny didn’t answer. His legs swung back and forth. She waited, then sighed. “You’re free to go.”

He was out before she finished speaking.

---

At times Danny worried Sister Innocence. He didn’t speak. When the other children picked on him, he wouldn’t respond. He’d shrink into his seat. Other times he’d get angry, but couldn’t respond. He’d sit and cry, picking up his broken glasses, making no noise.

Once, she took his glasses from him and fixed them, winding the tape round, round the black frame. Then she fetched a kit from her desk and put it in front of him. It was a model of a small boat. Danny looked at her, then down at it, whispered “thank you,” took it and ran.

---

Mother Superior didn’t worry about Danny now. Sometimes she would watch him running in the yard with the blonde boy named Cobalt, who was small and bespeckled. Danny would show Cobalt his models. Then the two would run around playing with them, pretending to be planes if Danny was convincing. Cobalt got into fights on Danny’s behalf. Danny would speak up to the teachers for Cobalt. And they would sit on the lawn staring up at the sky wondering what their lives would be like. And although they didn’t know it, the Mother Superior would smile to see them happy.

---

Rabbi Greenspan worried about Danny. Often, when he took him out to lunch, he didn’t speak. He stared at his plate or pushed things about and listened as the rabbi spoke to him. When he did speak, the questions would always surprise him. Today’s did especially.

“Rabbi.” It was whispered. Danny wasn’t doing well. He had a black eye and didn’t say how he’d gotten it. “Is it wrong to…to—” But he never said. He bowed his head and closed his eyes. The rabbi hesitated, then leaned forward to clasp his hand.

“Danny, there is someone you should meet.”

---

Danny had no one to worry about him. But that was okay. He didn’t need anyone to. He was happy right now. The breeze whistled in the trees, the sun shown down—but not unpleasantly. But nothing was unpleasant. It was all completely perfect.

“Danny, are you even listening?” Danny looked over at his friend, then smiled guiltily.

“No,” he admitted.

“Then what are you thinking about?”

Danny smiled at his friend, at the glasses into the blue eyes, which hadn’t changed at all. Then he shrugged.

“Just thinking that I’m happy to be here with you, Cobalt. That’s all.”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#78 – Silent Film

On weekends and during the summer, the Neville children’s bedtime was pushed back to 11:00p.m. Kathleen had trouble staying awake that late, so her weekend bedtime was “until she fell asleep.” Sean, three years older, found it easier to stay awake, and their parents strictly enforced his bedtime.

Recently, he hadn’t been able to fall asleep, even if he went to bed when his parents said he had to. He would lay awake for hours in bed afterward; whispers of voices telling him things he didn’t want to know made sleep impossible.

Sometimes he prayed. That never seemed to do anything, so he prayed harder. The Lord was the only one with whom he felt comfortable sharing this secret.

But his behavior eventually became noticeable. When he got in the fight with Tim Flannigan, since he’d never been in a fight before, and his parents told him that fighting was wrong. When other children stopped wanting to hang out with him because he was acting so weird. When he stopped wanting to leave the house. When he had the headaches that were so severe that he didn’t get out of bed sometimes.

Their parents noticed, because the behavior was atypical and unhealthy. At first, their parents tried to give him space, not pressuring him and hoping that whatever was bothering him would pass. Then they each tried talking to him, but nothing came of that. They took him to church, but he always seemed to feel worse after services. Then William began to think of alternative paths, any sort of explanation for Sean’s behavior short of the inevitable.

Schizophrenia.

Because Kathleen was only nine, she was largely unaware of the strife that afflicted her brother and her parents by proxy. Instead, she tried to enjoy the summer by playing with her friends and staying up as late as she could.

It helped that movies were on television at nighttime. Lots of different ones: romances and dramas and comedies and horror movies and thrillers. Most in black and white and some in Technicolor.

Tonight it was a horror movie, silent with subtitles and in black and white. Sean was upstairs; he hadn’t come down for supper.

William walked in on her, with her eyes glued to the television set. “What are you watching?”

“Nosferatu,” Kathleen said, without turning from the movie.

Her father squinted at the picture, trying to make out what was happening on the screen. “What is that about?”

“About a vampire and a crazy man in an asylum who eats bugs.”

Her father frowned and walked over to the television set; he turned the dial and the picture disappeared. “Go to bed.”

“But it’s only 9:30!” Kathleen protested.

“I said go to bed. You shouldn’t watch that rubbish.”

Kathleen knew better than the argue more than she had. She climbed to her feet, went to give her father a hug and a kiss, and then she trudged upstairs. But she didn’t understand what the problem was; it was just a movie.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#85 – Winsome

Robert Hopkins was one of the most popular trainers at Hammel due to his innate compassion and his bottomless well of patience. But his methods could be a bit unorthodox.

Of course, he got results and so his methods were rarely questioned. Particularly not when he was making progress with the most difficult student that Hammel had this term. Allowances were made. Already this student’s training sessions were after hours, in exchange for Hopkins starting his day later than everyone else.

For the past three days, their sessions had been outside in the gardens. The student spent those sessions digging holes and planting flowers. The other students cracked jokes about slave labor, but the shy boy didn’t ever laugh. He was too tired to laugh, weary beyond his years.

The boy knew why he had to work in the gardens: because it was exhausting. He’d asked the first day, and Robert had told him that the exhaustion was the point. It helped him sleep at night. This was important, because he otherwise didn’t sleep, and when he did, he dreamed other people’s dreams.

His roommate had nightmares. Now the boy did as well. They weren’t the same nightmares, but that brought no comfort. If anything, the boy was sure that his nightmares were worse than his roommate’s; after all, his roommate only had one mind’s baggage weighing him down. The boy had the entire school’s baggage pressing on him all of the time.

But when he was so exhausted, his body shut down, followed quickly by his mind. The clarity of a good night’s sleep was invaluable, and it gave him minimal protection against the onslaught of thoughts and wishes and secrets he encountered in the cafeteria and in class.

Besides, the flowers were pretty and smelled nice.

They didn’t always speak, although there was always conversation. As frightening as the voices in his head could be, nothing was more natural to the boy than reaching out to speak mind-to-mind. Although nobody had asked for his permission to become this, he was a telepath through and through. One day he would be able to laugh about it.

But that wouldn’t be today.

His knees were covered in dirt, and his back and shoulders ached. Still, he felt accomplished. There were rows and rows of flowers, and he had planted all of them. It was a real achievement. More than doing well on a math test, because he could actually see and touch what he had done.

Stepping back, the boy took a moment to admire his handiwork. He then looked up at Robert, tilting his head to the side as he asked his question. “What are we going to do when all of the flowers are planted?”

Robert smiled down at the boy and reached out to pat him gently on the back. “We have a few options, but how do you feel about birdhouses?”

“I’ve never made a birdhouse before,” the boy admitted.

“Don’t worry, Sean,” Robert assured him, still smiling. “I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

[Joshua Bernstein]

30. Lucid

When Josh saw the note stuck to the door, scrawled in barely legible cursive, he was concerned.

Just popped out to the salon. Be back soon. There's rugelach in the fridge, help yourself.

The rugelach he would abscond with; not all of it, but enough to share with Sean when he returned home. But the realization that his mother was out on the road, macular degeneration and all, was a terrifying thought. He really should take her keys from her and hire a driver, but he couldn't bring himself to take away what independence she had left.

If he were honest, he couldn't bring himself to confront her about it. He would deny it with his dying breath, but he was well and truly under his mother's thumb.

He sighed and peeled the note away from the door, pocketing it as he pushed his way inside, peering cautiously around the corner to see if his father was out of bed yet. To his surprise, the older Bernstein was settled in the armchair in the corner of the living room, covered from lap to shoulders in a pile of blankets.

He offered his father a nod as he gently shut the door behind him.

"Good afternoon."

He didn't expect his father to remember him; it was so rare these days. He certainly didn't expect his father to respond with a whispered, "Hello, Joshua."

Lucid bouts were so few and far between these days, and each and every one caused his heart to soar. It was an all too brief gift, being able to talk to his father instead of the disease.

"I see mom is out." Although his father appeared lucid, he made sure not to turn his back on the older man as he made his way into the living room and lowered himself onto the sofa. "I haven't visited in awhile so I thought I would see how the two of you are doing."

Bobby smiled and nodded, his head slowly bobbing up and down. "Good, good." Blue eyes twinkled with that tell-tale brightness that said he was resident in his own mind again. "It's always nice to see you. I see you left Sean at home today."

Josh's forehead creased into a perplexed frown; had his mother told him about Sean? She hadn't even told him that his father had a lucid bout since he'd come out to her.

"Ah, no, I'm sorry. That was a long time ago, wasn't it?"

The frustration on his father's face was apparent, and Josh felt guilty. Apparently his mother hadn't said anything at all, and Bobby was merely confusing the present and the past. "We're still friends. He had to stay late for work so it's just me."

"Oh, you made up with him, have you?" Bobby smiled in pleasure at this news. "I always thought I would be proud to have him as a son-in-law."

Josh wasn't sure what to say to that. He frequently wasn't sure what to say to his father; he wished sometimes that he had Sean's medical training and thus knew how to deal with Alzheimer's. He scooted down the sofa until he could lean over and pat his father's hand gently.

"I'll bring him with me next time."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#136 – Constitution

Then I go to my brother
And I say “Brother, help me please.”
But he winds up knocking me,
Back down on my knees.

Gabriel Underwood was dead, but his memory haunted meta-humans across the United States. His actions had provided anti-meta groups with the springboard to launch a renewed campaign against a politically vulnerable minority group. “Meta-humans,” they argued, “were an inherent threat to normal people.” Their powers made them accountable to nobody and potentially could lead to genocide against baseline humans. How could a minority group enslave others? How could meta-humans be considered politically powerless?

The masses fell for this argument hook, line, and sinker, not asking how it was even possible to pass these retaliation measures if meta-humans actually had the same protection as other groups in this nation. But discrimination against meta-humans based on their meta-human status remained perfectly legal and grew increasingly problematic. Politicians fearing backlash or smears that they were “soft on metas” led to a lack of rational voices with decision-making capabilities. Well, there had been Dennis Kucinich, but nobody had listened to him, even before it was revealed that his wife was meta-human.

In the beginning, there had been congressional hearings: not to determine whether meta-human status qualified for equal protection, since that bill had died before Gabriel Underwood had. Rather, the hearings had been to determine whether there should be a watch list, mandatory registration as with Communists and the Subversive Activities Control Act of the 1950s, and whether there should be sentencing enhancements for metas committing crimes against non-metas. Not only when powers were involved, but always. Sean Neville, with no family to lose – since Kathleen had vocally supported the idea of a watch list – and professional credentials which decorated his wall, had testified more than once. He testified about civil rights, he testified about meta-human psychology, he testified about the effects of powers on children, he testified about basic fairness. He was ridiculed by more than one member of Congress. He knew his testimony was irrelevant when he realized that he hadn’t expected anyone to listen in the first place.

Unsurprisingly, the bill passed. First the registration and watch list, and then the sentencing enhancements. They came for the Hammel faculty first, expecting them to register or face contempt charges. Most of them complied, after weighing the options and believing it in their best interest; at least they could keep an eye on the children while registered, while they were of no use to anyone in a jail cell.

Sean never registered. The agents and clerks always conveniently forgot his appointments.

Inevitably, Hammel lost government funding and government jurisdiction. This was problematic because parents left and right began refusing to allow their children to attend. There were no alternative schemes in place, aside from unsuccessful gene therapy to coax the meta-human powers back into remission. Parents feared their children being designated meta or around other metas, and thus attendance dwindled. Hammel’s private funding continued for a time, before several members of the Board had their assets seized pending investigation into an anti-government plot. The school eventually shut its doors.

Without Hammel, the children had nowhere to learn to control their powers, which led to several unintentional incidents within only a couple of months: particularly with pyrokinetics, pheromone manipulators, and those with superhuman strength. These untrained children were arrested and put in solitary confinement, separating them from the general population for fear of the threat they posed. The media descended on the stories like a pack of hungry wolves, reporting the one side, spreading the line to millions of households across the country that this is what meta-human children were like. That the adults were even more dangerous. That something more should be done than the basic registration.

At the same time, an increasing number of untrained psychic children ended up in psychiatric facilities, pumped full of drugs to keep them from accessing their abilities.

This was about the point that Sean had lost it. Because it could have been him, and he was acutely aware of that. He, along with several other former Hammel faculty, had personally petitioned the United Nations more than once to launch an investigation, to no avail. Despite the paranoid and downright deplorable conduct, the United States was still better than Russia and China and several other nations; convincing those nations to condemn conduct that was less appalling than theirs was impossible.

It grew worse. Already they were an unprotected class, and the discrimination skyrocketed after each news report.

“They’re going to vote that meta-humans can’t own private property,” he had warned Josh one morning over breakfast. It was inevitable, and he’d taken to visiting D.C. and reading the minds of Congress to follow the progress of the measure. They had the votes to do it, and the public support was growing. “I’m giving you everything I own in anticipation of that: the house, the boat, the cars, all of my accounts and my stock, everything. I had a friend draft up the papers.” Another friend, another non-meta friend.

There were increasingly fewer of those. Having metas as friends put one on a watch list; having metas as clients was a death sentence to one’s professional career.

It was nothing short of miraculous that Josh and Janice still had a client base, considering their location and their personal affiliations.

Josh had furrowed his brow in a mixture of confusion and indignation. “They can’t do that; that’s unconstitutional.”

The telepath had merely shrugged. “Thank our paramilitary police state for that. The papers are in my study; we should get them signed today if you have the time.”

“Then what are you supposed to live on?”

“The kindness of strangers.” When it became obvious that the joke wasn’t appreciated, Sean reached one hand across the table to clasp the attorney’s. “On your mercy. I trust you more than anyone else in the world.”

Josh gripped the telepath’s hand tightly. “You shouldn’t have to live on that.” He didn’t respond to the remark about trusting him; he and Sean discussed that often behind closed doors, and he never ceased to be both amazed and touched by the depths of that trust.

“No,” the telepath agreed, before giving the other man’s hand a squeeze. “But at least I have that, which is more than a lot of other people do.”

That was true, but it did nothing to ease Josh’s concern or right his indignation. It was horribly wrong that Sean would consider himself lucky to have someone to sign his property over to before the government could take it away. It was wrong that he would have to rely on someone else’s whims for all of his needs, when he was a fully capable adult. But the attorney wouldn’t make that point right now; not with how serious the telepath was. Instead, he asked, “What do you think their end-goal is?”

“Slavery. Military recruitment. Soylent Green. Life imprisonment. Your guess is as good as mine.” Sean sighed and let the other man’s hand slip from his, before pushing his chair away from the table. “The masses are ignorant and afraid and just want us gone, put away somewhere so that they don’t have to think about us. It’s some of the lawmakers I’m more concerned about; some of them have agendas and ties to who knows what companies and special interest groups.”

Josh remained where he was, watching as the telepath moved around the kitchen: refilling their coffee mugs, putting away leftovers, and otherwise behaving as though this were any other morning in a happy domestic life. If one ignored the topic of conversation. “What will you do if they seize my assets as a co-conspirator?”

“I’ll scrounge,” Sean replied, his back turned to the other man as he put Saran wrap over dishes. “I’ll beg if I have to. I know neither of us have much experience with that, but I’m sure we’ll find ways to survive. We can go underground.”

That was a heavy thought. As was the one that immediately followed. “What if they arrest me or separate us?” Josh didn’t have mental shields the way that the telepath did; any court telepath or military psychic would easily be able to read his mind and find all of the information they wanted about Sean and the other Hammel faculty, or anyone they met underground.

No answer came, which caused the attorney’s brow to crease in concern. “Sean?”

The telepath sighed wearily and turned around to face his partner. The smile on his lips was wan. “I’d rather not think about it.”

“Me neither,” Josh admitted. “But since we’re doing all of this planning today...”

Sean was silent for a long moment, before he asked, “Would you be willing to forget me?”

The attorney looked at him in confusion. “Pardon?”

“If it became necessary, would you be willing to forget me? I would make it painless, but I also wouldn’t do it without your consent. Even if it meant I was at risk too.”

Thirty-three years of memories; memories of his entire adult life. It was a heavy thought, one that Josh wasn’t up to considering at this hour of the morning. Instead, he rose from the table and came up behind the older man, wrapping his arms around the telepath’s waist. “Can I think about it?”

“Of course.” Sean leaned back into the touch, enjoying the embrace for a brief moment. “But we should go sign those papers.”

[Samuel Rixon]

42. Daily

Sam didn’t want to go to school. Not after what his siblings had told him about it. How the teachers were mean, and how they punished you when you got the answer wrong. How the older kids would chase him down during recess and wedgie him. His sisters had been more eager to demonstrate that particular pleasure.

So really, it was no surprise that he’d been dragged out of the house kicking and screaming while his siblings looked on smugly. Naturally, they’d been lectured by their parents for teasing their little brother, but it hadn’t done much in the way of deterrence. Sam was silently promising that he would never, ever be this mean to their baby brother, Bryan. No way. Not if this was what happened.

Still, his mother drove him to school and tried to soothe his nerves the whole way over. “It’s going to be fine, Sam. I promise. You’ll have fun, and make friends.” Her son just crossed his arms and stared out the window, pouting. The pout didn’t leave his lips, not even when she hauled him out of the car and led him down the hall to his classroom. He stared at the door, willing his mother to turn around and lead him back home. He didn’t want to go inside.

As gently as she could, his mother untangled their fingers and knelt to look him in the eyes. “Sammy, honey.” She smiled and brushed her fingers over his face, smoothing his unruly bangs back. “You’re going to have a good time.”

“What if I don’t?” It was more of a pitiful whine than anything else.

“You will. And you’ll have lots to tell us later.” She tapped the Spiderman watch on his wrist. “Just remember, it’s only for a few hours. You can be brave for a few hours, right?” Knowing he didn’t have a choice, Sam just nodded sullenly and latched on for one last hug before forcing himself to walk inside the classroom.

Their teacher actually seemed pretty nice. And all she wanted them to do was play games, and learn each other’s names. It wasn’t that hard. Most of the other kids seemed really nice too. And none of them seemed interested in wedgies, so that was a plus.

There was one that fascinated him. For one, the boy was wearing a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle t-shirt. That in itself was pretty spectacular. But he was also loud. He was always interrupting others, including the teacher. And he was so... active. He couldn’t sit still for a moment, not even when they were sitting on the mats listening to a story.

When they went outside for recess, it was even more evident that the boy was a wild thing. He ran screaming around the field, only to drop to his knees and start rolling around like a dog. Sam just watched for a few minutes, before decided that it was a much better game than Four Square, or playing on the playground. So, he breathed deeply and marched off to make a friend.

Vincent had been delighted at the idea of playing with someone else. It took little time for them both to be racing around screaming, both covered in grass stains and dirt. The game usually devolved when they crashed into one another and started wrestling.

It became a daily event, one that was always proudly discussed at the dinner table. Sam’s mother was just happy that he was making friends. The fact he came home filthy almost every day, she could live without, but at least he was looking forward to school now. Some days, it was actually difficult to bring him home again.

“HEY SAM!”

“HEY VINCENT!”

“I GOT SOMETHIN’ FOR YA!”

“WHAT?”

“CLOSE YOUR EYES.”

“OKAY!”

The tiny croaking noises should have tipped him off. One moment he was still, his eyes closed, and the next he felt something wet and cold sliding down the back of his shorts.

He screamed.

Vincent just fell over, giggling.

Some days, it was easy to get him home.

Getting him over a newfound fear of frogs? Not so easy.

[Janice Adams]

9. Kind

Janice wiggled anxiously in her seat, glancing up at the big clock suspended on the wall on the side of the classroom by the door. The fourteen year old was convinced that these clocks moved slower than any clock in the entire world. And that was unacceptable today since she had to get home right now.

“Janice.” The whispered call from her friend Rachel pulled her attention away from the clock long enough to glance at the girl. “Do you wanna come over today after school? Mom says we can play in the swimming pool.”

Janice waited until she was sure that the teacher wasn’t paying attention before shaking her head in the negative. “Sorry,” she whispered back, “my brother’s coming home today from college. He’s going to take me to ice cream.” Riley had promised the last time he came home for break. She looked forward to summers more than ever now, because Riley would come home for long stretches of time and take her to ice cream or on bike rides.

Rachel looked intrigued, but didn’t ask further. Janice returned to keeping vigil on the clock.

Finally, thankfully, the bell rang and Janice leapt out of her seat, almost knocking her chair over. She scooped up her backpack and threw it on her back in time with her steps as she flew out of the school. She didn’t even stop to say hi to Brian, the boy who sat behind her who was always able to make her laugh. There were more important things to worry about.

Sun blasted down on the newly released students, instantly warming Janice in her little shorts and short-sleeved shirt. The bright Friday afternoon blinded her for a moment and she glanced around, waiting to see the tall form of her big brother. The parking lot smelled like sunscreen, as some concerned mothers and fathers slathered their children with sunblock before taking them to the park or to the store or whatever their plans were that day. Janice shifted from one foot to the other, waiting to see Riley.

“Is he here yet?” Rachel wandered over to stand next to Janice, her eyes searching the crowd with her. Janice shook her head, fidgeting slightly. Rachel stood with her for a moment longer before patting her on the arm. “You can still come over later, if you want.” With a smile, she hopped off the curb towards her parents.

“Thanks.” Janice murmured, too late for her friend to hear. She sighed, brushing a few strands of hair off of her sweaty forehead and tried not to look concerned.

“Janey?”

Janice turned around sharply to see her brother walking down the sidewalk with a broad smile on his face. “Aw Janey, I’m so sorry I’m late. I just got in; the train was a little off schedule.” But Janice wasn’t listening. Instead, she sprinted towards her brother and launched herself into his arms. Laughing, Riley caught her, lifted her up, and spun her around. The trip in the air whipped cool air in her face and she laughed loudly.

Riley set her back on her feet, smiling down at her. Janice beamed up at him adoringly. Her brother ruffled her hair gently. “Do you want ice cream?” He asked. “Because I don’t know about you, but I could sure go for some ice cream right now. It’s really hot out here.”

Janice nodded happily, taking Riley’s hand and walking down the pavement, chattering happily.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#141 – Metal

Life in small town New England could be occasionally predictable, although Sean didn’t mind. As someone who didn’t like taking risks, he preferred routine to thrill-seeking. And while he would, all things considered, prefer living in New York City, he had been living in Pilot Ridge for half his life, if one counted his time as a student. He liked small town life enough.

He liked that there were picnics in the summer coupled with the Community Field Day; he liked the annual Holiday Bash in the winter. He liked that there was apple picking and hayrides in the autumn and craft fairs in the spring.

The telepath was trying to get Josh more involved in the intricacies of small town life in New England. While his partner had a large social circle, and he knew the limited bar scene as well as the somewhat more plentiful restaurant selection, that was a far cry from some of the other seasonal activities. So over breakfast one Sunday morning, Sean had announced that he was going to the craft fair a few towns over, and that Josh was welcome to come with him.

The younger man had appeared slightly perplexed, but then he had finished his coffee and said he could be ready to leave in twenty minutes.

Less than an hour later, they arrived at the craft fair. It was still a little early, but already there were families and couples walking about, stopping in at all of the booths. There were hand-knitted and crocheted blankets. There were hand-carved wooden children’s toys and puzzles. There was pottery. There was a face-painting booth. There was someone there with a loom who weaved custom clothing and promised to ship within a month. There were homemade candles and scented soaps. There was a booth selling family recipe books, and another with preserves and another selling baked goods that Sean intended to visit on the way out.

There were also several booths with handmade jewelry. While neither Josh nor Sean wore much jewelry, both men agreed to stop at one of the shops, to examine the wares. Josh thought he might be able to find a present for his mother, and Sean liked to admire fine craftsmanship. Josh found his way to the earring section and began to look through for colors he thought his mother might like; or at least, colors that matched some of the outfits that he remembered she frequently wore.

Sean found his way into the ring section. Most of the jewelry had been created for women, which was obvious from the gemstones mounted on them and from the slender bands, as well as by the relatively slim sizes. But a few were gender neutral or made for men; some of those were even in his size.

Spotting one that the telepath thought was nice, he asked to try it on. When he found it fit, and saw that the price was reasonable, he bought it.

Josh found a pair of blue and silver earrings for his mother, which he purchased.

Walking away from the stand with their hands clasped together, Josh asked, “Did you see anything you liked?”

Sean lifted his other hand, showing off the ring with the silver knotted pattern. “This.”

The attorney leaned I to get a better look at it. “That’s...nice. What is it?”

“It’s a Celtic love knot.”

“Oh.” Josh’s lips curled into a smile, and he squeezed the telepath’s hand. “It looks good on you.”

[Ginny Campbell]

88. Slip

The airship was enormous.

Ginny had seen very few that spanned the breadth of The Ninanna, long enough to be nearly an entire building to itself. Because of its size it moved through the air lazily, at a pace appropriate for an airship of leisure. A pace slow enough that any airship in the vicinity could easily dock and the crews come aboard for some much needed fun, without putting into port on land.

The Ninanna held to no land-bound rules, claimed no allegiance to any country or Empire. It certainly paid no taxes or tithes, claiming only the open air.

Despite being a ship of leisure they went unchallenged; the ship was well named, not only for the goddess of love and sensual pleasure, but also the goddess of war and chaos. Should the need arise even the attendents and their children knew how to wield weapons to protect their floating home.

Madamoiselle Lilien had docked The Titania aboard The Ninanna early in the day, showing Captain Ginny and Estelle around the ship and introducing them to people.

"There goes Captain Rivera," She murmured, nodding toward a woman with vibrant red hair striding purposefully through the corridors. "She's one of the best. Formerly with her majesty's navy, you know, before she saved up money to buy this ship."

Ginny was intrigued, and surreptitiously tried to get a better look. "Rivera?" She repeated, turning that name over in her mind. "You don't mean Kateri Rivera?"

"Indeed, I do," Kiara smiled, "Her reputation proceeds her, I see."

Ginny nodded absently; her step-father had mentioned her, a spirited young woman often at odds with his pirating ways. She hoped the Captain wouldn't mind having another Pirate captain aboard her ship.

The Captain passed out of sight, and Kiara gestured to ornate doors along one side of the ship. "There's the opium dens," She whispered, looking Ginny up and down as if judging her interest. "If you're of a mind..."

Ginny cut her off with a shake of her head, "No, thank you. I like to keep my wits about me."

Kiara nodded her understanding, "Then your rooms are up ahead. Their occupant left only two days ago so they've been cleaned."

The rooms were far more luxurious than anything The Queen Mab could ever offer: Sliding doors, a king size bed bolted to the floor, and magnificant carved chests and table. The wall sconce for the gaslamp was decorated with stained glass, throwing intricately patterened colors across the oriental rug on the floor.

"There's clothes in the closet," Kiara gestured across the bed, to a sliding wooden door. "Dinner is at eight, so you have plenty of time to change. There's a basin if you want a bath, but do be conservative with the water, we won't be landing for more anytime soon."

And with that she shut the door, escorting Estelle to her own room.

Ginny tread delicately across the floor, flinging open the closet doors and stepping back to admire the ruffled dresses dangling from ivory hangers. There was absolutely nothing practical here, but they weren't likely to need practical while aboard The Ninanna.
She peeled off her clothes, stained with coal and dust, and folded them neatly, placing them in the hamper bolted beside the closet. It would be nice to have them cleaned after the escape she and Estelle had been forced to make.

Keeping Madamoiselle Lilien's words in mind, she only dabbed herself off with a sponge, sighing happily as she rid herself of the dark smudges across her face and arms and out of her hair. Then she tugged a slip off one hanger, a white, lacey thing she would ordinarily never have picked out herself, and pulled it on over her head.

Crash

With a startled yelp she whipped around toward the sound, hand immediately going toward her hip, but her pistol was on the bed were she had tossed it when undressing.

There, across from her, was the tall, one-armed cowboy, one leg sticking out of the wall. He gave a tug with his good arm, then, tumbling all the way into the room.

"Oh, great." She mumbled furiously, stumbling backwards toward the hamper and thrusting one arm in, rummaging around until she felt the smooth solidness of her rosary. Out it came, and she slammed it in the advancing cowboy's face.

"Ow!"

Oops. Apparently he wasn't a ghost after all.

"Didn't anyone teach you not to sneak into lady's rooms?" She demanded, acutely aware of the fact she was only wearing a slip.

"Didn't anyone teach you not to shoot innocent people?" Another voice responded, and she turned her head just slightly to see the cowboy's Chinese friend. He was caressing a knife in his hand.

L.C.'s knife.

"Dammit." Ginny muttered to herself, eyes flickering back and forth between cowboy and laborer. Then she heaved a sigh of resignation and launched herself at the cowboy, bowling him over before he had time to reach for his gun. She heard the whir of air above her head that suggested the other man had tossed his knife, then kicked the cowboy's free hand, causing his gun to skitter across the floor. That gave her just enough time to scramble to her feet and grasp for her own pistol, holding it steady at Evan's head.

"How did you get in here?" She demanded, mentally willing Estelle to come to her aid. Now would be an excellent time to develop telepathy.

The Chinese man didn't answer, instead drawing his own pistol. She dove to the ground, then rolled toward the door, slamming it shut just in time to hear the thud of bullets hit the wood.

"This is starting to be a real pain." She noted with disgust, looking for anything to bar the door as the men on the other side began hammering against it. Lock them in, or run? She would have preferred blocking them in and then getting someone to help her leave, but there was nobody else about and she couldn't see anything she could block the door with.

She ran.

Around the corridor she and Kiara had come in, and through the ornate doors of the Opium den, slipping past rows upon rows of lavish pillows and men and women sprawled out as if in dreams, to the back and the rows of private rooms, sectioned off with curtains she ran, peering beneath each curtain until she found one that was only occupied by a single man, strung out and completely unaware of her. She clambered to the other side of him, allowing his large body to obscure her while her panting breath slowed to a normal pace.

Eventually she crept to the edge of the curtains, pressing one ear to the side.

At first there was no sound of pursuit, but then, from far away, she heard the clanging of bells, followed by shouting. It was difficult to make out the words until some of the men dispensing opium joined in.

"Intruders! Don't let them get away!"

She sighed in relief and slouched back down against the back of the tent.

She would let Captain Rivera's people take care of this problem. She had more important tasks to worry about.

[Mariposa Nazario]

48. Fork

Mariposa raised an eyebrow at Elijah as the river Tesh came into view, her expression clearly not amused. Zhentil Keep was on the other side of the river, dark and forboding.

"We seem to have skirted Cormanthor altogether," She noted dangerously.

Elijah swallowed visibly, glancing surreptitiously at the sword strapped to her back. They could turn back around, but it would be several days before they made it back to the Elven forest, nd many more after that before they arrived at Myth Drannor. If the Zhentarim didn't notice them before then.

"I....but I could have sworn this rode lead straight into the forest!" Elijah protested, expression imploring. "When you come to the fork in the road at Tilverton you take the right and it will lead you down Moonsea Ride and over Ashabenford and right into the heart of Cor---"

"Idiot!" Mariposa snapped, interrupting his musings, "You told us to go left at Tilverton."

Elijah's shoulders slumped, face reddening in embarrasment.

"Weren't you supposed to be the one who knew his way around Cormanthor?" They had been months on the road, traveling across Faerun from Waterdeep toward the Elven kingdom, and she had long ago regretted taking Captain Reed's prodigy with her. He hadn't been the least bit helpful. She had considered conveniently losing him in the Farsea marshes, but they had skirted those, and in any event she wasn't quite that callous, even when she wanted to be.

Jen's terrified squeak was the only indication they were under attack until the orcs were upon them. Mariposa slung her sword from across her back, swinging it rather indiscriminately at the mass of bodies, yelling loudly while Jen screamed and unslung her bow, though with the enemy in so close it was impossible for her to actually use it.

Elijah was the calmest of the three, strumming his fingers across his gitar and singing, freezing whatever orc made eye contact with him.

This wasn't enough; they would soon be overwhelmed.

Mariposa snarled, slicing off the head of an orc that came too near Jen. "Run, Jen. I'll hold them off." She ordered, nudging her friend with one shoulder. But before the healer could even retort arrows came whistling into the orc forces, and within seconds only still bodies lay around their feet.

Mariposa looked in awe about them. "What..." She managed, as four figures strode toward them, all carrying thick, long bows.

"Are you all right?" A woman with short blonde hair slung her bow across her back, her expression solicitous. "I hope we weren't too late...."

"They look fine, Elaine." The taller of the two men assured her, placing one hand on her shoulder. He smiled at the battle-weary trio. "I'm Charlie, and this is Elaine. And these two," He nodded towards their companions, who stepped forward at the introductions, "Are Terrence and Leila."

The younger woman beamed, waving furiously, "Oh, weren't we grand? I do so love getting to rescue people, don't you, Terrence?"

The dark-skinned man smiled at her, wrapping one arm around her waist.

All four had the same pointed ears as Elijah.

"Thank you." Jen squeaked, clasping the hem of her skirt in her hands nervously. "We're so grateful you were here."

"We were traveling to Myth Drannor." Mariposa added boldly, taking the risk these fierce bowmen were friendly.

Charlie's smile widened. "Indeed? We can show you the way."

[Dr. Terrence Jordan]

139. Paper Thin

Why does everyone keep bringing up race?

Terrence knew he stood out. Vermont was predominantly white, and even Pilot Ridge, diverse almost solely because it was the safe haven for meta humans and their families, his dark skin was cause for curiosity, from surreptitious glances to blatant staring.

He knew that he was fortunate. He'd never been threatened with a gun, never had anyone assume that he was trying to break into his own home or car or that he had stolen his own possession.

Mommy, why is the dark person talking to me?

The comments flung his way weren't always direct. Sometimes they weren't even aimed at him, but rather about him. It had been worse in South Africa, in the few instances he had encountered white people. He had supposed America would be more enlightened, but distrust and suspicion lingered.

Especially when he talked with women.

Some female patients didn't want to be alone with him. Some of the menfolk hovered protectively around their female partners when he was around.

He was glad that Cobalt didn't do that with Leila.

I don't understand why we need affirmative action. If black people want to be doctors they can rise on their own merit, same as anyone else.

When he had grown up he had been denied the standard education that his American peers were accustomed to. He had attended school, but the teachers were ill paid, and the books outdated. When he had come to the States he'd had to take remedial classes just to catch up with the other students.

Students in America weren't denied education based on the color of their skin, but some of the conditions in inner city schools weren't much better than the school he had attended. When parents could afford to do so they would send their children elsewhere, or enroll them in M to M programs, or move.

Mostly it was the white people who moved.

As they moved, so too did the resources.

Some inner city schools were given more money than the schools in more affluent areas, but the conditions were still so poor, not conducive to learning when students were hungry or had other concerns, that this did little good.

He was glad he'd had the chance to escape.

Not to be racist, but...

But he wasn't welcome.

Or he was, but only because he wasn't like those other black people.

He was quiet. He was articulate. He didn't cause trouble or rant or bring up race in casual conversation.

He was safe.

Why do people never bring up racism against white people?

Terrence didn't condone the ANC or the IFP or any of the other violent movements that sprung up out of a desire to end apartheid. He didn't agree with his younger brother's bloodthirsty calls for revolution, or his support of necklacing.

He didn't condone any of this, but he understood.

He and his family had been oppressed, forced to live separated from the rest of South Africa. Forced to use passports to even travel into the rest of their home country because they weren't considered citizens.

When the oppressed rose up the results were frequently violent; it was far better for the privileged to relinquish control, lest they suffer at the hands of those they had kept down.

Sometimes retaliation was the fastest way to justice.

Terrence didn't approve of the resultant violence, but that wasn't racism. That wasn't even an entire government or society or culture at odds with white people.

I'm not racist, I'm just stating the facts

Facts meant biased readings of evidence, and studies designed to support already held hypothises. Hypothises that didn't include the reality of life as a black man.

He had to endure closer scrutiny by the police and by store owners and people on the streets.

He was used to it. He was used to unvoiced suspicion and barely suppressed hysteria. He was used to jokes about once you go black and about Uncle Tom.

He was used to racism.

And he was used to people's paper thin excuses.