Licking Wounds (Tag: PIGEON/Kris)

[Michael Jones]

“Ouch!” He made a small noise of pain as Michael poked at one of his many scratches and wounds on him. It was awful. Every single time his power literally exploded out somewhere he got hurt and he hurt other things. That wasn’t him! He didn’t enjoy doing that! Everyone else here had a personality that really suit their power. It wasn’t as though Michael enjoyed making large items explode outwards in a fiery death, and he certainly did not like it when any of that hit him. Maybe it was just something to do with genetics. His uncle had a pretty nasty temper…but then again, in his family, you couldn’t count on brothers being blood related. At times, they were only…half-related. Michael winced a bit and looked down at one particular bleeding wound, holding it off the ground as he thought of the events leading to this event of the twelve year old sitting in his room, bleeding everywhere.

Today had been another one of his earlier days at the school. He hadn’t been able to really understand a lot of the customs and what people did around here, and today it got him more upset than ususal. Finding a secluded place wasn’t easy in this place, but the boy scoped one out and sat there to try and think things over. He relaxed his tie, and seemed to be calm for a moment, but the boy felt a hard shove to the square of his back. He turned just in time to see that some kid was flying off into the distance. Probably someone who thought that he was in their game of tag. He knew it wasn’t a bully, as there really weren’t that many of them at the school. At least, not yet. He was still quite ticked at that, and could feel a mounting anger. He turned on the spot and attempted to continue on his little walk after standing up.

He’d fallen of course on the ground, so he was dusty, and watched as he pat himself off, getting the dirt off. He did not pay attention to the fact that his shoe had caught under a rock, and did not want to come free. When he attempted to walk forward, he neglected to yank hard enough and fell face first onto the ground. Now, he really couldn’t hold the anger. His fists clenched, and he grinded his teeth as pressure built inside of him. Cracks spread from the boys body in long, wide strips. Each one had smaller cracks branching from that. Michael gasped in pain, the pressure was too much! He couldn’t hold it in!

And…that was when things were really the worst they’d been in a while. Every single crack blew up around him. Each created their own amount of damage. And Michael? He was right in the middle of all of it. The boy was buffeted with rocks, grass, plants, bark from trees, whatever was there in the explosion zone. When it stopped…and the dust settled, people began to surround the area and not how uneven the ground was there, and how very linear each explosion had started out as. However, they did not see the twelve year old little boy who what so desperately escaped from the situation he’d created. A few might know the culprit, yes…but they perhaps weren’t aware how close he had been.

Up until this moment, he had stayed down there as long as he could, so wait so he could clean it up. Unfortunately, someone else did that for him, and the nature kid was able to save the day. Great. Now Michael felt like a villain. Now, he had made it up to his room and had time to notice how incredibly awful most of the damage on his body looked. He whimpered in a very un-manly way and the boy definitely wished he had covered them up sooner. He wasn’t used to getting this hurt, but as long as no one saw them he couldn’t get in trouble, right? Hide the evidence kind of thing. Perhaps one day he’d make an excellent detective of sorts. Fighting crime and whatnot.

[Kristina Northampton]

Explosions and bangs and loud noises were hardly worth mentioning around Hammel - most of the time it was some alchemist who'd overreached their ability to mess with the subatomic properties of elements, or some arrogant flybird who had gone far too high up, run out of oxygen or energy and simply come clattering down with a bang. Well, that had never actually happened yet, but it was inevitable, and frankly Kris really wanted to see it happen. It was about time those lucky enough to have what she categorized as a 'Hollywood' meta state needed a good prod up the backside from the Cruel and Unusual Karmic Justice fairy. She was still jealous of them, no matter what she tried to lie to herself about, and in her dreams, she wasn't even one of them. No, in her dreams, she was perfectly normal Kris, with Lord Fortesque and Lucile and the engineer and the colonel beside her, simply running through the Institute, burning people alive - tossing oil over them and watching those pretty feathers burn. Their screams made her smile as they suffered, carbon bonding to their skin and the fat dripping from their writhing forms in pools, forming floods around her feet, and all she would do was laugh, laugh herself sick, until the world melted and the alarm split the skies, and she was dragged back into a world in which she was too exceptional for 99% of the population, but too dull and ordinary to bear life as part of the 1%.

The alarm clock that had split the clouds in her dreams only got silenced with a heavy thwack from the bed, accompanied by the heady smell of sweat, iron and oil, a mine somewhere in Canada where the clock's inner workings had hailed from, and until a little past noon Kris had been quite determined to stay in bed, where she belonged. The natural state of the human race was lying down under a warm fluffy object for at least 12 hours a day, maybe a few minutes used to go for a wee, and then back under the fluff before eating. It sounded idyllic, and that was because (with the omission of bedsores and obesity) it was - so when an exceptionally loud noise and a rather unceremoniously loud series of footsteps made her fall out of bed, she was not a happy bunny - even if Lord Fortesque had wanted her to get up and had been nagging her for some time now, she still wanted to get back into the warm embrace of her duvet; it was certainly warmer than being stuck on her arse at the side of her bed, leaning against a freezing cold bedside table.

Even getting dressed elicited complaints from Fortesque - although Lucile argued most of his points with him, and it was turning out to be one of those mornings. "Please, shut up," Kristina groaned as she brushed her hair vaguely into order, followed by absolutely no change whatsoever. "At least argue quietly?" There were something like two dozen responses and not one of them was 'okay, we'll be quiet' - Lucile started jabbering in French or something equally unintelligible. How a six year old girl from the 18th Century French aristocracy spoke such good English was a mystery, but the odds of finding out were so slim that Kristina had long since surrendered any hope of ever doing so - she just accepted it as part of her world and moved on - much like the soft whimpering from upstairs. That definitely wasn't Lucile, since she never whimpered so much as cried like a banshee after a kick in the balls from a tax man, and the fact there was no other response forced her up, like an extremely ill-advised busybody, up the stairs into the Boy's Dorm floor, down the hallway toward a door, behind which she was sure the whimpering was coming. Rapping on the door, her many lessons in chivalrous conduct from his Lordship and the Colonel's own unique sense of morality forced her to enquire. "Excuse me," she murmured, before clearing her throat and speaking up. "Are you all right in there? Hello?"

[Michael Jones]

When there was a knock at his door, Michael was a bit unsure as to what to do. He knew he could probably say something like that he was changing…but even then, the person might be concerned. He bit down slightly on his lip, flinching as he started getting up. He wasn’t extremely majorly wounded, but he was scratched up enough to cause damage. The nurse was used to injuries like Michaels, but then again, if he went to the infirmary, the injuries could be reported to someone and he’d get in trouble for what happened out there. They might send him to the counselor again, or they could schedule more and more stupid practices for his power. He knew that the decision of what to do would not be easy, and he had to make it very very soon.

Michael looked around his room and stood up as straight as possible, then tried to shove a less ripped shirt on, and a less dirtied up pair of pants. This actually took a moment, and he was being rather slow doing it. He was obviously not feeling very good, and the twelve year old took a deep breath, brushing his brown hair out of his face. His blue eyes scanned the room. He hurridly kicked some of the clothes beneath his bed, then went to the door, opening it just a crack. His appearance was definitely disheveled. Michael had cleaned up from before, yes, but since he was bleeding still, some of the clothes were the same. Again, it should be mentioned that it wasn’t torrential amounts of blood, he just had a couple of scrapes, and they were just bleeding a little bit. Even small amounts can show through his thin clothes on occaision, however. He tried to bring less expensive ones, so as not to stand out.

“I…I’m alright. I’m not…not sick or anything. I-I’m ah…fine.” He had a little bit of a twinge when he accidentally put weight on one of his bruises, then quickly readjusted how he was standing. The thing about explosions was that you didn’t really want to be in the way of them. When you controlled explosions and basically made them possible, things became a little bit more awkward, as you couldn’t really technically avoid them. Michael happened to generally be right in the middle of the explosions, and so he received the most damage. This one was much smaller, and so his wounds were much smaller than they could be if he was really angry. His perfect super partner would be someone who could make a shield around the both of them.

And on top of that, the pressure from using his power caused a really large headache, as it really created such a huge amount of strain on his head. So, he could barely focus on things, as he was trying to rid himself of this extraordinary headache. Michael bit down hard on his lip, trying to keep himself upright as he spoke to this other person. She was really pretty…that was the first thing he noticed, but she was also quite a bit older than himself, and she seemed to be someone he hadn’t met before. Most likely because of the age difference, and her power was probably a lot different from his. Sometimes they grouped people together in classes despite their age if their powers were so similar…so he’d heard. It could have been just a silly little rumor.