March Writing Challenge: 100 Stories. 1 Month

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#81 – Emblem

“Man-Bat.”

“I’ve never even heard of him. That is a he?”

Ryan nodded in confirmation. “He’s a chiropterologist who takes a serum that turns him into a giant human/bat hybrid. When his wife takes the serum, she becomes She-Bat. Then they attack Batman.”

Sean said nothing about either the naming conventions or the plots of comic books. Instead, he queried, “And that’s who most closely resembles Alex?”

“By powers. Man-Bat has wings to fly and he has echolocation too. He’s also very strong.” Alex didn’t have enhanced strength, but he did work out.

Sean conceded the resemblance. “And by personality?”

Ryan scrunched up his face at the question. “You want me to do this by personality? That’s a lot harder.”

“You don’t have to,” the telepath assured his nephew. “What about Doctor Campbell?”

“Daredevil, I guess.” Ryan shrugged, dissatisfied with that answer. “He’s blind and knows martial arts, but I think he’s the closest. Almost everyone else can also turn into an animal or has a healing factor, something big like that.”

Sean accepted that with a nod; he was quite familiar with the vast exaggerations that popular culture gave characters with powers. It was absurd to contemplate as translated into real life, and it also gave people – baseline humans and budding metas alike – unrealistic expectations.

The telepath didn’t ask for further information about Daredevil. Ryan had made comparisons before, mostly notably about Josh because of his occupation and his relationship with his family. (“The old Daredevil,” Ryan had specified. “Before the massive retcon.) It was absurd to think of his dearest friend as a costumed vigilante, although he conceded that Josh’s reasons for becoming a lawyer were similar, and that his heart was in the right place.

“Mister Kilbourne?”

Ryan laughed softly. “There are so many people to pick from; it’s such an overused power, and all of them work differently.”

“Take your time.” Sean was patient.

After a moment of careful consideration, Ryan said, “Mesmero, I guess. Their powers work differently, but I think he’s the closest.”

“Is that a hero or a villain?”

“Villain.” Ryan’s expression became apologetic, because he knew that his uncle and Chase Kilbourne were good friends. “Comics have a lot of tropes, and one of them is that people who can control minds are usually bad guys, because they’ll take advantage of other people. Except the good psychics, but they have too many powers to fit Mister Kilbourne.” Dozens of related powers, usually.

“What about Mister McQueen?”

“Which one is he again?” Ryan tried to pay attention to all of his uncle’s work stories, and he’d met many of his coworkers during visits. However, there were a lot of people to keep track of, even with the boy’s obsessive fascination with meta-human powers.

“He’s the one with the hair.”

“Oh!” Ryan broke into a grin. “That’s easy: Medusa.”

“Medusa?”

The boy shook his head. “Not that Medusa.” He was as well-versed in Greco-Roman mythology as his uncle was. “This Medusa is a member of the Inhuman Royal Family, and she has prehensile hair. The Inhumans are proto-humans, not aliens, and they’re distinct from mutants,” Ryan added, because there were many distinctions to make within the Marvel mythos.

“I see.” While Sean wasn’t particularly interested in comic books – certainly not to the extent to which his nephew was interested – he did listen attentively to what Ryan said. Moreover, he was interested insofar as this was important to the boy, and he encouraged his hobbies. “Do all Inhumans have abilities?”

“Yes, but they’re all different, like with metas. Well, they’re all stronger than regular humans, but otherwise their powers are all different.” Aside from enhanced strength, Inhumans in comics didn’t have innate abilities the way that supernatural creatures did. “But they aren’t born with their powers. They’re exposed to Terrigan mists as part of a coming of age ritual when they’re children.”

“At puberty?”

“Usually before that. Not every Inhuman is exposed to the mists, but most of them are.” Ryan then sighed wistfully. “It would be cool if we had something like that.”

“I suppose.” Sean thought that it would cause far more problems than it might solve. “It would be ripe for abuse.”

“That true.” Ryan sighed again, since such a hypothetical situation was the only circumstance under which he would gain any sort of cool meta-human power. “Who’s next?”

“Do you remember Mister Harris?”

“Oh, yes.” Ryan had been around for poker games between Claude Harris and his uncle, as well as several other people from Hammel. “The Scarlet Witch or Domino. The Scarlet Witch prior to the last decade, since she’s a probability manipulator, except now she can warp reality and she’s basically the most powerful mutant on Earth.”

“What about the Phoenix?”

“That’s different.” Ryan smiled at his uncle, grateful that the older man paid enough attention to be able to ask informed questions. “And she died a while back and hasn’t been resurrected yet. So she doesn’t count right now.”

“And who is Domino?”

“She also manipulates probability but on a smaller scale and usually without thinking about it. Mostly, she gives herself good luck.”

The telepath nodded his understanding. “That sounds like Claude.” Claude was able to use his powers affirmatively as well, but he had a habit of winning card games and reminding others that he always has luck on his side.

“Don’t you have more female friends? This feels lopsided.”

“We already did Doctor Prideaux and Miss Rivera.” Who had been assigned to The Incredible Hulk and Storm (which Ryan had proclaimed was too easy to count) respectively. They had also had a discussion about the nature of Anya’s power suppression, which had been the catalyst for the current game. “Many of my other friends don’t have powers.”

Ryan acknowledged that with a nod, growing thoughtful again. “What about that student of yours who comes over sometimes?”

“Emma?”

“Yeah. What can she do again?”

“She’s a teleporter.”

“Astra,” Ryan said with a satisfied smile. “Astra was a member of the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants – retconned in. She can teleport long distances.”

“That sounds like Emma.”

“It’s ironic that she’s blonde and named Emma.”

“Why is that?”

“There’s a telepath in Marvel named Emma Frost. She started off as a villain, and sometimes she’s weaved in as more of a collaborative anti-hero. She’s been with the X-Men for a while.”

“I should tell her that the next time I see her.”

Ryan nodded enthusiastically. “You should.” Already, he had plans to try to find an action figure of the character to show to his uncle, or to have him pass on to this student of his. Then a thought occurred to him. “Wait, is she the one who calls you ‘Charles’?”

“Yes.” Sean had had a long talk with Emma about propriety, and she only did it in private. However, that was what she used as a fond nickname for him.

“Then I’m sure she already knows.” A lot of casual fans, or people who weren’t even fans, knew about Professor Xavier, since he was the X-Men’s founder. However, Emma Frost was also a popular character, and she had to have more than passing knowledge to go out of her way to call a real person a name based on a resemblance to a comic character. Even one as well-known as Charles Xavier.

“Half the student body makes the same comparison,” Sean pointed out.

“That’s because it’s accurate.”

“Hardly.” The telepath understood that Professor Xavier was the most well-known of fictional telepaths, but he thought that the comparisons were exaggerated. If anything, the mentorship role, combined with the ability and patience, better fit Robert Hopkins than it did him. Besides, the fictional telepath had a far greater range than any telepath who had ever lived, and he had about two dozen powers all coded as “telepathy.”

“It is!” Ryan argued. “And I’ll prove it. Did you know that Wikipedia uses Professor X as its example for someone who can manipulate memories? In addition to being a telepath.”

“Why are you trying to sell this?” Sean asked curiously.

His nephew’s expression became sheepish. “Shiya and I want you to come to Comic Con with us.”

The telepath supposed he should have seen that coming. “I’ll think about it.”

[Dryope *]

33. Reach

Josh bent over the desk, eyes flickering back and forth between his notes and the open textbook beside him. The library was an ideal place to study, far better than his dorms. His roommates weren't always considerate of his study habits, and sometimes brought back girlfriends despite school restrictions.

While he was envious of them for their relationships he never turned them in; he couldn't do to someone else what had been done to him.

He could feel someone pause by his desk, but didn't look up; whoever it was would simply be scanning the placards on the shelves to see which part of the alphabet was housed there.

"Ummm."

Or perhaps not. He risked a glance upward. Standing beside him was a small boy with dark hair and glasses.

"You're in Mr. Feinstein's Hebrew class, aren't you?"

Josh nodded his silent affirmation.

"I'm Danny," The boy offered. Josh already knew that; although he kept to himself he was still quite good at recognizing people and remembering their names, and he could easily place names to faces for anyone in his classes, even if he didn't use that knowledge.

"Josh." Josh replied, waiting to see what the other boy wanted.

Danny rubbed a foot against his ankle sheepishly. "Did you happen to have a copy of the study guide for next week's test? I misplaced mine."

Josh nodded again, leaning down to rummage in the bag at his feet until he found the binder for his Hebrew class. He pulled out the study guide and handed it to Danny. "I'll need it back, but you can borrow it for now."

Danny beamed at him. "Thanks!" He breathed gratefully before running off.

---

The next day Danny approached him in the library again, study guide in hand. "I made a copy. Thank you so much again."

Josh accepted the study guide silently, slipping it into the notebook he was writing in. He would place it in the appropriate binder later.

He assumed this would be the end of his interactions with Danny, and that the other student would leave.

He was wrong.

Danny continued to hover, looking both eager and slightly anxious, until Josh looked up at him again. "What?"

"Is it true you used to attend Hammel?" The smaller boy blurted, brown eyes wide behind his glasses.

Josh supposed there was no reason to lie about that, even if this wasn't a topic he was keen on. "Yeah."

"I have a friend who goes to Hammel!"

And just like that Josh was interested.

---

For the first time since he had been removed from Hammel he had a friend. Some of their classmates said they looked a lot alike, although Josh didn't see it; Danny was several inches shorter than he, with glasses and brown eyes, and his school uniform could often be found with splotches of paint or clay. The teachers disapproved of this, of course, but Josh thought it was nice that the other boy was so care-free.

He had expected his counselor and his mother to be happy, since they had both pressed him about socializing more, but they echoed similar sentiments.

"You need more than just one friend, boopkie." His mother had chastised him over the phone. "You can't afford a repeat of last time."

"Danny's just a friend," He had yelled in return. He seemed to yell at his mother more and more frequently, a marked change from his time at Hammel and before. "There won't be a repeat, because I'm in love with someone else."

This had seen yet more visits to the counselor, but to no avail. He refused to either make more friends or to stop being friends with Danny. And he refused to stop referring to his entanglement with Sean as love.

---

One day while he and Danny were studying together Danny turned to him. "You always seem sad. Is that why you have so many visits with the counselor?"

Josh shrugged uncomfortably. He didn't think that his counselor cared about his sadness at all, even if the man insisted he did. "I guess. I Wish I was back at Hammel."

Danny nodded solemnly at this. "I would like to go to Hammel, too, and see Cobalt again."

He had spoken often about Cobalt, and how intelligent he was. About their time spent together before Danny had been adopted and his adoptive parents had sent him here. Josh didn't remember Cobalt, but apparently he was in a younger grade, and also very shy.

"At least you get to write him." Josh pointed out, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

Danny's expression turned quizzical. "Don't you get to write your friends from Hammel?"

Josh shook his head, pushing his books away and drawing his knees up to his chest. "I tried when I first came here. Dr. Stone dragged me into his office and yelled at me. My best friend is a 'bad influence'." He quoted, vividly recalling the humiliation of realizing that any outgoing mail was being perused by the school administration.

"So's mine," Danny offered, and it was Josh's turn to look expectant. "He used to get into fights all the time," Danny explained, grinning at the memory. "It was always to protect me, or out of righteous indignation, but the nuns didn't approve of solving problems that way."

Josh privately agreed with the nuns. However, the fact that his new friend didn't seem put off by the idea of a bad influence gave him the courage to ask, "Danny. D'you think....d'you think your friend would deliver a letter to mine?"

Danny's face lit up at this prospect. "Yeah, of course! You're my friend, and he's my friend, so he'll want to help you out."

He sounded so confident that Josh could feel hope swell in his chest. Soon the two were busy writing letters. Danny's included a directive to Cobalt regarding the letter that would be folded up inside his own.

Josh carefully began to pen his own letter, excited that he might be able to reach Sean once more, even if only by secret letter. He just hoped that the Hammel administration didn't have any powers that would let them see through this ruse.

Dear Sean,

It's been months since we last spoke, but it feels like an eternity. I miss you so much it hurts, but if Penelope can wait for Ulysess even when she doesn't know he's alive I can wait for graduation. My parents can't tell me who to talk to forever. I made a friend, and he knows someone at Hammel! If everything goes well his friend will give you this letter. I can't send you any myself, because the school knows who I mail. They want me to forget you, but they can't make me. The address I can be reached at is......

[Jacelynn Heron]

# 24. Isolation

Jacelynn,

I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I can’t do it anymore. The whole sitting around, staring at a wall and never moving, I just don’t know how to deal with it. I miss the girl that I fell in love with, the smart-mouthed, sassy firecracker that I met almost a year ago. Things were going great for us, and I don’t know what happened to make you so unhappy. I want to be there for you, I want to be the one that makes you smile, and yet I’m clearly not doing that anymore.

Just please, please get better soon. I miss you and I love you, call me if you ever want to try again. Until then…I’ll just see you around campus.

-Les

Staring at the note that had been left pinned to her corkboard on her dorm room door, Jace couldn’t do anything except sit there. He was right. She hadn’t been herself in the past few months and she knew it was only a matter of time before he ended things. It wasn’t fair to him and she hated herself every time she was with him and couldn’t pull herself together. But it wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t meant for this to happen and she’d never thought it would. Looking back at the conversation that had put her in this position, it only made her want to stay locked up in her room.

___________________________________________________________________________


[Carter:] Hey, I’m on my way, what’s the big secret?
[Jace:] I’ll tell you when you get here. Hurry!
[Carter:] Here! Where are you?
[Jace:] Our tree. Come on, hurry up

Jace got out of her car after she parked and all but ran to the tree that she’d met him at. Carter had texted her the day before telling her that he needed to talk to her and that it was important. She asked him why it couldn’t be said over the phone and he claimed that it was much too important for that. So, she told Les that she was going out to take pictures (the typical lie she told him when she wanted to spend time with Carter) and hopped right in her car to rush over and meet him.

It had been over a week since she’d even heard from him let alone seen him. When she got closer, she could see his blond hair flowing in the wind and she wished she had brought her camera just to take the picture. He had always been so photogenic, which explained why she snuck so many pictures of him as it was. But since she didn’t have her camera, she just headed towards the tree with a bright smile on her face.

Just as she made it to the tree, he turned around and her heart literally stopped for a moment when she saw him smile. “Jace! It’s about time you got here,” He leaned in and gave her a light peck on the cheek which caused the blood to rush up to her face. She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a big squeeze, reluctant to let go, but they had to get down to business.

“What did you want to talk about Cart?” She asked finally as she put the small amount of distance between them.

Carter looked down at the ground and rubbed the back of his neck as if he was nervous to tell her or something. Jace knew him well enough to know that he never got nervous though, so there was no way. He finally met her gaze and smiled again, “I think I’ve fallen for someone, Jace.”

Her heart raced and for a moment her mind halted before going into complete chaos. What if he was to tell her he’d fallen for her? What about Les? Jacelynn had been crushing on Carter since she met him, but he had always been just a fling because as he’d told her once before, they weren’t cut from the relationship cloth. Honestly, she’d believed him until she met Alessandro, but she’d always still had feelings for him and secretly hoped one day he would feel the same.

As all of this went through her mind, she had to figure out what to say. “Oh, wow,” was what she’d settled for. What else was she supposed to say? ‘I’ve fallen for someone to?’ He’d think she was talking about Les and though she was getting closer to him and did really like him, she didn’t want to ruin her chances with Carter.

Cart let out a laugh and nodded, “I know. It’s crazy isn’t it? I mean I’ve always thought she was incredibly attractive, but I never thought I’d fall for her. But Jace, I’m not sure if she’d ever think of me the same.”

She bit her lip and twirled her hair around her finger, “She’d be crazy not to. I mean look at you, Cart.”

He smiled. Gosh, this was the first time she’d ever really seen him smile like this. What if she was the reason? The very idea that she was the reason he was actually smiling made her smile wider. “I hope so. Jace I want you to meet her, hell you might even know her. Her name’s Emery. Emery Wuornos? She goes to Hammel and isn’t much younger than you. Does it ring a bell?”

After the words ‘I want you to meet her’ passed his lips, Jace’s whole world came tumbling down. It wasn’t her. Jace’s stomach tightened along with her throat and she felt the stinging beneath her eyes right before the tears would fall. And before that happened, she gulped back the tightness and said, “I have to go, Cart. I told Les I wouldn’t be long, I’m sorry. We’ll talk later.” And with that she sprinted back to her car, tears streaming down her face and her heart breaking slowly.

A month later, and she was still sitting in her room alone avoiding his calls and ignoring Les. One would think that since she already had such a perfect guy who loved her that she’d be able to handle the heart ache, but it didn’t make things any easier. Eventually Alessandro drifted out of her life with the note being the final word. With him gone and her own stubbornness pushing her away from Carter, she successfully succumbed to the isolation.

[Elliot Morrow]

86. Bone

When McKenna had begged for ‘pony lessons’ at the age of eight, Caleb had been quick to agree. Riding horses was fantastic exercise, and it would teach her a bit of independence and responsibility. He’d seen no issue with it.

Elliot... did not have the same feelings. The idea of McKenna anywhere near a horse (at least, one bigger than a miniature one seen in petting zoos), threatened to give him a heart attack. Horses were dangerous. They had large teeth for biting, and hard feet for kicking. They were huge, and a fall could spell tragedy. And that was just the start. So after McKenna had been put to bed for the night, Elliot had tugged Cale aside.

“I don’t think riding lessons are a good idea.” He tried to think of a valid reason beyond ‘She might get killed in 300 different ways.’ Instead, he went for logic. “She’s too young. And she might get hurt.” Okay, so he hadn’t been able to keep that fear hidden. It was still valid. Caleb smiled. He had noticed the look of panic when McKenna had been smaller, and they had taken her to a petting zoo. He had been fine until she had approached the biggest of the ponies in the pen. Things had been fine, no one had been hurt, but it had clued him into the fact that Elliot was not the biggest horse fan in the world.

“Ell, there are kids younger than her taking lessons. It will be safe, I promise.” After a moment, he cocked his head. “You were okay with her starting dance lessons. She could get hurt there, too, in theory, right? What’s so different?” Elliot huffed out his breath, giving his husband a look. He wasn’t used to his logic being challenged.

“If she gets hurt in dance, it’s because...” Why was he struggling so much with this? He changed tactics. “Horses are unpredictable. And big. They can get scared and run away or go up on their back legs. Professionals get injured all the time.” Caleb arched an eyebrow.

“I’m sure she’ll start with something small, and... what’s the word? Bombproof?” That only earned him another look from his husband. Caleb was just surprised he could actually see holes in Elliot’s logic to expose. That never happened. But this was just irrational. ... Another first. Elliot was always rational.

Elliot wasn’t used to losing these kinds of arguments. Sure, he could go back to his office and pull off five minutes of research on injuries in children under ten that involved horses. But he was sure Caleb would then call him paranoid, and urge him to let her do it. He couldn’t see a way to win this, and honestly, it would probably crush McKenna if she was told no now. He sighed and let his shoulders drop. “Fine. But you are taking her.” Caleb grinned and kissed his husband’s cheek.

“I’ll take videos for you.”

“If you have to.”

~

After her first lesson, McKenna was in love. The moment she came in the door, she was happily telling her Dad all about it. Her pony’s name, how nice her teacher was, how tall she felt when she was on Peanut’s back. The trend continued every Saturday. She would burst through the door and leap onto her Dad’s lap to give him the rundown. And at the end was always one question.

“Will you come next week?” Elliot sighed and put down the folder he had been looking at for work. It was usually his best excuse as to why he couldn’t go to watch the lessons. Sure, he had seen the videos Caleb had taken, but only after making his husband swear that nothing bad had happened. So far, everything had been going perfectly.

“I don’t think I can, McKenna.” The look she fixed him with was nothing short of heartbreaking. Pouting was something that McKenna had learned to do early on. It didn’t help that Caleb tended to encourage her, as did Elliot’s cousins. It was usually hopeless to try to deny her. Much as Elliot tried to regulate when they did and didn’t give in. But at the moment, the look she had on her face had even him starting to bend to her will.

“Pleeeeaase, Dad? I want you to meet Peanut and Miss Aubrey! She said I could even try a little jump next week! I’m that good!” She beamed up at him, the final nail in his coffin.

“All right. Next week, it’s a date.” Elliot was nervous as hell about it, but if going to one lesson was what McKenna wanted, he would give her that. But he really didn’t like the idea of jumping.

~

By the time Saturday rolled around, Elliot was a nervous wreck. His usually impeccable concentration had been shot to hell towards the end of the week, and during his lunch breaks he had looked up the statistics on injuries in the equine world. The results were... not encouraging. So much so that he almost wanted to ask for overtime for the weekend so he couldn’t go. But he knew Caleb would see through that.

McKenna was bouncing in her seat over breakfast, eyes on the clock. It was clear her excitement levels were through the roof, and all her parents could do was attempt to calm her before she made herself ill.

Thankfully, she managed to settle enough that any incidents were avoided. When the time was right, she was the first one at the door, her helmet dangling by the strap on her arm. She danced in place impatiently as her parents got ready. Cale made sure he had the camera, and Elliot just made sure he remembered how to breathe.

By the time they reached the small stable that offered the lessons, McKenna was a bundle of excitement. Elliot was just filled with dread. He didn’t want to go in the barn, where massive animals were ready to put anyone who walked by in a world of pain. But Cale just slipped his hand into Elliot’s and gently led him through the barn to get to where the ponies were housed. McKenna ran ahead, diving into the stall of a small, sleek little pinto pony.

Elliot was happy he had at least remembered to take allergy medications prior to even leaving the house, otherwise he would have been an itching, sneezing mess. McKenna clearly didn’t have that problem as she pressed her face into Peanut’s neck. “I missed you, Peanut!” After placing the appropriate amount of kisses on his neck and face, she ducked back out and went to a cubby-looking structure that had a blanket, saddle, and bridle in it. Elliot watched with a surprising amount of pride as she tacked the pony up all on her own.

“How long did it take her to learn how to do that?” He asked Cale, giving his husband a bewildered look. He wouldn’t have thought she would be allowed to do it herself, yet there she was, hands flying over the leather straps. Cale grinned and shrugged.

“She was doing it by herself by her third lesson. I asked if she needed help, and she said no.” And she really didn’t. Within five minutes, the pony was fully tacked and McKenna looked proud of herself. After unlatching the rope across the stall door, she led Peanut down the aisle and outside to the arena where her teacher was waiting. Elliot was surprised to see her teacher up on a tall grey horse. Wasn’t it better to teach from the ground? So if anything happened, help could arrive quickly?

... He needed to stop worrying. Instead, he just followed Caleb to a spot by the fence where a few benches were set up. “You’ll be surprised how good she is already,” Cale said quietly, trying to be encouraging. Elliot just nodded stiffly, his eyes locked on their daughter.

McKenna mounted up smoothly, and was quickly instructed to go through a walk to trot warm up. Like Cale had said before, Peanut looked relatively tame. Even half asleep, as he walked past their spot by the fence. McKenna, though clearly tempted to wave, kept her focus on her pony. She changed direction, trotted in circles, and finally trotted over a few poles on the ground. Used apparently to space the pony’s steps out appropriately.

Caleb had been right. The longer Elliot watched, the more impressed he was. Her trainer obviously knew what she was doing, and McKenna really was good. Her focus at this age was impressive, and he found himself relaxing a little. He still didn’t really want to touch the little pinto pony, but he wasn’t so anxious for McKenna’s safety anymore.

Towards the end of the lesson, as promised, McKenna’s trainer dismounted and set up a very, very low jump. It was barely a few inches off of the ground, but to Elliot it might as well have been six feet high. Cale automatically took his hand in his and squeezed it lightly. “She’ll be fine, Ell. It’s tiny.”

“It’s massive, Caleb.” Elliot’s gaze was locked on the jump, his jaw tightened. McKenna just looked excited, especially after her teacher took her through how to approach it. She had already practiced the jump position in the saddle, rising up out of the seat and holding her hands up on Peanut’s neck. After a few warm up circles at a trot, McKenna guided Peanut in line with the jump.

Elliot held his breath as he watched the approach. He kept telling himself things would be okay. Beside him, Caleb had the camera up and recording. McKenna’s face reflected nothing but concentration as she rose up at the right time. Peanut popped up and over the tiny obstacle, snorting as he landed.

What happened next was Elliot’s worst fear. McKenna looked thrilled and glanced back over her shoulder at the jump she had just cleared. As she shifted, Peanut lost his footing in the soft arena sand. He stumbled, his shoulder dipping down and his entire body shifted off balance. McKenna had been unprepared, and lost her seat. She yelped as she slipped off his back, reaching out with her hands to break her fall.

Elliot’s face was ashen as he watched it all. Caleb was faster to react, dropping the camera and bolting up and over the fence. Her teacher was already off of her horse and kneeling beside McKenna in the dirt when Caleb arrived. Cale dove to his knees and put his hands on his daughter. “Kenna? Are you okay? Did you hit your head?” She shook her head, though her arm was cradled close to her chest.

“No,” she answered in a small voice. “But my arm hurts, Daddy.” She bit her lip, trying to be brave and not let her tears fall. Cale reined in his erratic breathing before reaching for her to help her up.

“It’s okay, baby. We’ll get it fixed, okay?” He hoped it was nothing more than a little sprain. After a quick word with her teacher, Caleb gently pulled McKenna up into his arms and carried her back to the fence by the benches. Wordlessly, Elliot got up and took her from Caleb. It didn’t matter that she was almost too big for him to hold her up anymore. He would hold her until she was twenty five if it would make things better. He waited for Cale to jump back over the fence before reluctantly giving their daughter back.

McKenna lifted her face from Cale’s neck to look at her Dad. “You aren’t mad, are you Dad?” That finally snapped Elliot out of his stupor. He shook his head and reached out to stroke her hair.

“No, baby. I’m not mad. I promise.” McKenna sniffled.

“I’m sorry I fell.” She felt like she had disappointed both of her parents. Especially her Dad. She had wanted so much to do well at her lesson for him, and she had fallen. Elliot reached out to take her uninjured hand.

“Don’t be sorry, Kenna. You were amazing. Even the best riders in the world fall sometimes.” She just blinked back tears and pressed her face into her Daddy’s neck.

The drive to the hospital was mercifully quick, and for once Elliot didn’t point out that Cale was toeing the line of the speed limit. Honestly, if he had been driving, he probably would have been arrested for speeding. Instead he sat in the backseat and held McKenna close, stroking her cheek and making promises that were probably more like Caleb to offer than himself. Things like ice cream after seeing the doctor, and watching any movie she wanted to when they got home. McKenna just nodded along with each promise, her arms still pressed to her chest and tears slipping down her face every so often.

An x-ray determined a simple fracture was present in McKenna’s wrist. A cast for at least six weeks was necessary, as was taking it easy. That meant no riding for at least two months, and even McKenna’s dance classes were iffy for a few weeks. For the active girl, this was disheartening. She lived for her dance lessons.

At least she got to pick her cast color. She had a hard time choosing between green and purple, but her doctor was nice enough to make it striped with both colors of fibreglass. After a brief discussion with Caleb and Elliot on how to keep the cast clean and dry, she also produced a handful of tattoos specifically made for casts. There were animals, butterflies, and flowers in the mix. Tylenol was recommended to keep any pain under control, and other than that she was good to go home.

The entire way home, she snuggled against her Dad. She was just tired, and didn’t want to stop for ice cream. She wanted a nap, and to snuggle with her parents. Neither one of them could argue with that.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#49 – Intent

Night four of Chanukah was spent alone. Josh had gone to visit his parents to spend the night with them; his workload had been relatively light, which allowed him to leave early, hail a taxi, and still beat the rush hour traffic into Burlington with presents from both Sean and himself. It had been eight months since the attorney had come out of the closet, and Mama B was adjusting. Still, Sean thought that they could use the alone time for bonding and rituals.

And Chanukah wasn’t Sean’s holiday. He didn’t have preferences for any of these holidays and was fine to simply celebrate whatever his partners found important. Thus he didn’t light candles in the Tree of Life menorah they had bought last year, and he didn’t eat latkes with apple sauce. Instead, he borrowed from Josh’s Christmas playbook and picked up Chinese food on the way home from Hammel.

An evening of rereading T.H. White was interrupted by the telephone’s persistent ringing. The caller ID immediately recognized the number, flashing Finnerty, Colin in block letters.

Kathleen.

It could be good news. Perhaps Ryan had finally proposed to Shiya. That was unlikely, since he expected Ryan to inform him without requiring his mother as an intermediary – particularly since she was an unreliable intermediary – but he preferred that train of thought to potential bad news.

At least he wasn’t depressed this evening, as he had been during their last conversation.

Before the fourth ring, Sean reached for the phone. “Hello?”

“Are you alone?” So much for happy news about an engagement.

“It’s Chanukah,” the telepath replied, which was to say that he was home alone.

“Good.” Perhaps it was coincidence. Perhaps Kathleen was aware of the Jewish holidays from coworkers or other members of her social circle. “I don’t want anyone to interpose.”

Sean frowned to himself. “By which you mean Josh.” It wasn’t a question.

“I want to have a conversation with my brother without anyone interrupting. Colin has a work function tonight.”

“I see. And what did you want to discuss?”

There was a pause, the telltale sign that his sister was choosing her words carefully. That was never a good sign, particularly when one considered the amount of vitriol she could express without finding it necessary to plan her words. Finally, she asked, “Have you seen the article about AZD6765? It’s experimental.”

“I did. I’ve been following those studies.” Sean considered it a necessary component of his profession to keep apprised of treatment developments, pharmaceutical, therapeutic, or otherwise.

“It looks promising.”

“It does.”

There was another long pause, before she prompted, “It’s something to think about.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Once it hits the open market, you should consider it.”

The telepath sighed softly to himself. “And why would I do that?”

“To help.”

“I don’t have treatment-resistant clinical depression.”

“But you do get depressed,” she pointed out. This was one of the areas of pop psychology that frustrated Sean the most; everyone believed herself an expert because of a book, an article, or a television segment. Growing up in a medical family certainly gave his sister more knowledge than some, but she still wasn’t a mental health professional.

“Not clinically.” Not only did his periods not last the two weeks necessary for a diagnosis of Major Depressive Disorder, he didn’t even meet the diagnostic standards of Dysthymia. “And I don’t take psychiatric medication.”

“Maybe you should start.”

She had actually said that, with no consideration for how it might sound. The telepath closed his eyes, reaching up with the hand not holding the handset to pinch the bridge of his nose, warding off the headache that was bound to begin.

Only Kathleen. Nobody else spoke to him this way. Even students who wanted to get under his skin or get a rise out of him made such suggestions in anger, not seriously. Not as though this was a revelation from the Heavens that should dictate his behavior.

“I don’t require psychiatric medication.” His tone was matter-of-fact, because he wanted to make plain that this was not a proper topic for debate. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t take anything experimental. As it is, half of the psychiatric drugs that are fully on the market and out of research stages haven’t been cleared for psychics. I wouldn’t compound anything.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

Of course it didn’t. Kathleen had never shown the slightest interest in learning about his abilities. It was easier to be afraid when one didn’t have concrete knowledge.

“Some medications dull the senses; others have miniscule effects on typical cognitive function but interfere with mental shields. Impaired mental shields is far more damaging to a telepath’s ability to function than minor depression or anything short of an acute psychiatric matter, because it doesn’t take long for the loss of mental shields to snowball into other problems.”

You remember what it was like for me that summer. Although he didn’t add the last part since that would only spark a further argument, he thought it was a valid concern. While he didn’t think that an experimental drug could cause telepathic regression to the time before he understood the source of the voices, it still illustrated his point well. Knowing that one wasn’t experiencing a schizophrenic episode did little to soothe one’s nerves when there were hundreds if not thousands of voices clambering for entrance into one’s mind.

“That seems like more trouble than it’s worth,” she remarked casually, although he could hear the undertone of judgment. It was foreign to her and thus foolish; that had always been his sister’s primary blind spot.

“Since I don’t need medication, it’s a moot point,” he replied. “Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

There was a final pause, before she asked, “If Joshua Bernstein can manage to have room for his lifestyle choices and his religion, then why can’t you?”

Sean inhaled sharply through his nose. “The Vatican has no room for my family in their Church, which is fine because I have no need for them in my life.” He heard Kathleen inhale as well – they had so many behaviors in common – and he knew what that meant. The telepath didn’t want to get into that tonight. Instead, he said, “I need to go lie down, but have a Merry Christmas.”

She managed to wish him the same, which, Sean supposed, was progress.

[Damien Tremblay]

23. Devious

Since the Mops had arrived, it seemed like anything along the lines of intimacy had been out the window for Josef and Damien. By the time they had managed to get them to sleep as babies, intimacy had been reduced to a tired, lazy kiss before they both more or less passed out.

Thankfully, as the twins got older, things improved. Their sleep schedules became more consistent, and longer. Eventually, things like having to get up at 2:00 am for a wailing child all but disappeared. They actually began to have time for themselves again.

Sadly, as the twins got older, they also became more opinionated.

The six year olds were lying on the floor between Gypsy and Patrick, both dogs being used as improvised pillows. Charlie was curled on the back of the couch, lazily watching the images on the television and flicking his tail. The agreement for the night had been simple. The kids could watch one movie if they actually finished all of their dinner and stayed quietly at the table instead of running wild. They had both been well behaved, and as such had been allowed their movie before bed. Both seemed to have an obsession with Pixar movies, and their collection was rather expansive. After a brief disagreement, they had settled on watching Toy Story and snuggled up to the dogs.

Damien and Josef were just happy for the opportunity to relax. What was better, they were both actually awake enough to watch the movie, and once Kieran and Carol were in bed they would probably still have energy for some well deserved adult time.

Clearly, that was something both of them were looking forward to. Throughout the movie, their attention wandered from the screen to each other, occasionally stealing soft kisses. Their hands intertwined, and things seemed perfect.

At least until Carol happened to twist around to ask her parents something, only to make a face. “Ewwww.” Kieran looked back at the couch, then at his sister.

“What’s eww?” Carol stuck out her tongue and pointed.

“Kissing.” Damien gave Josef a guilty grin, being that he had been the one to start it that time. Josef just smirked.

“Kissing isn’t gross,” he clarified. “We kiss you all the time. Is that gross?”

“Nooooo. But grown up kissing is!” Kieran looked less sure of this, but if Carol said it was gross, then it was gross. He was okay to just follow behind his sister.

“Yeah,” he agreed, though clearly less enthusiastic about it. The two adults exchanged glances as they tried to determine how to deal with this. They quickly changed from questioning to downright devious.

“What’s so gross about grown ups kissing, hmm?” Damien grinned as he slid down from the couch, closer to the twins. Carol sat up and frowned.

“It just is!” She couldn’t find the words yet to define the exact problem with it, but there was something gross about it. She was still too young to understand cooties references, but Damien was sure that she would understand the germ theory. Without warning, he lunged forward to pull her into him, and gave her a kiss on the cheek before grinning.

“Now you’re got grown up germs on you.” Carol’s eyes widened and she squealed, swiping her hand across her cheek.

“Auuuggghhh! Daddy you’re gross!” She pushed away from him and jumped on her brother, wiping her hands all over him. “Now Kieran’s germy too!” Kieran just looked at her, then at his parents.

“Ew?” Josef had to laugh at his bewildered expression and gently scooped his son up into his arms.

“It’s okay. I’ll kiss it better.” With that, he picked up Kieran’s hand and pressed a little kiss to his palm. On the floor, Carol scowled.

“Noooo more grown up germs!” She was so put out over it that Kieran started giggling. Soon Josef and Damien were laughing too. Carol continued to look irritated, until she got to her feet and swiped her hand across both Patrick and Gypsy’s backs. “Puppies have germs now,” she said in a tone that was so smug her parents lost it all over again.

Eventually, the movie was returned to, the twins snuggled on their parents’ laps this time. No more grown up germs were given away, and the dogs seemed to care less about being ‘infected.’ Near the end of the movie, both twins were starting to nod off, and were put to bed with little argument. Not even over grown up goodnight kisses.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#31 – Belong

Josh’s wrists had been tied behind his back for so long that he had long since lost feeling in his arms. His fingers had gone numb, and his back had very little support in the stiff, uncomfortable chair. However, he barely noticed. He had long since lost the fight, exhausted himself when he had been initially separated from his family.

Now he was on the market, and it was nearly over. He just wanted it to be over.

Part of him wanted it to be over. He knew that he would never be free again, had resigned himself to his fate. At the same time, he didn’t get a good look at whoever had bid on him so enthusiastically. Had been so shocked that anyone had shown an interest in him when his paltry skill set had been read off, coupled with the red-hot shame of being treated like a lot in an estate sale. He thought he’d seen an old man from the corner of his eye, but all of the faces in the crowd had blended together.

Josh hoped he hadn’t been purchased by an old man. He didn’t want to think about what an old person might want with a young man, barely out of his teenage years. The possibilities ranged from unpleasant to horrifying.

The sound of footsteps alerted him to the presence of the auctioneer. Josh didn’t even raise his head, because he had no desire to look at the man who had sealed his fate. Instead, he kept his head bowed, gazing at his shoes. It wasn’t until the restrains had been loosened that he risked a glance. Beside the auctioneer was a young man, only a few years older than himself, he thought.

But, while Josh’s eyes held dull resignation for his position, the other young man’s sharp blue eyes contained only steely resolve and were otherwise bereft of that emotional spark. Bereft of anything.

That chilled him more than the malice in the auctioneer’s eyes. That, at least, was to be expected.

He didn’t know what awaited him with this mystery meta-human. But Josh knew it couldn’t be good.

[Tanner Larson]

99: Powerless

Drop-Dead Gorgeous

Pilot Ridge wasn’t what it once was.

Once a thriving metropolis – a shining beacon for humans and meta-humans alike – the city had long since descended into ruins. Now a decrepit shell of what it once was, the Vermont town now served as temporary refuge for those seeking solace from the harsh, loathsome outside world.

It hadn’t always been that way. There was a time when Pilot Ridge drew men and women of all kinds. It was a beautiful city, filled with stores, residences, and businesses of all kinds. The park was lush with natural beauty, the lake was pristine, and the downtown area was always bustling. The nightlife was just as spectacular, with dozens of local clubs and bars offering a good time to all those who wanted to partake.

First among these clubs was the fabled La Maison Magnifique. Led by Madame Cynthia DeMato, the so-called “House” and its magnificent showgirls provided entertainment of all sorts to locals and visitors alike. The flashy neon sign acted as a beacon of sorts, bringing folks into its warm, inviting atmosphere. And inside, things were even hotter.

Yes, Pilot Ridge was thriving, and nobody ever thought things would change.

But change they did, and nearly on a dime. When Nicholas Kells and the Humanist Party came into power, war was declared on the metahumans – special people who had lived among the rest peacefully for so long – almost instantly. Those found to be using their abilities were hauled off to undisclosed prisons; many of them were never heard of again. The Hammel Institute, which had trained thousands of meta humans over its history, shuttered, its buildings falling into disrepair. Pilot Ridge, so long the final destination for metas the world over, was abandoned by most, considered a dangerous place to be associated with.

Raids were common. Battle, quite frequent.

Yet even in this most desperate of situations, La Maison Magnifique powered on. Its neon sign was faded, and the stage now had cracks, but it was as enticing as ever. Inside, one could find a strong drink, a hot show, and – were one willing to shell out the necessary cash – much more. It went this way every night: the girls did their tricks, the man paid through the nose, and Madame Cynthia DeMato climbed ever higher on the perverted social ladder that was Pilot Ridge.

Tonight was different, though. Tonight, the House would be filled with a different sort of guest. Tonight, the showgirls of La Maison Magnifique would be putting on a different kind of show.

Tonight, Kells’ army came to town.

Cynthia stood in the dressing room backstage, watching her girls as they got dressed. This was a common occurrence: nightly, Cynthia would give new costumes to the girls, and make sure they fit just right. But whereas the costumes were normally gaudy, scanty, and colorful, tonight’s wardrobe was decidedly darker.

“Playtime is over, ladies,” she stated, pacing back and forth by the door as the girls silently slipped into their black outfits. “Tonight, we put on the show of our lives.”

One by one, the girls stood at the ready, feet shoulder-length apart, hair tied back behind their heads, and hands placed together in front. They were the sexiest army ever to exist.

When the last girl was ready, Cynthia spoke.

“What is the nature of man?” She paused, allowing the question to sink in. “He is, by definition, an animal. He lusts for blood. For sex. For power. Yes, power… Power is what he wants, over all people and things.” She exhaled deeply. “He seeks the subjugation of all.”

The long cane in her hand was passed from one hand to the other as she resumed her pacing. “Man feels nothing if he is not above someone. He finds his validation in the conquest of others.” She looked from one girl to the next. “All men are, at heart, the same. Remember this.”

She slammed the cane down suddenly on the wooden floor, causing some of the girls to jump slightly. “Men,” she continued, practically spitting out the word, “think women are nothing without them. They see us as powerless, as pieces of themselves, as mere extensions of their own, dominating sexuality.” She calmed down a bit, coming to a halt by the door, from which she had a full view of all of her girls.

“But we’re not powerless, are we?” She asked. “No, not at all.” Her eyes moved from one girl to the next, considering each one’s abilities.

There was Chloe Singleton, one of her oldest and most trustworthy dancers. Her blonde hair was kept loose, cascading over her shoulders in honey yellow curls. She wore a tight, black leather corset and a short black skirt. Her black leather boots stretched up past her knees, almost reaching the hem of her skirt. In one gloved hand was a long whip, which split at the end into three, thin metal pieces.

She was Goldilocks and the Three Snares.

There was Kiara Lilien, one of the best singers Cynthia had ever hired. Underneath her saccharine exterior was a cold and calculating individual: one heartbreak too many had made her, much like her boss, entirely distrustful of men. Her childish façade betrayed the fact that she had a young child to care for at home. She wore a tight pair of bell-bottomed pants and a blouse that complemented her slim, lithe figure. Resting on the dresser beside her was a long, thin knife, painted crimson red.

She was the Scarlet Dagger.

There was Calliope Gallo and Valerie Danner. The two usually performed together – and just as they danced together, so too did they fight together. Calliope – skinny and supremely flexible – and Valerie – buxom and beautiful – wore contrasting jumpsuits, Callie’s white with black splotches, and Valerie’s black with white. Their weapons of choice, currently sheathed at their sides, were long, thin swords shaped in crescents. Together, they formed a complete circle that could take out an entire room of intruders.

They were Yin and Yang.

There was Takchawee Ominotago, the Native American belle whose beauty far outshined all the others. She was as seductive as she was light on her feet; her dancing could always keep a crowd enraptured. She wore a long, stunning black skirt and deceptively simple black top. On both hands were long pieces of metal, out of which could extend several long, sharp, metallic claws. These claws remained retracted into their metal sheaths – for now.

She was Dances with Wolverines.

There was Angel Laveaux, one of the newest of the girls at the House. She wore a short, strapless black dress which managed to cover all of the necessary parts and not much else. From afar, it could almost appear to be a gothic sort of toga. Over one shoulder was slung a bow, and over the other, a quiver of arrows.

She was Cherub.

There was Elisia Lark, Ceri McCay, and Adrianna Carstyn. These three women – staples at the House for a while now – were fun, flirtatious, and devastatingly sexy. But as dangerous as their looks were, so were their weapons: long chains, at the end of which were heavy, spiked balls. Said balls dangled down near the floor, as the women – decked out also in black – stood in a row by one another’s sides.

They were the Chain Gang.

And there was Madame Cynthia DeMato herself, the woman who ran it all, the woman who had navigated La Maison Magnifique through some of its darkest hours, and through it all shined like a diamond. Covering her short yet intimidating frame was a long black trenchcoat, which jutted out at the bottom like a ballgown. Tall high heeled shoes were spiked at the end for skull-piercing kicks and lunges; the long cane could be unsheathed to reveal a long, needle-thin sword, just as deadly as her heels. Brown hair was tied back in a bun to give her free range of movement.

She was Mame Maim.

These were the women of Pilot Ridge’s House of Burlesque. These were the women who so frequently entertained male visitors. These were the women who would take on Kells’ army and defend Pilot Ridge that very evening – for some, to the death.

“No, we are not powerless,” Cynthia continued, nodding her head confidently. “They will underestimate us. Ignore us. Dismiss us. And they will find that their arrogance is their greatest folly – and their ultimate downfall.” A smile tugged at her lips. “They think they are the powerful ones, but no: they need us. They are nothing without us. Women, we give these men life. And we can take it back just as easily.”

Her free hand tightened into a fist. “Some of you are meta. Some of you are not. But they are coming for us. And when they’re done with us, they’ll come for the rest. Make no mistake: none of us are safe. And so we fight.”

She moved the cane to rest just in front of her, both hands grasping the silver handle. Pulling with one hand, the long, thin sword came out of its jet black sheath, the pristine metal shimmering under the dressing room’s incandescent lights. “Power, my girls, is better possessed than shown, more easily lost than kept, and always ripe for the plucking.” Her lips spread into a grin. “And tonight, we’re going to show the world just how powerful we are. For we are strong, we are brave… and we are magnificent.”

[Valentia de la Torres]

4. Erratic [Warning: Possible Trigger]

"I'm struggling to understand." Anastasia admitted, though it was hardly a ground breaking admittance. It was obvious that she would be confused, even if the emotion didn't run across her face.

"I understand that."

"So you know him. My Ivan."

"He did bring me here. As an accomplice." Valentia replied, offering a nod with the sentiment. The man in question, however, was no where in sight.

"Hn." Anastasia replied, taking the time to gradually cross one leg over the other as she sat across from the other woman. A short sidelong glance and they were looking back at each other again.

Valentia wondered what to feel.

"You went to... Odarennyi, correct?"

She nodded, "And you, to Hammel?"

At the question, Anastasia let out a slow building chuckle. Was she wrong? Or was the concept of the place she named deemed humourous? <Confusion> etched onto Valentia's features, and the feeling was not lost on Anastasia.

"Odarennyi requires a stint in the military." She stated matter-of-factly.

Valentia nodded again; "Yes. That is how I met him. I thought he would have told you-"

"Oh, he told me." Anastasia began again. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she felt herself lean slightly more towards Valentia. "I know what he was designed for when it came to that military. I know that newer recruits were made to use him as target practice. A human punching bag to train their abilities. And I know you've been one of those newer recruits."

Unsure of how to think, Valentia nodded for a third time.

"But that you stayed in contact when your service to the Russian military was over-"

"Redirected," Valentia corrected, which earned her another almost spiteful glance from the heiress. But a cold glance wasn't going to turn her away from the thought; "Back to the Odarennyi Institute to train students."

"So he said." Anastasia concluded, finding herself comfortable leaning back in her seat again. "Ivan said I should meet you despite it all. That you share our beliefs for the future of meta-humans almost as strongly as we do."

"Supremacy?" Valentia asked, her interest flagged.

"Supremacy." Again, concluded.

The sensation she felt then was overwhelming. The desire to... What was it? Valentia cocked her head to the side slightly, catching the subtle way Anastasia's eyebrow raised. The way the corner of her mouth tugged into a slight smirk - she felt the involuntarily signal from her brain to the muscle, drawn forth by... What could it be... An overbearing sense of satisfaction?

Valentia wanted to... Throw herself in front of a moving car. <Despair/Guilt/Betrayal> To get up from her seat, walk through the front door and lie down in moving traffic. Or get in a car and recklessly crash into another. She felt her fingers curl, her legs twitch under anticipation as she attempted to block those signals from her brain to her muscles. And as suddenly as it came, it was gone again. The feeling was gone. She blinked twice as if in snapping from a daze.

Anastasia sighed, unfurling her fingers and uncrossing her leg. In a smooth motion, she stood up, glancing over her shoulder at the Chilean-born Russian before continuing on. Valentia stayed. Out of her free will or not, she remained seated.

And soon enough, the blonde was back. She rested her hand on the coffee table briefly, placing a serrated knife down in the centre, perfectly between them.

"Supremacists feel like a dime a dozen, don't they?" She asked, "Hammel isn't driven with the core beliefs that say, Odarennyi seems to be on the verge of finding. I could come to admire someone who feels passionately about the future for meta-humans." She almost sounded sincere.

Valentia, though listening, found it difficult to tear her eyes away from the presence of a blade between them. "I get the sense that you want to pick that up." Anastasia offered, and with little to no delay, Valentia complied. Her fingers curled around the handle and she glanced down at it again. "You hurt something important to me. Before this comradery between us can come to fruition, you deserve this." And again, Valentia complied. She turned the handle, aiming the sharp edge at herself - her midsection.

But beyond that, nothing happened.

"What are you doing?" Anastasia shot out. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly. Valentia's fingers on her free hand noticeably twitched in seemingly uncontrollable intervals. "I said you deserve it!"

FAnd the edge came closer, trimming away at the fabric of her shirt. Not quite close enough to pierce the skin. Valentia's toes and feet began to shift abnormally as well. Finally she tore her eyes from the knife and looked to Anastasia. "I know what you're doing." She said finally. Anastasia caught her eye, gathering what information she could on her emotions. In the lapse in concentration, Valentia turned the hilt in her hand and hurled it towards the wall, sticking it sharply in the drywall.

Anastasia's lips parted, willing the right words to flow.

Instead, in unison, they spoke; "Ivan thought you might try to kill me."

It was the first and only real time Valentia ever saw a real rise of emotion from the blonde woman. Surprise coloured her eyes when she spoke words that weren't her own. The signal had been crossed, a threat turned into words she never intended to express. Like they were forced into her conscious and out of her mouth. She breathed a quick sigh to regain her composure and control.

"Ivan said to try to be accommodating." Anastasia shot out, a stint of laughter following the comment with a clearly morbid undertone.

"Ivan said not to hurt the heiress when she tries to throw me off a cliff."

"It was a car."

"I know. I felt it," Valentia admitted, "It was impressive."

[Damien Tremblay]

6. Soft

“Shh, stop squirming.” Damien tried to pull the wriggling bundle further into his coat, but the little creature was having none of it. At least Gypsy was walking nicely beside him, not tugging on her leash. He would have put the new little one on a leash too, but he was pretty sure he didn’t quite have the hang of his legs yet, let alone a leash pulling on his neck.

He had already called to ensure Josef was at the clinic. He also knew that he wasn’t teaching classes for the next hour, which left him with a perfect window. Since they had moved in together, Gypsy was a common sight at the clinic. Now, hopefully, the little one would be too.

Damien could tell the clinic was more or less empty, which made this easier. Sure, he could have waited until he was home, but this felt like one of those things that just couldn’t wait. They had talked about it a little, getting another pet in the house. As much as Josef liked Gypsy and Charlie, there was still a sort of division of ownership. They had started as Damien’s, and in a way they would always feel like they were solely the law clerk’s. Even if Damien kept saying otherwise.

The little bundle he was carrying now would solve that.

Gypsy stepped quietly into the clinic, wagging at the sight of Josef at the desk. Damien stooped down to unclip her leash, letting her loose. The collie made a beeline for Josef, doing her full body wag. Josef grinned as he spied her coming around the desk. “Hey, Gypsy!” When he was sure Damien wasn’t looking, he snuck her one of the cookies he kept on hand just for her and rubbed her ears.

“Oh sure, she gets attention and I don’t?” Damien grinned as he came closer, still trying to keep the surprise in his jacket. Josef arched an eyebrow at him.

“You always get attention. What is that?” It was impossible to overlook the wriggling occurring under his boyfriend’s jacket. Damien wrapped his arms tighter around it, attempting more to hide it further than anything else.

“Something for you.” Patience was normally something both of them were good at. But now? Josef had a look on his face that was more at home on a kid on Christmas morning, and Damien wasn’t fairing any better. If he didn’t tell him soon, he was probably going to explode. Without much warning, he unzipped his jacket and produced a little black and tan puppy. He was estimated at ten weeks old by the shelter, and small enough to carry. At least for now. Their best guess had been some sort of Rottweiler and Shepherd mix, with who knows what else. To Damien, he was just cute. “Here.” He offered the puppy out to Josef, who took him the same way he tended to take small children.

Of course, one little puppy noise later, and it was pressed closer to his chest as he looked down at him. Fingers carded over his fur as he smiled. “He’s so soft,” he remarked quietly. The puppy just stared up at him, wagging his tail as best he could. “Why, though?” He couldn’t think of a single holiday or reason for something like this. Damien shrugged and knelt down to stroke Gypsy, who was looking up curiously at the little dog.

“Because I love you. Isn’t that a good reason?” Another shrug. “You always said you wanted your own, and when I met him, I thought of you.” It had been instant, really. Though he had looked at a number of dogs, some of them didn’t work well with Gypsy, and some just hadn’t clicked. The nameless puppy Josef was now holding had done both. Josef grinned and bent to set the puppy on the mats. He didn’t care about pawprints on them, because he had a dog.

“What’s his name?”

“Whatever you want. They didn’t have one for him yet at the shelter.”

“I’ll have to think about it, then.” For now, he was okay calling the puppy simply ‘Puppy’, or ‘Hey boy.’

That changed by the evening. When Josef finally made it home from teaching classes, the first thing he did was scoop the puppy up into his arms. “Hey, Buddy,” he practically cooed at him. The puppy just wagged. Damien looked up from where he had been reading a case file.

“Is that his name? Buddy?” Josef grinned and shook his head, setting the puppy down again.

“No. It isn’t.”

“Did you pick one?” Josef nodded. “So... what is it?”

“Neil. Patrick. Harris.” Damien just stared at him.

“I’m sorry, what?” He didn’t believe him. Not by a long shot.

“I’m serious. You said I could name him whatever I wanted, and that’s what I picked.” He’d wondered how Damien would take to this, being that his pets had such normal names. But the more he’d thought about it, the more he’d liked it. Damien shook his head.

“I am not calling him that.”

“You don’t have to. He’s my dog.” With that, Josef crouched down and picked up a toy for him. The puppy immediately came running and took hold of the toy, eager for a game of tug of war. Damien glanced down at Gypsy, rolling his eyes at her. If it made Josef happy, fine.

But he was not calling him that.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#10 – Precious

Halloween had always been a favorite holiday to Sean for three reasons: the first, and most important, was that it was a holiday for families with children, and he was able to interact with the children in his neighborhood in the days leading up to Halloween night.

The second reason was the prevalence of sweets available for the holiday. Sean felt that children these days missed out on the full Halloween experience, primarily due to unreasonable paranoia by their parents, hastened by misrepresentations of news stories in the 1970s and 1980s. When he had been a child, trick-or-treating involved handmade treats: cookies, cupcakes, candied apples, popcorn balls, fudge and taffy...and anything else that adults felt like sharing with the neighborhood youngsters.

However, regardless of his opinions on the subject, trick-or-treating had been reduced to pre-packaged candy. The least he could do was buy a variety and give out more than one piece of the “fun-sized bars” or distribute larger candy bars.

The third was tied to the first: the excuse to wear costumes. Doing so was fun at adult parties, which was a bonus. However, the neighborhood children were always delighted when adults answered the door in costume, and Sean always made sure to have an appropriate outfit. When in a relationship, he tried to coordinate with his partner so that they could have a theme.

This year, the task of finding a costume was more difficult than in years past.

The bulge in his stomach interfered.

Josh, at least, was both sympathetic towards Sean’s inability to find a fitting costume and indulgent of his efforts despite his difficulty.

“You could just buy an extra-large costume,” the attorney suggested, as he mixed juice and sherbet in their punch bowl. They had found a recipe online for non-alcoholic Halloween punch, and Sean had wanted to try. Since the telepath was condemned to sobriety until after their baby was born, he wanted to introduce variety into his diet. Josh had gotten excited at the prospect of being able to play bartender, even if the beverages were no-proof.

The older man shook his head. “I already wear extra-large costumes.” His height and frame were already larger than average. The addition of the bulge in his stomach in a pattern that was uncommon for men did nothing to add to his costume options.

“Oh.” Josh knew his partner was large, but he wasn’t in the habit of actually checking Sean’s sizes. Turning back to the punch bowl, he added the last of the juices, stirred, and then took a sip. It tasted fine – very sweet and a bit fizzy – and then ladled a healthy portion into a cup that he handed to the older man. “We could be Romans. Togas are easy to make, and then we could match.”

Using king-sized bed sheets would leave enough to cover Sean’s entire body while not constricting his stomach.

“I’d rather not traumatize the neighborhood,” the telepath replied.

Josh didn’t know how to respond to that. His partner had always had a self-deprecating sense of humor. However, with the pregnancy, the attorney didn’t know whether the jokes were intended to fish for compliments; they weren’t before, but hormones confused him. It didn’t matter that Sean’s moods had remained relatively stable, because the bespectacled man lived in fear of saying the wrong thing and transforming the telepath from his typical self into Chase or Cobalt at the drop of a hat.

That very notion was terrifying.

Sean spared him the need to reply. “This tastes pretty good.”

“I’m glad. The recipe wasn’t that hard to make.”

The telepath nodded and took another sip. “Next time, we should try a different sherbet flavor.”

“That’s easy,” Josh agreed. They sold tubs of sherbet in the grocery store where the novelty frozen treats were. He didn’t remember precisely what flavors were for sale, but he knew that there were more than two available.

Sean leaned back on the sofa, sipping his punch thoughtfully. “I’m running through the fictional characters that I know.” Most of the telepath’s reading interests were non-fiction these days, and most classic literature didn’t apply to his situation. Likewise, his other reading interests – Vonnegut, for example, and some of the more obscure science fiction and fantasy from his younger days – were also ill-fitting.

“Why not ask Ryan for help?” Josh proposed. He dropped onto the sofa beside Sean and wrapped one arm around his partner’s shoulders. “Surely he knows some comic book figure that might work for you. And they all have teams or duos so you and I could still coordinate.”

Sean shook his head, negating the thought. “I already brought this up with him,” he explained. It had been a casual conversation but the results had been dissatisfying. “Most of the characters run around in those skintight outfits that don’t fit people half my age and size, before we even get to the pregnancy.” Not to mention that the first two suggestions Ryan had, for men who had interesting stomachs in comics, had been named Maggott and Chamber. Maggott’s powers were precisely what one might expect from his name: two large parasites lived in his stomach and would burst from his abdomen in combat. Chamber apparently had some sort of black hole or energy furnace in his chest, which, while interesting from a medical and scientific standpoint, was hardly complimentary.

His pregnancy was not a black hole.

Plus, while he didn’t want to conceal his stomach, since he wasn’t ashamed of the pregnancy, he also didn’t think that it had to be the defining feature of his costume.

“What are the women from your Lamaze class doing for their costumes?” Josh interrupted his train of thought with a valid question.

“Not all of them celebrate Halloween. A few are doing simple things – cat ears and face paint. Karen’s husband suggested that she go as an oven with a bun in it, and now he’s sleeping on the sofa until further notice.”

Josh had seen those costumes in stores. He’d already thought that they were in the height of bad taste, but he made a mental note not to even reference them as a joke.

“At the last knitting circle, I’d floated the idea for a few of the other women to dress as fertility goddesses across cultures, since the group is diverse.” Sean finished off his punch and set the cup aside on the end table. “The problem is that there aren’t fertility gods in the same sense. With good women.” Cisgendered men didn’t get pregnant, and thus they had no need to be fertility deities.

“That brings us back to togas,” Josh pointed out.

“For them, it does.” The telepath shook his head to himself, since he considered that matter settled. “We could go the simple route.”

“How simple?”

“Back to basics. Ghosts and skeletons.”” Then, inexplicably, Sean began to chuckle.

“What?”

“What if I had a skeleton costume but there was a tiny skeleton over my stomach, commensurate with fetal development at this stage?”

Josh chuckled too. That probably wouldn’t be that hard to pull off, in the scheme of things. Sean could sew...and there were art students who might be willing to help with the painting. “That isn’t a bad idea.”

“I’ll put it in the maybe pile,” the telepath said when he had stopped laughing. “Can I have some more punch?”

“Of course!” Josh reluctantly let his arm slip from around his partner’s shoulders so he could reach for the cup. He was off the sofa and at the punch bowl in a flash, since this was an easy need to satiate. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Do we have any of Riley’s marshmallow squares left?”

“I’ll go check.” Josh handed Sean the refilled cup. “You keep thinking about costumes.”

It didn’t matter much to Josh what they did; he would defer to Sean on this. As it was, this Halloween was already special.

[Lani Hunter]

98. Protection

March 20, 2085
Dear Diary,
This is so cool, I’ve never had a diary before. I’m gonna try to write in it as much as I can. Might as well introduce myself. I’m Leyla Idalia Dischia. Yes, my initials spell LID I know don’t rub it in. Anyhoo so I just moved into my dorm at Hammel, I’m a meta human. I can see things in the Astral or Spirit plane and once I even summoned something from it. This is gonna be great!

March 23, 2085
I don’t know if I can take it anymore. The faces, they’re not hallucinations. Mom doesn’t understand. Grandma keeps telling me it’s a blessing but what does she know, she has water manipulation. I have astral summoning. I can accidentally summon a million year old lion that has been soaking up spirit energy and I wouldn’t be able to put him back. Of course the trainers tell me that can’t happen, that I can control who I bring but… honestly sometimes I wish I would bring a lion out.

That would teach those girls that I might be a freak but I’m a powerful freak. I can see all of their faces and they don’t even know how ugly they are. No one else can see it. Dad says I shouldn’t think murderous thoughts, “God can hear you.” He always says. I don’t believe in God. If there was a god he would have given me a cooler power. I thought when I came to Hammel I wouldn’t be the freak anymore but… well, goes to show some things never change. Oh well, gotta head to sleep.

March 24, 2085
So I got a package from Grandma today. It was very nice of her, got a book, some colorful pens and a box that just won’t open. I don’t know, I think she’s getting senile, I mean I’m thirteen hardly a child anymore.

Also got a call from Mom and Dad, they miss me, but they don’t want me to come home. I told them about the box Mom seems to share my opinion Dad however is a little excited and insists I should keep trying to open it. I think it’s just empty though. But it sounds like there is something inside.

March 26, 2085
Fuck the box. It doesn’t open.

March 27, 2085
I got it! It was a trick box all along. But even stranger was what was inside. It’s this old compass. It’s really old, I don’t even think they make stuff like this anymore. It has something written on the back but I can’t make it out. I’m thinking about getting it cleaned but at the same time I really like the antique look. I don’t know what Grandma wanted me to have it for and when I called her she just said it belonged to her brother and that it would come in useful one day. Old people are crazy. Besides I’ve never met my Grandma’s brother, Mom and Dad said he died before I was born and no one really talks about him.

March 30, 2085
This thing is freaking me out. It’s almost as if it has a life of its own. I swear the other day I left it on my desk and next thing I knew it was in bookbag. I wonder if Grandma is trying to kill me. Maybe it’s cursed and it killed her brother. Maybe it’ll kill me. No. I’m gonna stop thinking about that now. Seriously, it looks like it’s so innocent but I swear it’s staring right at me.

I have to give it a little bit of credit it does seem to be lucky. The other day some of the girls were making fun of me and then she tripped over her own shoelaces. It was hysterical. That’ll teach them to pull my hair.

April 1, 2085
I swear I’m not lying. I know its April Fool’s and everything but I swear to God I’m not lying. Some of the girls got mad at me for getting the highest grade in the class. They yelled, calling me a cheater and saying that I never study. I can’t help it if they’re dumb as rocks. I told them I couldn’t cheat from them and get as good a grade as I did. The teacher ignored it. I can’t believe she just ignored it. But at least she didn’t also accuse me of cheating. But we left class and the girls pushed me down and started pulling my hair and kicking me. Why does this keep happening to me? What did I ever do to them?

They went into my bag and tore my notebooks and the stories I wrote, reading a few of them aloud before laughing. I guess I’m not as good a writer as I thought I was. But then one of them grabbed the compass. “Ew who carries around something so old?” She laughed and dropped it. The clasp and glass cracked as it hit the ground and it felt like something broke in me too. I knew I was using my power but I didn’t have time to stop it. The next thing I knew I pulled something out of the Astral Plane and there was suddenly a man standing between me and the bullies. One look at me and he swept his hands and the girls were flung back into lockers. He shouted something and the girls tried to run. I heard people screaming. The building shook and I was sure I brought a god back from the spirit world and he was going to destroy the world.

But then it stopped. People were still running but the man had lowered his arms and was crouched over the broken compass touching it with fingers that passed through the physical object. He looked so young. Not even older than some of the students who were graduating. He had blond hair just like me and his eyes were glowing, pupil-less, silvery gray. He looked right at me and then he vanished. I ran straight to my room I’m so afraid they’re gonna kick me out. I didn’t mean to do it. It just happened. Oh no. Someone’s here.

April 1, 2085 Later
They’re not angry but I saw him again. One of the Astral walkers came in and tried to figure out who it was that I summoned. He showed up again and I don’t think anyone else saw him but he stared straight at Mr. Kliron. He didn’t do anything and he didn’t say anything. I tried to tell them that he was there, even the Astral Walker’s spirit stood next to him and the man didn’t acknowledge him, nor the walker him. They think I’m hallucinating.

But when they I asked the man who he was. He didn’t answer just looked at me. He looked like he would as easily wipe me of the face of the earth as bat an eyelid. “What do you want?” I asked next. No response.

I thought he would never say anything but then in a far away voice he said, “Blood calls to blood.”

“What?” I asked.

“Heart calls to heart and blood calls to blood. Why have you summoned me?”

He was looking right at me at least I think he was, without pupils it was hard to tell. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Then send me back.” He demanded.

This was when confession time came in. “I don’t know how.” I couldn’t read his look but one minute he was there and the next he was gone. I don’t know what to do, I’ve been trying to sleep but I can’t and so I’m writing this with the hopes that at least someone will think I’m not crazy.

April 5, 2085
I don’t know how to get him to go away. He just shows up everywhere. Randomly of course, as spirits are wont to do. He’ll be gone for days and then just when I think he’s gone for good he’s there again!

To make matters worse no one will talk to me. Even the teachers are wary and they think I’m hallucinating. But how would they feel if every time they turned around a spirit was standing there.

He’s very protective though, and doesn’t seem to like a lot of people. More than once he’s gotten me into trouble by throwing something. And it’s not like I can tell him to stop or they’ll throw me in the lonny bin for sure!

He’s especially grumpy when Mr. Kliron is around. He’s a sweet English teacher I don’t get why the spirit doesn’t like him. I was actually going to get help on a paper from him and as I was grabbing my stuff the spirit appeared.

“Don’t go, Leyla,” he said.

“How do you know me?”

“Blood calls to…”

“I know I know, is that all you can say?” He didn’t say anything and for that I was glad I really don’t know what that means and he won’t stop saying it. “I need help, I don’t know what your problem is. Leave me alone.”

“I’d love to, but someone summoned me and won’t put me back.” He said, I couldn’t be sure but I’m pretty sure he’s making fun of me.

I finally broke down yesterday and called Grandma. For some reason the spirit was very interested in her. I told her everything and she’s promised to come with my parents when they come to visit this weekend. I need someone to make sense of this.

April 6, 2085
Spirit seems to be getting more annoyed that he’s stuck in the physical world. He seems agitated and doesn’t give a reason when asked. I’m afraid I may have unleashed a vengeful spirit. But whoever he needed to be vengeful against isn’t around. He’s been gone for a few days but now he hardly leaves. When I ask him he just keeps saying that blood to blood nonsense and saying he was searching. For what he won’t say.

At least he’s petty. He hasn’t seriously hurt anyone yet. He gave that nasty Mary quite a fright but he hadn’t hurt anyone. It’s so strange. It’s like he would love nothing more than to wipe out everyone off the face of the planet and at the same time wants to keep people safe. It wasn’t just me the other day.

I was sitting in the cafeteria and one of the little boys was having trouble getting his power of glowing to turn off. Some guys were messing with him, likening it to blushing and just kept shouting things at him. I have to admit it was funny, after the fact at least. But I swear some of them wet themselves when Spirit appeared and dumped them with flakes of hot chilies. I’ve never seen someone run so fast.

April 7, 2085
They finally believe that I’m not hallucinating. After Spirit’s stunt in the cafeteria I went and told my trainer about it. So she had me try to summon him. It worked!

I was stilling in meditation and pulled. I could feel how unhappy Spirit was about this but I was the one with the power this time not him. He was there and I’m pretty sure my trainer wasn’t expecting him to actually appear. I’ve never seen anything so terrifying. His glowing eyes took in everything but never gave away if he was looking at you or not. He wasn’t exactly solid, it was somewhat more eerie having him in the real world and not just sometimes.

“Who are you?” Ms. Isa asked when she had recovered.

He didn’t say anything. Just glared at her and at me. It took a few moments and I started to wonder if he could hear. “Let me go.” He said finally his voice still far away.

“Answer me,” Ms. Isa said, nothing frustrated her more than being ignored.

“Shut the hell up.” He said. It wasn’t harsh, it wasn’t even angry even though it was clear he was. What made it worse was how distant it was. It was like he could have snapped her neck and then asked me what the weather was going to be tomorrow.

“Why are you here?” She asked, as stubborn as Spirit was Ms. Isa was just as stubborn.

“Blood calls to blood.”

“What does that mean?”

“Heart calls to heart. Mind calls to mind and answers with itself. How can a mind call a mind when the mind is a senseless beating of a drum?” He replied and I swear I saw a little sly smile. Ms. Isa snapped her jaw shut and I let Spirit go before Ms. Isa could hurt him.

Ms. Isa took the compass determined to lock it away. I think she thinks it’s liked to him. I think she’s right because I found it on my desk when I returned and he was standing in the window again.

April 8, 2085
Spirit needs to go. I’m so over this mysterious, riddle speaking dead man. I’m pretty sure he’s dead and not some god now. He’s far to annoying to be a god. Just the other day he was staring out the window for hours on end naming the stars as if they were old friends.

The day before that he stared at the broken compass touching it and complaining that it was pointing the wrong way. When I demanded to know how it was possible for a compass to point the wrong way when it only pointed north he just shook his head and looked at me with those creepy eyes and said, “It points North but it points the wrong way.”

April 9, 2085
Parents are finally here, I’m so glad. No one will talk to me, expect for Spirit but he’s not much for conversation. I can’t understand a word he’s saying anyways. Today he’s circling Grandma like a hawk and more than once passed his hand through her face. I’m really hoping that she can’t feel that because it freaks me out when Spirit touches me. Mom and Dad went to get groceries and I finally asked Grandma to tell me about the compass.

“It’s not my story to tell. But I can tell you that it belonged to someone dearly missed and dearly loved.”

“I love you, Caroline,” Spirit said and she seemed to hear it.

“My older brother, Lani, died many many years ago. Life was hard on him and finally it just wore him down and he didn’t have the strength to get up again.” She said sitting on the bed cradling the compass in her hands. She patted the bed next to her and I settled in, it seemed she was going to get a story after all. “This was given to him by a very special person. Back then it wasn’t as accepted as it is now but they were in love. You could tell.

“He kept it a secret for a long time, but then that special person died.” Her normally pleasant air vanished into sadness. “He always blamed himself and in the end it destroyed him. But he gave me this before he died. I always knew I had to pass it on to another with the Hunter spirit. It seems to have skipped a generation.” She ruffled my hair and handed me back the compass. “Keep it save, love and it will do the same for you.”

Spirit was silent for a long time after they left. He was just staring. “I know who you are.” I said hoping to get a rise out of him. It didn’t work so I continued, “You’re my Great Uncle Lani. Is that what you meant by blood calling to blood? I needed you and you came.”

He looked at me and without a word passed into the night.

April 10, 2085
I haven’t seen the spirit all day, I hope he’s alright.

April 11, 2085
Still no sign of Spirit. I suppose I should start calling him Lani. After all we are family. I wonder if he knew that when he came. Why wouldn’t he say something? Yes, it has dawned on me that he wasn’t allowed but then again he hinted at it, I think I’m just really thick. Oh well.

Anyhoo, so today was a rather interesting day. I think people are finally getting over the whole ‘Leyla accidentally called the vengeful spirit of her Great Uncle’ thing. Mr. Kliron is being so helpful with this English essay and told me to come see him in his office next week to work on it. He says I have a great amount of potential!

April 15, 2085
Oh my God!

April 16, 2085
Sorry about that, but I tried to write it down and I couldn’t. Oh my God!

Ok. Ok, let me try again.

Mr. Kliron is dead. Oh my God… He’s dead! Lani killed him!

Oh God! I can’t!

April 20, 2085
So they say I should write it down. It’ll help me cope. So I guess I should start from the beginning.

Mr. Kliron invited me to his office a few days ago. So I went. When I had gathered my papers and went to leave my room Lani was suddenly there again. In the doorway. He scared me so badly that I had spilled all of my things.

“Don’t go.”

“So you think you can just show up and tell me what to do?” I asked, I had been very angry with him for being gone so long.

“Don’t go.” He said again. I finished gathering my things, thinking back on it I don’t think I had ever heard any sort of emotion in his voice before but he sounded desperate.

“What’s your problem? Leave me alone.” I walked through him. It felt weird. He followed me all the way to Mr. Kliron’s office telling me to turn back. Not to go. I should have listened…

I can’t… I don’t want to… They told me I should…

I got to his office and he locked the door. He started coming at me and I realized too late that I was a fool. I should have listened. I couldn’t find Lani. Lani wasn’t there. I was so alone and he was forcing me to…

I heard banging at the door and it distracted him long enough that I got away from him, but the door was still locked. I felt something on my shoulder. I realized why it felt strange when I walked through Lani. I had felt his frustration and now I felt something else.

His face was a mask and his pupil less eyes never left Mr. Kliron. But I felt warmth, love and I felt protected. He made himself visible and Mr. Kliron started screaming. He didn’t have long to scream for he lunged at me again. That seemed to decide something. It all happened so fast.

One minute he was coming toward me and the next he was dead at my feet a pen through the eye. Oh God!

Sorry, I’m back. I still have nightmares about that. I don’t think that they’ll ever go away.

I don’t remember much of what happened after that, I just remember screaming.

April 21, 2085
Lani appeared again today. I asked him where he had been. He just said he was tired.

“I mean before. When you were gone all that time.” I corrected.

Lani looked at me and took the compass in his hands. He put it into my hands and I felt the warmth from his touch again. “I have sinned in life. My curse and my gift is here. Keep it with you. When you need me I shall come.”

“Wait!” I cried afraid he was going to leave. “Please, tell me.”

He looked thoughtful and shook his head. And he was gone.

I’m leaving Hammel to go to a private trainer and a new school. I can’t stay here. Mom and Dad are coming to pick me up tomorrow. I should get sleep. I don’t know if when you’ll hear from me again. I think I’m done writing.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#45 - Steady

Coming out wasn’t something that had crossed Sean’s mind as a young man. As a twelve-year-old with psychic powers thrust upon him, he hadn’t been aware of the cause of his pain and confusion or of the voices that plagued him. That revelation had fallen to his Priest, his doctor, and the representative from Hammel who had explained the entire situation to him and his parents.

Then, as a student at Hammel, he had dated girls. One girl – Maggie Donovan – and his imagination had revolved around kissing and necking with her, or the occasional female celebrity. At college, too, he had dated co-eds, young women all of them.

Until Josh.

Sean had never expected to see the younger telepath again. Not after the weird stalking behavior in high school, and then the uncomfortable avoidance. He certainly hadn’t expected for Joshua Bernstein to attend NYU or to show up at one of their organizing meetings. It brought back a lot of memories and feelings from years before at Hammel.

Talking became time spent together became friendship. Friendship became more than that.

That was only half-surprising.

Sean had known for years that Josh had had a crush on him. At Hammel, the younger telepath had the worst mental shielding Sean had ever heard of. Even Robert had been concerned about his performance and aptitude. Josh was so loud with his thoughts and feelings, so exhausting. Everyone knew what he felt. Maggie wasn’t even psychic and she had known.

Despite that, Sean hadn’t expected Josh to still feel that way about him, years later and at college. He hadn’t expected that he might develop similar feelings for the younger boy. Hadn’t expected to find himself in an actual relationship with someone who used the same locker room as he did.

But he had and he was, and he planned on remaining in that relationship for the rest of their joined days. Plus, they had decided to get an apartment together after Josh’s freshman year of college, in time for Sean’s first year of medical school, since he wasn’t allowed to stay in student housing as a graduate student.

He and Josh had decided to tell their families, although not together as that would only create more chaos than comfort. Josh has gone first, because his parents had been primed for this when he had been a student at Hammel. He’d never had a girlfriend, and rumors abounded at Hammel about his sexual preferences.

His parents had taken the news about as well as expected.

Josh’s father had said very little during the conversation. He hadn’t seemed surprised, and Josh had allowed his mental shields to drop long enough to confirm that his father had had suspicions long before the revelation. His mother had been upset and disappointed at first, worried about Josh’s moral fiber, his future professional reputation, his health, and the fact that he would never give her grandchildren.

However, she also liked Sean who was nice and polite and had a bright future as a doctor. Josh, too, remained the same boy he had always been: dedicated to his studies, compassionate and extroverted, and he had so many more friends at college. As such, his mother coped with the news of his relationship, and, in turn, he and Sean took a hands-off approach.

Coming out wasn’t easy for Sean, simply because – since he had never considered doing so before – he didn’t know what to say.

He did, however, have plenty of opportunities to make the admission, since Sunday suppers at his parents’ house on Long Island were common.

The Nevilles and the Bernsteins had some common elements: both families resided in downstate New York; both families had telepathic sons who had attended Hammel; both families were firmly well-off due to professional status; both families were attached to their respective cultures, even if those cultures were different.

The differences outweighed the similarities in this situation. Sean’s family was far more conservative and held steadfast to their religion (also more conservative) than Josh’s family did.

Yet, one Sunday when Kathleen was away for the weekend, the telepath found the words to articulate.

“I’m seeing someone,” he announced, in between the roast beef and the bread pudding.

That piqued the attention of both of his parents. “What is she like?” His mother asked.

“Where did you meet her?” His father inquired.

This was where the revelation became more complicated. “At school.” That was true, even if the school had been Hammel and not NYU; they had actually gotten to know one another at NYU, and it was technically accurate. “And very smart, friendly, caring.” Attractive, although he couldn’t wax poetic about Josh’s appearance, not when dropping this bombshell.

“You should bring her to supper,” his mother suggested, since that was standard fare for when either Neville child had a relationship. “So we can meet her.”

“You’ve already met.”

“Oh?” Both of his parents scrutinized him, and he raised his mental shields a bit. He didn’t need his telepathy to know what they were thinking.

“Is it Daphne? She always struck me as a sweet young woman.” His mother’s assessment was true; Daphne was sweet, but their relationship was strictly platonic. She had a boyfriend, and Sean wasn’t her type.

“No.” He took a deep breath, because this was the moment of truth. Sean glanced down at the table briefly, at the ring that Josh had bought him at the folk festival. He drew strength from that, lifted his head, and answered. “It’s Josh.”

Before the awkward silence could settle, he added, “I know it’s a shock, but I wanted you to hear it from me first...”

His mother disappeared into the kitchen without saying anything. His father was, likewise, taciturn, although he remained at the table. Despite the oppressive silence, Sean kept his mental shields firm; he didn’t want to listen to their immediate reactions.

He could forgive their immediate reactions, as long as he and his parents reached some form of understanding.

Dessert was eaten in silence. Finally, his father asked, “Is this a telepath thing?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you bond easier with telepaths? Is that why you broke up with Maggie?”

Maggie hadn’t been psychic, although that had had no bearing on the demise of their relationship. Still, there was a grain of truth in his father’s question. While Sean didn’t require psychic ability in his romantic partners, there was something special that came about when two telepaths were together. They understood one another in ways nobody else could. When he and Josh were together...it was like how it was with Robert, although romantic rather than fatherly. He felt fulfilled in a way that he hadn’t with past girlfriends, and he knew that was the telepathy and not because he had been secretly gay. Because he wasn’t; he stilled liked girls, but he liked Josh more.

Sean didn’t want to bombard his parents with details, intent on exploring nuance when they still had to struggle with the initial concept. As such, he said, “Sort of. It definitely helps.”

His father absorbed that suddenly. His mother asked, “Do you intend to keep seeing him?”

“Yes.” That one word contained all of the conviction that had given him courage to speak tonight.

“We’ll talk to Father Benedict about this tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll have some insight.”

Sean’s counterproposal was that they call Robert for advice, but he didn’t express that. Neither of his parents had ordered him out of the house, which was already a good first step. He didn’t want to press his luck.

[Tanner Larson]

#65: Revenge

The Meta Resistance: Origins

When Tanner Larson opened the door into Academic Building 307, he had no idea what to expect.

As it was, the ‘invitation’ he had received in his apartment building mailbox had comprised only of the room number scrawled in black pen onto a crumbled piece of paper. It had also included a date and time, but no other information. The blonde had planned on ignoring it – how did he even know it was meant for him? – but when the time came, he couldn’t resist.

Curiosity had, as it so often does, gotten the best of him.

The grounds of the Hammel Institute were fairly empty, as they had been for several months: after a State of Emergency was declared following a series of attacks by meta humans on regular humans, nobody wanted to be associated with the institution. As it were, any meta found using his or her powers at night, or in large crowds, was briskly hauled off.

They knew not to where.

Tanner had graduated from Hammel the year before, but had until recently still been living in Pilot Ridge as one of La Maison Magnifique’s star attractions. The entire city was starting to empty out, but there had still been a sizable enough population to keep the theatre full on most weekend nights. The House was gone now, though: just one week prior, the building had been raided, most of the girls had been captured or killed, and Madame Cynthia was now nowhere to be found. Tanner was out of a job, and without reason for lingering, but with nowhere else to go, he was staying for the foreseeable future.

Still, walking across a deserted campus had made the boy uneasy, and it didn’t exactly fill him with confidence when he found the Academic Building to be largely devoid of life, as well. He pressed onward though, his own curiosity and nothing more driving him forward.

On the other side of the door were four other people sitting at a large table in the center of the room. Students, Tanner determined, but not students he recognized. This wasn’t terribly surprising, as the boy had mostly kept to himself during his younger years, but he couldn’t help but wish he had a better idea as to what was going on. Who had invited them there, and for what reason?

Tanner stood somewhat uncomfortably in the doorway, allowing it to shut just behind him. It was at this that one of the others – another blonde who was somewhat taller than Tanner and perhaps a bit more fit – slammed his fist down on the table.

“Alright, that’s it,” he growled, anger evident in his voice. “Which one of you asked me here, and why? I want answers, and I want ‘em now.”

A young women shrugged her shoulders. “Hey, don’t look at me,” she replied, lifting her hands innocently. “I’m as in the dark as you are.”

Tanner decided that, between the two of these strangers, he felt less ill-at-ease around the girl, and so he walked over and sat down beside her. He noticed, as he did so, that it was the only empty seat at the table.

A dark-haired male, who until that point hadn’t spoken a word, stood in his place. “I don’t have time for this,” he stated simply. It sounded to Tanner like the young man had some sort of accent, though he couldn’t quite place it. He was turning towards the door when a voice called out from an unknown source.

“Please be seated, Mr. Ivaskov,” said the voice. “It looks like everyone has arrived.”

The blonde from earlier stood now, looking this way and that. “Who’s there?” He asked in an anxious, suspicious voice. “Come out!”

It was then that a man – clearly older by several years than the rest of the assembled group – made his presence known, stepping out from seemingly nowhere to stand before the conference table. “As you wish, Robert.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “How do you know my name? What’s going on?”

The man raised a hand, gesturing for the boy to be silenced. “There are no secrets, Mr. Wilkes. I do not wish to frighten anyone. I have brought you all here… regarding President Kells.”

A young blonde woman – the only one who hadn’t yet spoken – appeared visibly moved by this, as though repulsed by the very name. It was the other female in the room, though, who spoke up.

“You’re wasting your time, then,” she said, lifting her booted feet to rest on the table. “I have nothing good to say about him.” She nearly spat the words, though her demeanor was otherwise calm.

The man nodded. “And it is for that reason, Miranda, that I have asked you here today.”

The woman’s eyes widened, but it was Robbie who spoke first. “Is this some kind of trap?” He asked, again slamming his fist down onto the table. Tanner jumped at the sudden noise, and Lucah appeared bemused.

Again, this man lifted his hand. “We are friends here,” he replied to calm their nerves. “You are all aware of Executive Order 15056, are you not?”

“That all metas are to be arrested for using their powers?” Tanner asked. He was all too familiar. “Yeah. But… what about it?”

The grey-haired man leaned forward, placing both hands as fists onto the table. “What if I were to tell you that this order was declared through false pretenses?”

Tanner developed a quizzical look, not immediately understanding the question. Sensing the confusion in the room, the man continued.

“The plain and simple truth, is that the attacks leading to the State of Emergency were entirely staged.”

The room was dreadfully silent as the five former students absorbed this information.

“But… who would have done that?”

“None other than the President himself.”

“That’s impossible!” Robbie was again on his feet. “Why would he do that?”

The man remained calm. “You are familiar, Mr. Wilkes, with the administration’s policy regarding the use of powers. The curfew? The restrictions?” He stood upright again, moving around the table to come face to face with the young blonde. “You haven’t seen Danicca in a while, have you?” His voice was much lower than before.

Robbie looked down at the floor suddenly, refusing to respond to the question.

“And you, Tanner,” the man continued, moving across the room to the other boy. “Your job, your very living, is gone now, is it not?”

Tanner nodded, somewhat reluctantly.

“Gone from one of the Humanist Army’s raids. And you,” the man said, turning towards Miranda. “They got your brother. Told you it was a medical condition. But ever since they saw you at that protest, you’ve feared for your family; don’t deny it.”

Miranda nodded. “I haven’t gone home in months,” she admitted, voice uncharacteristically quiet. “Didn’t want to… put them in danger.”

The man nodded. “Lucah,” he said, turning towards the brunette. “They’ve come for you too, haven’t they? Chased your family back to Romania.”

The boy was frowning – he’d been since he’d arrived there – and now his brow furrowed. “They left because of me,” he corrected. “I sent them back.”

“Very well. And Angel,” he said, turning towards the fifth and final student. “You want to protect your little sister. More than anything.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she did not respond.

“All of you hold a grudge, for one reason or another, against the Kells Administration,” he explained, pacing back towards the front of the room. “All of you have lost something, or someone, or are desperately trying not to. So the question is…”

He stopped in front of the five young men and women, all of whom were by now standing in place.

“What are you going to do about it?”

It was on this cue that another man – a tall male of Asian descent dressed all in black – appeared in the room, moving to stand beside, and just behind, him.

“Allow me to introduce you to Vincent Meian,” the man went on. “Former staff at the Hammel Institute. One of our most excellent trainers – and one of the most dangerous. You see, the Administration has been tracking him for several weeks now.”

Vincent brought his hands together, and all around the students, it seemed like the room began to melt. The walls, furniture, and ceiling were all slowly collapsing, like a water balloon pierced in slow motion.

“What’s going on?” Robbie said, turning this way and that.

“It is merely an illusion. Vincent has the power to alter one’s perception of reality.”

Miranda crinkled her nose. “Well, make it stop,” she replied, “I’m starting to get nauseous.”

Within moments the room seemed to snap back to its true form.

“Vincent will be responsible for training you – for helping you to master your powers and harness them as expertly as he can.”

“Why, though?” Angel asked, looking skeptically at the two older men.

“Because,” the man replied, “you’ll need to be at your greatest potential to take on Kells and his army.”

Robbie looked shocked. “Go up against the Administration? You’re nuts: do it yourself!” The remark was directed more at Vincent than anyone else.

The man shook his head. “They’re watching him. It would be akin to walking into an ambush.”

It was Miranda’s turn to shake her head now. “We’ll never be able to pull it off, though. Kells probably has a thousand guys protecting him.”

“By yourself, no, you could not,” the man agreed. “But together, we harness the elements,” he said, gesturing towards Tanner and Lucah, “control the weather itself,” he added, looking at Robbie, “we have the ultimate defense,” he said, looking at Miranda, “and we have the power to become the enemy himself.” At this last line, he looked knowingly at Angel. “And if any of you remain unconvinced, consider what life may be like if Kells is not stopped. Is that a chance you’re willing to take?”

Lucah’s fists clenched tightly at his sides. “It sounds like we don’t have much of a choice, then.”

“I’m glad you agree.”

Tanner took a step towards this man. “I’m not so sure about this. I like my life. I don’t wanna get killed.”

“Won’t you?”

To this, Tanner didn’t have a response.

“Who are you, anyway?” All eyes turned towards Angel as she spoke up. “I mean, you know so much about us.”

“You can call me…” The man stated, taking a few more steps towards the group, “Doctor Neville.”

Sean looked from one student to the next, watching them all as they considered this information, all that had been explained over the past several minutes, and what their next steps would be.

“The future of the meta race may very well depend on the five of you,” he said, crossing his arms tightly in front of his chest. “Now, let’s get started.”

[Dryope *]

68. Free
Trigger Warning: Suicide, also depressing and horrifying scenarios

Fingers fumbled at unfamiliar knots. She wasn’t psychic and didn’t know his intentions, but in order to keep her from knowing, from interfering, he’d been unable to research. But he was determined to do it right, even if this was an improvisation:

It was the only escape he had.

---

She was younger than he, with a blonde ponytail and neatly pressed navy suit. Her smile was bright as she ruffled his dark hair, her fingers tipped with red nails.

“Your professional skills look wonderful on paper,” She told him, removing her hand and placing it back on the wheel. “I hope you’re worth the price.”

Her comment elicited no response; it wasn’t intended to, either. He was her property now, and he didn’t know the expected dynamic. Better to be silent until directly solicited.

“So you need a name,” She mused as they waited to turn out of the auction house parking lot. She had waited until the very end to leave, and so the streets were congested. It didn’t seem to occur to her that he already had a name.

“I think I’ll call you Rufus.” She decided without pause. There was a break in traffic and she was able to make her left turn out of the lot as she continued, “I had a dog named Rufus when I was younger.”

---

Nobody had expected it to last this long.

They had stocked up on supplies at the outset, hoarding water and nonperishable foods. Leaving hadn’t been an option since the very first days of the war, when the subways had been destroyed. The bridges and harbor were also targets, though people attempted to escape through them regardless, with varying levels of success.

So many homes and buildings had been destroyed, entire blocks of the City devastated by the fighting. They were lucky to still have a place to call their own.

A place that hadn’t had power for weeks, a place that had no news of the outside world.

A place that now had no food or water.

He had been hesitant to let her go, but she had promised to be careful. After all, she knew some people who knew some people who still had some paltry food resources, and their children needed to eat.

He had agreed reluctantly.

Now he was in the bedroom, thumbing through his wallet. As soon as she returned he would propose they flee, take their chances on an escape. Some of the ferry captains could be bribed to hide them, that would have to do.

The longer they stayed their chances of escape diminished.

So did their chances of survival. How could they survive with a scarcity of food, and the threat of bombs?

The sudden sounds of shrieking interrupted his thoughts, and he darted out of the bedroom. His daughter was struggling in the grasp of a tall, thick shouldered man.

His youngest son was shouting ineffectually, also held captive. “Let her go! Talia, Talia!”

The instinct to save his children was stronger than common sense, and he rushed upon the attackers, only to double over as pain unexpectedly blossomed throughout his body.

“That’s all of them.” A female voice declared, and he felt rough hands grab him, dragging him out the door. His children were still screaming, and then he heard his son’s cries change from pleas to let his sister go to pleas not to take her away.

“No, no, no, Talia! Dad, dad, they’re taking Talia away!”

The pain had subsided just enough that he could look up and see his daughter being forced in the opposite direction, toward a ragged line of other women and children, her face white.

Meanwhile he and his son were forced toward a different line, one comprised entirely of men.

None of the men looked to be younger than sixteen.

He pressed his lips into a thin line, guilt and misery swelling up in his throat as they were loaded into a van, his son staring at him with the need for reassurance he couldn’t give.

I’m so sorry, .Joshua. Talia.

---

He handed the note to his wife, who sighed in relief as she read the brief few lines written there.

They’re letting us stay. Hope you can make it soon.

-Matt

He wrapped an arm around her, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. “And here you thought that spring break trip to Cancun would be a problem. I’ll wire them some money later today.”

---

He was ten when his parents sent him abroad. Arranging travel was difficult; immigrants weren’t welcome in most countries, and obtaining a travel visa was nearly impossible. Only by the intervention of a Lutheran friend of his father’s were they able to acquire one at all.

He didn’t want to leave his family, resisted their attempts at reassurances. They would see him again, he could come back when the war was over.

Everything would be fine.

He took a ship to America, to live with a couple his mother had met as a girl. They were American citizens, but had lived in Berlin for some time and had agreed to take in their friend’s youngest child.

He tearfully waved goodbye to his family, watching them grow smaller and smaller as the pier disappeared from view: His mother, his father, his older sister and her infant.

He prayed fervently that he could return soon. Before his niece was grown, at least! Perhaps he would be able to help teach her all about America!

He could even help teach her English. Perhaps he would even teach his parents. And because when the war was over he would be allowed to be considered a citizen again, he thought he would even follow in his father’s footsteps and practice law.

He would help reopen his father’s old practice.

---

She was three years older than him, but she was the most beautiful girl he had ever met. When he had first met her she’d had a laugh that lit up the room, and a fiance older than she off fighting in the war.

She wasn’t laughing now.

Although he had suffered silently upon learning of the fiance he couldn’t take pleasure in the death of his rival; he couldn’t take pleasure in the death of anyone.

And she was hurting.

He awkwardly patted her shoulder, and she leaned her head against him, sobbing.

He said nothing, because there were no words that could take away her pain. But he would hold her as long as she needed.

---

When he was four his daddy was dragged into the streets and beaten for practicing law.

That was his earliest memory.

When the other children began school he wasn’t allowed to attend; his mother taught him at home.

He didn’t understand why.

He also didn’t understand why his parents cried and cried that day when he was six. Only later did he understand what it meant that they were no longer considered citizens.

---

Knots, it turned out, weren’t very difficult.

Nor was leaving one last message, written in large print across the papers she had asked him to file.

My name is Robert Bernstein and nothing more can be taken from me.