( a l a t e. )

with wings lifted up in flight she is beautiful and terrifying at the same time, like nature itself. ( private multimuse, multiverse blog. )

[aliferovs]

iinkheart:

The Parkinsons conducted business as they did anything: well. Pansy personally preferred her methods cutthroat and ruthless, taking what was needed and leaving her charismatic mother to smooth over the edges. It may have been a tad graceless, maybe – nobody got anywhere without getting their hands a little dirty, after all – but it worked. And it was thrilling. Above all, it was the thrill that had pulled Pansy Parkinson into the profession. The adrenaline that came with a race to the finish, the supreme satisfaction of closing a hard deal, and the sweet gratification of defeating a worthy opponent ― that was what made it exciting. And Pansy Parkinson lived for the excitement.

And the Greengrass family was perfect at providing it. Their business ethic defined them as worthy opponents; fierce, unrelenting and fearless. For Pansy, it was an equal pleasure to both interact with and defeat them. She could even stomach suffering defeat every once in a while, for while Pansy Parkinson would never be a loser, at least losing to a Greengrass was no insult. They were evenly matched, a satisfying competitor. They did not disappoint.

Meeting with Astoria Greengrass had its own uncertain charm, of course. She was definitely no Daphne. It was not that Pansy didn’t enjoy the company of her bright, outspoken friend, but the younger Greengrass sister carried a trait that Pansy couldn’t help but admire: subtlety. Oh, she was as sharp as the admirably symmetrical wings of her eyeliner; there was no doubt at all of that. But Astoria Greengrass was sharp the way lightning was sharp: the aftermath of her striking down your house was nothing short of a destructive clean sweep, the devastation clear to see and followed by the sonic boom of thunder, yet you never really saw her coming until she crackled across your horizon.

It was this that made Astoria in particular a truly worthy opponent. From the perfectly lined lines on that lipstick ( it may have been Yves Saint Laurent, for Pansy had a similar colour and it looked beautiful painting the woman’s mouth scarlet ) to the very toes of her pristine high heels ( and the perfect sleek curves that bridged the inches between the two ), Astoria Greengrass was a force to be reckoned with, one that Pansy enjoyed immensely. She matched well with Pansy’s own cutthroat sentimentalities; a woman who was beautiful and dangerous all at once.

She would never admit to something as trite as a faint pulse stuttering into motion at the exchange, but Pansy could not deny that the sweet, ominous smile that Greengrass flashed her carried a dangerous thread that appealed to her. Her own answering expression was just as pointed, a smile both softly amused and astutely sharp.

“As do you, darling. That ensemble is positively gorgeous. Have a seat.” Retaking her seat and pointedly crossing long, bronzed legs, Pansy passed her companion the proffered wine before flipping her menu open and sipping on hers. Her attention remained rapt on her companion, but the woman concealed it behind lazy perusal of the menu: a strategic tactic. “Of course, the loss was a disappointment, certainly, but you know us. Nothing gets us down for much. How is your darling mother, by the way? It seems ages since we’ve met last for afternoon tea.”

It amused Astoria, sometimes, to wonder about how others perceived the two women. Exquisitely dressed with not a hair out of place nor a single smudge on their war paint, the women were certainly turning heads ( for their designer red lipstick and sharp as a blade winged eyeliner could be described as nothing but battle armour -- their sword and shield, the restaurant their battlefield. ) Astoria wondered, did they notice the undercurrent of their exchange, the sharp electricity turning social niceties into hidden barbs? Did they pick up on the pretences and ponder why, or assume the women dressed to the nines drinking expensive wine at a fancy restaurant were just that -- two women on a date, dressed to the nines drinking expensive wine at a fancy restaurant? Perhaps they noticed the subtle way Astoria’s gaze flickered to Pansy’s distractingly long legs as she took her seat, or maybe they noticed nothing at all. People watching was a hobby easily indulged by her line of work; a perk she never failed to take advantage of. 

As she was doing right now. 

Lifting her gaze from Pansy’s all too bronzed legs and the curve of her ankles in heels Astoria knew could bring grown men to their knees, Astoria focused her attention on the menu in her hands. Pansy was doing the same, though both women knew that neither was truly studying the menu. From the angle in which she was sitting, it was easy to watch Pansy out of her periphery. To be obvious about their true attention would go against the unspoken rules of decorum that dictated their world as rivals. Being rivals with Pansy Parkinson was like being locked in a game of cat and mouse, except they were both cats circling the same mouse, round and round until one of them faltered. Astoria had one the last round, but victories were never final and Astoria couldn’t afford to lower her guard. 

It was what made having Pansy Parkinson, and indeed her family in general, so gratifying to have as a rival. A mind is like a sword, it needs a whetstone in order to keep it sharp. Pansy was that whetstone. Every encounter with Pansy had Astoria dancing on her toes, pushing her to be better, brighter and more. Astoria was good, maybe one would even go so far as to call her great. In another world, that might have been enough. But not in this world. It was part of the challenge Astoria loved so much, and she knew the feeling was mutual.  

“You’re too kind,” Astoria replied with a gracious smile, smoothing down the trousers of her dark blue pantsuit that cut off just above her ankles. She’d worn it especially. “I’ve always thought blue was my colour, don’t you agree?” Putting down her menu, Astoria followed her companion’s example and brought her glass of wine to her lips, taking a cultured sip before giving Pansy a conciliatory smile. “Naturally. I’d expect nothing less from a Parkinson, you, no less, with your reputation. Ah, Mother. Pouring herself congratulatory champagne, as per usual. She would love to have you both over -- it has been far too long, and she does adore entertaining especially for you. Does Tuesday work for you? I’m sure Daphne is dying to see you.”  

[aliferovs]

this world’s a warzone  |♠| marcus + xenia

[aliferovs]

heroesfxll:

“It’s my body that got bruised, not my ego,” Marcus shot back without missing a beat as he hobbled toward the empty bed next to Xenia. There was, of course, always shame in getting hit in battle, but as long as they haven’t admitted defeat and still had a chance at emerging victorious, there was no reason for him to be dejected. The fight still went on. And he would make damn sure that they’d win no matter what it fucking took. A gash on the leg didn’t mean he’d let that be a drawback. They either had enough other legionnaires to cover for him, or he’d jump right back into the battlefield if he had to.

He watched as Xenia tended to her patient as he lifted one leg at a time onto the bed before hoisting his entire weight up. The right leg, as his friend had ordered, was left straightened to make sure no weight was resting on it. “You don’t need to tell me that,” he continued, shooting her yet another of his trademark amused smirks. “I know you’re the one playing doctor here, but even someone who’s never gotten hurt would know that. Anyone with a damn injured leg putting weight on it is stupid. And I, for one, am not.” The amused look was still intact as he finished, knowing full well that Xenia was going to argue with that. After all, he was a reckless warrior who threw his heart into a fight before his head raced to match up with it. ( Not that that had ever failed him before. )

She, on the other hand, was a healer. Someone who mended people up. Someone who, even if she did let her heart rule, was required to keep her head levelled and remain cool. Everything he was not. ( It wasn’t a bad thing. No one had expected it, — including themselves — but that was why their friendship worked. They filled in each other’s gaps. He was the warrior, she was the healer. He broke things, she mended them. That was who they were. ) Marcus couldn’t help but wonder how she managed to seem like she hadn’t let her composure ripple in the slightest even after tending so many of the wounded come and go.

On the battlefield, there was no time to mourn. No time to stop and think. All there was to do was act, act and act. Seeing the wounded and the dead wouldn’t even register until the fight was over. But here in the infirmary? It seemed like it was all that was registering. A surge of awe for his best friend shot through him. He reminded himself to give her a token of his thanks after this hell was over.

His head shot up when she came over to him to tend to his wound, stretching out his leg for her to see. “It’s a sword wound,” Marcus answered, gingerly beginning to unwrap the makeshift bandage. “Lost a bit of blood over it, I think. But yeah, it’s exactly what it is. Got into a sword fight with one of them. Stabbed my leg, and next thing I know, I was barely walking. It’s a fucking nuisance.” He offered her a wry grin. “Fix me up, will you? Should take you about no time, huh?”

“Is it possible to bruise your ego? I thought it was impenetrable.” Xenia eyed Marcus dubiously, arms folded across her chest as he unwrapped his wound. It was worse than it looked. Marcus had done an excellent job with his makeshift bandage -- something Xenia took credit for. In the lead up to the war, she and her fellow healers ( but especially her ) had hounded the campers until they succumbed to lessons just to shut the healers up. While Marcus had always been field smart, Xenia still forced him to practice until he could wrap a wound with bare minimum materials in his sleep. No soldier was immune from injury, and their field medical skills could mean the difference between life or death. If Xenia was going to lose Marcus one day, it wouldn’t be because he couldn’ wrap a wound.

“I’m not stupid, he says, as he hobbles into my infirmary with a bloody stab wound smirking like an ass,” Xenia huffed, throwing Marcus an exasperated look, but she couldn’t hide the way her lips twitched. To his credit, it wasn’t a life-threatening wound and he’d bandaged it and come to her instead of being an idiot and fighting on. Xenia wasn’t going to mention that, though. One incident where he’d used common sense didn’t negate his recklessness and all the other times she’d had to patch him up for being an idiot ( not to name names, but a certain stupid rivalry with a certain equally stupid someone came to mind. ) 

Gingerly she examined his wound more closely. While still bleeding, the blood was merely seeping rather than spurting -- a sign it hadn’t hit an artery. Xenia  “Lift your leg,” she ordered, straightening her posture and losing the teasing tone from earlier as she shifted properly into doctor mode. Xenia placing a pillow under it as he did so. Xenia couldn’t be his friend when she needed to focus -- she couldn’t be anyone’s friend. As much as healing was a gift from her godly parent, Xenia still needed to focus. There was no room for emotions -- if she let herself think of Marcus as her best friend instead of her patient, then the worry would creep in. When the worry crept in, she wasn’t focused, and not focusing lead to mistakes. Xenia had a room full of injured soldiers, she couldn’t afford to not be focused. “Elevating it helps with blood flow. Press your hand just here under the knee and apply pressure until I tell you to take it off. I’m going to clean the wound, and it’s going hurt, okay?”

While the wound seemed clean of debris, and the blade appeared to not have been poisoned, it had still been into contact with potentially dozens of other people and Xenia had no desire to watch Marcus get infected. With his leg elevated and Marcus applying pressure, the blood had already to slow. Xenia held up the bottle of saline solution so Marcus could see what she was doing and could prepare himself. “Alright, ready?” and without waiting for an answer, she poured the bottle straight into the wound. She knew it would sting like mad, but Xenia didn’t have time for sympathy. The wound needed to be cleaned before she could do anything else, and irrigating it with saline was the best possible option. Save ambrosia, but they had such a limited supply that Xenia didn’t want to use it unless she really had to. There were too many kids coming in half dead that needed it more than Marcus. 

“If you get tired of playing idiot soldier,” she began, distracting him with chatter as she packed the wound with more saline and gauze before bandaging it, “you’re welcome to help me here. You really should stay off that leg for a while. Ideally, I’d just order you to stay here, but something tells me you wouldn’t listen to that for particularly long.” Xenia shot her friend a stern look. “Minimum a few hours bed rest, yes? Give the wound time to clot before you decide to undo all my hard work. Speaking of, is this bandage too tight?”

[aliferovs]

dreadwvlfrps:

Freddie could not decide whether or not being in Xenia’s company comforted them, or set them more on edge. Perhaps it was a smattering of both, a speckle of green and blue on what was supposed to be a green-and-red canvass. ( Someone messed up the colours in their mind and the methods of processing them, it seemed. So much for Christmas celebrations. ) And there’s nothing wrong with wandering outside of one’s own comfort zone, although admittedly they did not expect it to be happening with such a throttling comeuppance. And it seemed so soon. The time to settle down had long since passed, for sure, and then again, could any instance of the comfort zone being thrown out the window be predicted? And if they predicted the run-in, then their fear might have won out, and they would not have gone here, to this spot, in this particular hotel, at this particular time. It might be best that the future remains blurred and unclear, as then it forces people into action ( or continuing to react, which Freddie could not fathom. ) Xenia did not seem like a reactor, but would she be as proactive as Freddie? Things started whirling about again in their head when they realised they would potentially not be departing from her – at least not as soon as they had previously anticipated.

And people in the hotel lobby were more than likely looking by this time. Although Freddie could not tell blatantly ( like one with normal sight would see ) whether Xenia turned invisible or not, it trembled in the atmosphere. As it were, if someone so happened to be looking at them at the right ( or wrong ) time, then they would see one girl vanishing and another person remaining the same, speaking once to her and then again to the potted plant. Most might not figure it out, but for every person who would not, there were several who would; after all, it wasn’t as if mutants weren’t spoken about, whether it be on billboards or news stories or wherever else. Maybe part of why Freddie wished to go get coffee now was to draw attention away from them. But then again – they didn’t know that she had disappeared just then. 

They just knew their own embarrassment knew no boundaries, and that it more than likely spilt into the colours around them. They counted their own lucky stars that Xenia couldn’t see, or else there might be more flustered crimson to be countered.

“It’s one of those things where everyone serves their purpose. Although if I was him, I would be doubting my purpose a lot besides stopping people. It would become irritating, being seen as a wall or a blockade. I remember that he wasn’t ever too keen on making friends – I think all of his good blocking abilities bled over into interpersonal relationships. He wasn’t approachable, and I don’t think he wanted to be.” Freddie flexed their fingers and pressed them all together, the cane dangling near the heel of their hand. “We took classes on the history and the like of all mutants and whatnot. Whether or not it was doctored up, I’m not sure. There might be books and accounts otherwise outside of it? If you’re ever curious. I know sometimes I am, so that I can see the information for myself.” 

And if Freddie had known about the sentiments of not needing to hide, then they would have made sure that Xenia knew they were returned. It was comforting to not have to hold one’s self in as much check as usual, although their powers needed to be held in-check all of the time. It was a difficult thing to maintain a facade of control when their emotions went haywire, but it was necessary for the good of those around them. A fleeting thought of letting Xenia get too close – and it resulting in her accidental injury – suddenly made Freddie very afraid. What if this turned out like what almost everything else had turned out like? What if there was a slip-up or an accident that ended up chasing her away? 

But they couldn’t be whisked away with those now. Because they had proposed coffee, even if it now went against their willpower to follow through with it. And they weren’t the kind who redacted their offers. Once they were made, they were made.

“No time like the present,” Freddie repeated, growing silent with Xenia’s onward plunging, and the burning of their ears rang. “You like it when I talk? Really? Nice – voice? Oh, well. I mean, I suppose that’s a good thing, because no matter what I’ve done or how much I try, everything seems to just keep coming out. It’s like there’s no barrier. And neither of us are asleep, which means that it’s a good time for coffee, and a good time for us to listen to each other continue to talk. So I think it’s all kind of working out, don’t you?” 

Just as promised, the words continued their hedging around the obstacle that Freddie tried to construct to prevent themselves from talking themselves into the nearest hole. And if there was a hole, there was no need to talk themselves into it; they would go willingly and silently and just climb right down into it and be swallowed. 

“So that means you can talk too because everything gets very livened up and decorative when you do, and I think you’re one of the first stimulating conversations to date that I’ve had.” There came the hole, the edge of it near the toes of their shoes. “Oh. Anyway. I hear people talk about this – small coffee shop that’s apparently on the corner of an avenue? People like the umbrellas on the outside seats, it strikes me as something of a cafe, but I’ve never managed to overhear the name of it and I’ve never found it myself. Hopefully you have some idea as to what I’m talking about, otherwise I believe we’re both going to wander to the nearest Starbucks.” 

It was an effort to stay visible, sometimes. The word was so much easier when she could make like Violet from the Incredibles and watch without being watched. The corporate espionage, obviously, would not be possible without this little quirk of hers. But it wasn’t just that.  It was being able to slip out of her family’s penthouse unnoticed, whether it was to avoid small talk in the elevator with neighbours or any media who might be hoping for a scoop. Xenia could make it all the way to her favourite cafe without talking to a single person, just wandering the streets in her own time at her own pace. The world seemed calmer when she was invisible. Although, it was a bit awkward when all the people saw was a floating coffee. 

Or a single person talking to a pot plant, in this case. Xenia’s nerves felt frazzled, like the molecules of her were bursting in a million directions and it was a struggle to keep herself together. If only her ability extended to making multiple people invisible, then Xenia wouldn’t have to bother conceding to social conventions and presenting herself. Freddie wouldn’t be the lunatic talking to a pot plant and Xenia wouldn’t be the freak who someone swore was literally there a second ago. It was exhausting, sometimes, having powers.

“At least with blocking powers you don’t really have to think about it,” Xenia said, tugging thoughtfully on a strand of loose hair as she spoke. “I mean you don’t have to be conscious of yourself, you know? I have to focus really hard not to just vanish in the middle of the street, especially when I’m feeling overwhelmed or anxious. The worst you can do with a blocking power is just block any supers in the vicinity -- not exactly a cause for concern, you know? I wouldn’t trade my ability for anything, but I do think it would be nice to not have to worry.” 

Xenia’s face lit up at the prospect of research. She’d never thought that maybe there could be actual books out there, a history that could be taught. Even if the only books she could find were the Anderson Tower approved versions, it was better than nothing. The prospect of burying herself in books and tracking down sources and just the whole process of research had Xenia almost bouncing on her toes. “Do you think any of the public libraries have a section on supers? Surely someone out there would have kept records, whatever history we have can’t only be known to Anderson tower. I mean, supers existed before the tower, right? We had to, in which case so does our history. At the very least, libraries have archives of newspapers and maybe some of the old ones have references or even proper articles.” Xenia released her breath, mind whirring with all the possibilities. 

How was it that such an accidental, almost literal run-in could result in something so astounding? Another super, one who didn’t mind when Xenia pestered them with endless questions and theorising, one who had information and gave it willingly, one who made Xenia’s cheeks burn and atoms frazzle and mind trip over itself. One who wanted to get coffee. If this was all too good to be true, Xenia didn’t want to think about that. 

“You do, though. It’s kind of soft and lilting? It’s just really pleasant to listen to, so please, ramble away.” At the rate this was going, Xenia was going to be red for days. Xenia linked her hands behind her back in an effort to keep them still and to regain at least some semblance of control over herself. Her nerves had just started to put themselves back together, she didn’t want to vanish again. While Xenia had her abilities under control, the rest of her was not. From the blush she couldn’t vanquish to the smile she couldn’t hide to the slight breathiness of her voice, Xenia felt like a flustered mess. She ducked her head, brushing the hair out of her eyes as she spoke. “I agree, completely. Fully wholeheartedly. I can’t think of anything better to do at this moment than getting coffee with you. I mean -- yeah. Coffee and listening to each other talk, it sounds like an excellent plan to me.”

A shot of surprise jolted Xenia’s head up. “Really? What does it look like to you? I’m imagining like, lots of little fairy lights moving around everywhere? Do dull conversations look stagnant to you, then? If simulating conversations are lively?”

Starbucks. The thought of the popular coffee chain had Xenia wrinkling her nose in distaste. Sure, it was rather snobby of her, but Xenia couldn’t help that she’d been raised by parents of quality ( Xenia could practically hear her brother’s voice in her head calling her an elitist, but she ignored it ). It wasn’t even cheap, merely just low standards in everything. While Xenia had no need to be frugal, she also wasn’t the type to go somewhere simply because it was expensive -- snob though she may be, stupid she was not. Expensive didn’t mean quality. The one and only time Xenia had dropped her standards and gone to Starbucks she’d been desperate and there’d been no other options. It had been a mistake. It wasn’t one she was going to repeat. “I don’t know if I know the exact cafe you’re meaning, but I do know this gorgeous little bakery known for its colourful umbrellas and excellent coffee. It’s only a few blocks from here, if that suits you? The last time I went to Starbucks they spelt my name wrong, it’s an incident I’d rather not repeat.” 

[aliferovs]

heroesfxll:

That incited a laugh from Keira, her arms and legs already spread to accommodate Ara inviting herself onto her lap. Letting out a hum against her girlfriend’s lips at the kiss, she murmured, “Clearly, your life’s gonna be terribly boring if you’re not always thinking about me. Perks of having a girlfriend, eh? Makes everything ten times more interesting — even though your boss might just call you biased.”

“Boss’s opinions are overrated,” Ara scoffed, snuggling against her girlfriend quite contentedly. Was there any better way to spend a Saturday morning than snuggling with one’s girlfriend? Ara thought not. “Unless, of course, they agree with yours. Then they’re valuable.’Biased’ is just a word they use to mean ‘extremely jealous of your super, wonderful, incredibly amazing girlfriend’, no?”

[aliferovs]

heroesfxll:

Wes smiled, amusement lighting in his eyes as he watched his sister admire themselves in the mirror. “Mmhm, you might want to be careful about what you say in front of her,” they remarked. “I’m sure she won’t appreciate being told that, even though we both know it’s the truth. Well then, should I get a matching tie?”

“What’s crueller, the truth or the lie? Being told what you want to hear and acting accordingly while everyone’s secretly pitying you and thinking the truth and it’s an endless humiliation or suffering the immediate brutality of the truth but then moving on and it’s better for everyone in the long term? I’d prefer the truth, personally.” Celeste didn’t drag her attention away from the mirror until after she’d finished musing. They were too busy contemplating how good her arse would look in the blue dress. How good her everything would look, really. “Yes, get a matching tie and I’ll get changed and we can go enjoy an evening of putting everyone else to shame -- as usual.”

[soundsofwinter]

chewing gum | james & ada

[aliferovs]

soundsofwinter:

@aliferovs

“Ada is going to be there, right?” 

“For the fifth time, I promise she’s going to join us,” James assured his seven-year-old. "And when has Ada ever let you down before, huh?” A hum was Aaron’s response, apparently satisfied with his father’s answer. “Now keep ahold of my hand.” He resituated his grip on Aaron as they crossed the street to the neighborhood park. Aaron, of course, knew that he could rely on Ada to stick true to her word. James, too, knew better than anyone just how dependable his best friend was. Without her, after all, James was not sure how he would have survived their school years, let alone his first years as a stumbling teenage parent. Ada had been there every step of the way, and James had attempted to do what he could to return the favor. 

He could remember them being Aaron’s age, two curious children who had a penchant for exploring and a hankering for mischief. He could also vividly recall how he was the one that always wound up taking the brunt of any punishment as Ada was nothing if not clever and she knew even back then how to talk her way out of something. Typically at the expense of James, but there were times where she would graciously swoop in and save him from a sure punishment. 

He didn’t share any of these memories with Aaron, not wanting him to get any bright ideas that would inspire and embolden his own adventures. James did not want another horrid glue incident. 

Today, he expected a healthy dose of fun and excitement that came with the promise of ice cream to reward good behavior. The outings with the three of them were a regular occurrence, something that James was grateful for as the years went by and Ada didn’t even seem to flinch before making time for them despite her ambitious, busy schedule. 

Aaron adored the blonde as much as James did, and appreciated her all the same. She had been a staple, prominent figure in Aaron’s life and James would never be able to repay her for her constant assurance and assistance that had empowered him to have the confidence to embark in the world of parenting at such a young age. James considered himself fortunate. Including Ada, he was surrounded by many individuals who had helped him. In a lot of ways, he didn’t feel like a single parent and he had never believed that Aaron was lacking anything in his life. 

When they stepped into the playground, James took a seat on the bench and bent down to retie Aaron’s shoes before ruffling his hair. “You can go ahead and jump on the swings if you want to while we wait for Ada to get here.” 

Aaron seemed to consider his options before puffing out his chest. “I’m going to go practice on the monkey bars! I want to show Ada how good I got at them!” 

With a rumble of laughter, James watched Aaron rush over to the jungle gym, pride gleaming in his eyes. 

In all the versions of the life plan Ada created in her youth, a child was never part of any of them. James was a constant, of course. Having been her best friend and loving scapegoat for as long as Ada could remember, a life plan without him was, of course, unfathomable. While they were no longer children getting into mischief with Ada placing the blame squarely on James ( it was far easier for adults to believe James, troublemaker extraordinaire, was the culprit as opposed to pristine, eloquent Ada who spent her time engaging in books and materials and discussions no child her age should understand ), he was still her partner in crime. Still her best friend, still the warmest, kindest person she’d ever met, still the person she felt most like herself around. He would always be part of her future.

Aaron, however, had never been part of that plan. For all the ways Ada imagined her life going, she never expected it would involve a child. At least, not at such a young age. Shock though it was when James told her he was going to be a father before he’d even finished high school, there was no doubt that Aaron was a surprise Ada would cherish. Though Aaron wasn’t her son, not being in his life was as absurd as not being in James’ life. At first, it was just offering support and comfort to James, as every person did when their best friend found themselves in a crisis. Then Aaron had been born, all pink and soft and louder than anything Ada was used to, and he became a fixed part of her future. Ada couldn’t imagine a life without him any more than she could imagine life without James. Someone had to make sure the poor boy didn’t grow up wearing plaid. 

Precisely five minutes before she was due to arrive, Ada paused at the park entrance, brushing a few stray leaves off her dark coat. She was early, of course -- late was not in Ada’s vocabulary, not unless she was making a point. Disappointing Aaron by being late ( even a few minutes to a seven-year-old seemed to feel like a hundred years ) was not how she wanted to start her day. Still, she didn’t make her presence known just yet. Watching Aaron dangle precariously from the monkey bars, yelling for James to watch his new trick, Ada felt the pride that she knew was written all over her best friends’ face. Except her pride wasn’t just for Aaron, but also for James. He’d been a kid himself when Aaron was born, scared and unsteady. Now Ada watched him, laughter in his chest and pride in his eyes, standing tall and steady like he was born to this. He was still learning -- they both were -- but he’d come so far from the stumbling teen, and Ada didn’t think Aaron could’ve asked for a better childhood. A fond smile touched her face.

The leaves crunched beneath her feet as she came to stand next to James, greeting him with her customary hug and kiss on the cheek. These outings with James and Aaron were her favourites. As much as she enjoyed being at work, Ada had to admit she loved spending time with her boys more -- hence why she always did her best to make sure she could come, including keeping all of her Saturday mornings free for their traditional weekly dates. Aaron was family to Ada, and she didn’t take the honour of being in his life lightly. 

She gestured to Aaron, still hanging upside down on the monkey bars. “He’s truly fearless on those things, isn’t he?” she said, observing the boy who hadn’t yet realised she was here with a mixture of fondness and amusement. “How long’s he been practising that one for?”

[aliferovs]

dreadwvlfprs:

And Freddie had even lesser of an idea about how Xenia’s life worked. Which was to blame on their lack of hidden secrets. Despite how someone might confide to them, and then their mouth became zipped ( no one else ever heard a word about what had been said to them ) that was not to be so for themselves. They seemed, more often than not, to fall victim to the idea of just flat-out over-sharing – and of course, that had been part of the reason for their flushing. The rest could be attributed to attempting to interpret what could be seen on their part. And Xenia, despite how she prided herself on becoming invisible, loved speaking through subtleties. It was in the flashing change of the atoms around her that Freddie learnt the most – but even that was not a substitute for what she had been through and who she was. There was something quite youthful and clandestine about this whole thing, as though they had gathered for a gossiping session beneath the bleachers during class. 

They had never been made of that sort of mettle, so to go out on a limb and do such a thing might even be labelled as out-of-character. Yet they did not have to follow some kind of set schedule anymore; and there were no classes to attend, after all. Which is how they decided to justify this lapse in judgement. 

Not to mention there was a loneliness which had permeated them. The confines of living in a towering apartment building, so to speak, had at least also exposed them to others who were like them. Now, it was much more difficult to tell. It required more looking, and so there was a part of them that did not want to take this meeting for granted.

“Blocking powers? Acting as the limit? I think so. There was this guy who could just clench his fist or something along those lines, and then everyone would just go – dead? Like you couldn’t access anything whenever you faced off against him. Like some human shield. I’m not sure if it was a mutation from a power or if he was just really good at being closed off.” This last part was offered with a small chortle. The two of them had never been close, or even friends, but there had been some mutual respect stretching between them.

“Or maybe he had good timing with the bracelet pulsations. You never know.” They hoped that they had not accidentally betrayed some trade secret, but he had never been against people knowing what he could do. In fact, he himself liked to boast about it; it proved how small and large the world was at the same time, since Xenia had never met him nor heard of the idea being real. “Regardless, it looks like the universe installs its own limits so that people can’t push the boundaries too far. Like its own alert system. Mayday, mayday, Houston, we have a problem sort of thing.” 

Their hand reached up to rub their face. As if to rub away the embarrassment. 

“I mean, we could do it now! Although, in general as well, whenever really. But if you’re alright with it now, then now is just as good! It’s not everyday that I encounter someone who’s like – me – and it’s been so long since I’ve been around that comfortably and – well.” Xenia’s own movements were becoming more hurried, and Freddie fretted in attempting to assuage her, but their own embarrassment at what seemed now to be very forward kept overriding their logical attempts. “Only if you don’t have something else – going on. I wouldn’t want to interrupt if you have to be somewhere or if you’re getting coffee with someone else or you know. The thought just kind of crossed my mind, and so then I said it, because that’s kind of what happens, but I probably shouldn’t do that as much as I actually do it.” They tried to take in a breath, as though to keep themselves from talking; it most definitely wasn’t just Xenia who was flustered. Their grip found the hem of their jacket. “Yes. Now?” 

Sometimes Xenia wondered what it would have been like to be part of Anderson Tower. The decision to stay with her family was never one that she had, or would, regret but still she wondered. What would it have been like to be in a place where she didn’t have to hide her gifts because the point of the Tower was that everyone had gifts? What would it have been like to be in a place where she could discuss them with others openly, not clandestinely using hushed words in hidden spaces. To reveal it in public meant one of two things -- fetishisation, or revulsion. Half the crowd would worship you like a God while the other would throw stones. The nature of her gift was designed for hiding regardless of what the world thought of people like her -- the more people who knew about it, the less useful it became -- but the relief of a place absent of those reactions, where she wasn’t called an abomination, or the devil, was one sorely wanted. Plus, the possibilities for what she could learn from others like herself seemed endless. And even, what they could learn from her. Xenia had known Freddie for less than a day, but already she’d learnt something knew about herself. What could she learn from a tower full of them? Her curiosity was insatiable -- her brother wasn’t wrong when he teased her about being a nerd. While Xenia knew now from Freddie that Anderson Tower wasn’t a place where Xenia would thrive, that desire to be part of something with others like herself, to remained.

Perhaps, though, the two needn’t be mutually exclusive.  

Who said you needed Anderson Tower to create a safe space for the gifted? There was Xenia, her twin brother, Mathieu, her best friend, Lisette and now there was Freddie. If Freddie wanted it. If she found Freddie, maybe she could find more. No bracelets, no restraints. Just people who understood, who could learn from and with each other. Xenia didn’t want to save the world, she just wanted to learn. And now maybe she could. The thought made her feel giddy -- or maybe it was Freddie’s coffee offer making her feel like that. Either way, Xenia couldn’t keep the smile off of her face, even as she pondered Freddie’s thoughts.

“I can’t say that the idea of meeting him appeals to me much, but I am glad he exists. Although, scientifically I am insanely curious to know how that works.I can’t decide if I’d think it was cool or not to have a power like that -- I mean like, seeing everyone else get to do cool stuff like read auras and go invisible while you can cut people off. I think I’d simultaneously think that was cool but also feel a little bit cheated. Then again, I suppose I’m biased because I’m overly fond of my own.” Xenia let out a soft laugh. “I don’t really know much about people like us, honestly. I mean, I knew about Anderson Tower I just chose not to go. Everything you’ve told me makes me glad I did, actually. But other than the few people I’ve met -- including you -- and you know, the occasional person you hear on the news and whatnot, I don’t know any others like us or much about us. You’re the first person I’ve met from Anderson Tower, too. It’s, you know, really cool to meet someone else. It’s really nice.”

Xenia ducked her head, cheeks flaming even more as she couldn’t keep the pleasure off of her face. The only consolation for her flustered embarrassment was that Freddie seemed equally flustered and embarrassed. On Freddie, it was endearing. That, and the fact Xenia was graced with dark enough skin to hide the blush ( could Freddie tell she was blushing? She hoped not, though suspected they could -- when would the ground swallow her up? ).

How someone she had just met could have this much of an impact on her was baffling to Xenia -- though, it was nice. It was like Freddie said -- finding someone she felt so immediately comfortable around was a rare feeling for Xenia. As an easygoing girl, making acquaintances was easy for her. Smiling at strangers, holding conversations, entertaining her parents’ guests at functions -- that was second nature to her. It gave her the illusion of popularity. But finding people she connected with, who she wanted more than just a surface level relationship with, who she wanted a genuine friendship with, well that was rare. There was always part of Xenia she had to hold back from people.

It was funny out Freddie was so backwards -- that is, Xenia’s powers had been the first thing they learnt about her, rather than being the last. It was relieving, actually. Not having to hide it, not having to pretend like she was normal like she did when her schoolmates discussed their opinions of supers, or grit her teeth in seething silence as guests in the lobby of her hotel spoke ill of people like her. Hiding was exhausting. It was nice not to hide from Freddie.

“I like now. I don’t have anywhere else I’d rather be than having coffee with you. Or tea, or hot chocolate, or whatever. You know, I like it all. Um, yes, now. No time like the present, right? But really, coffee’s good at any time. Is there ever a bad time for it? Aside from when you’re trying to sleep. Now that’s a terrible time for coffee.” God, every attempt to salvage her shredded pride just made it worse. Where was her eloquence when she needed it? Why couldn’t she stop rambling?

As if she couldn’t embarrass herself any further, she blurted, “I like when you talk,” before biting her lip as if that would somehow tug the words back into the safety of her mouth. Like Freddie, she felt she should probably stop talking, but the words kept spilling regardless of what she wanted.“I mean, I like what you have to say. And you have a nice voice. Um.” Because that was totally a normal thing to say to someone you barely knew. Congratulations, Xenia, she thought to herself. Fool of the year award goes to you!

It was kind of pointless to stare at her feet -- it wasn’t like that would hide her ever reddening face from Freddie. Of all the people to embarrass herself in front of, it was the one person who could see her whether she was visible or not. Great job, Xenia. She did it anyway, before realising with a jolt that all of her wishing to hide had actually had an effect. Freddie was now talking to a pot plant again instead of another human. Her natural flight instincts had kicked in because of her embarrassment, and she’d vanished. She supposed it didn’t make much difference to Freddie, but she pushed herself to become visible again anyway. It seemed polite. Xenia cleared her throat, tucking her hair behind her ears again. How her brother would be laughing if he could see her now. “Anyway, did you have a particular place you wanted to go?”

[aliferovs]

i see you in the stars |♠| gisèle + ada

[aliferovs]

iinkheart:

More than two weeks apart, and Gisèle was just now starting to convince herself that it might be for the best. With Ada, she was comfortable in a way she had yet to find elsewhere, a deep-rooted sense of contentment between the two girls that they had yet to find elsewhere. ( Not that there had been any attempts to try, even. There was no point to trying to find another person they fit so well with when they had each other. ) They could be themselves, utterly and completely. Perhaps the concept wouldn’t have been so novel in all friendships, but for two as private as them, it was a near miracle. They knew each other — in the silent-communication, psychic-bond, mistaken-for-twins way that even had perfect strangers assuming them sisters. It wasn’t an improbable conclusion, even, not the way the two gravitated towards each other.

They knew each other in ways that meant that Gisèle could catch a downturn of her best friend’s mouth and react immediately, imperceptibly, because there was a difference between a superior frown and a sad one and she had known the difference since before she could spell the word frown itself. They knew each other in the way she could text Ada a perfectly innocuous sentence and Ada would still find the negativity lurking in her head through the four innocent unrelated words and try to pull it away. They knew each other; were home in a way no house and no family could ever be. Two girls who had grown up together sharing the world and liked it that way.

After all, they hadn’t been Gisèle and Ada for as long as memory served, more than happy to simply be GisèleandAda. And for two people who could certainly bask in any attention they got and relished proving themselves better than others, the very fact was a mystery. So easily, they could have been rivals, at each other’s throats. They could certainly be different enough to make it possible. But once the bond had been cast, nobody had really bothered questioning it.

And maybe it was time to question it. As sad as it made her (and as lonely as weekly sleepovers held over Skype only could be) maybe they had been too reliant. They were perfectly self-sufficient individuals apart, Gisèle was sure of that, but there could be no certainty until they really knew, and there was no way to do so when they were permanently attached at the hip. Perhaps the distance really was for the best; something that would help them grow into better, stronger people.

Of course, it could not help the fact of how intensely she wanted to have been there in Italy, present when Ada met her other childhood friend for the first time. Gisèle knew that the two bonded with entirely different sides of her, Ada vaguely disapproving of the very traits that joined her and Cassius Fulgora: verbal obscenities and physical responses. But she also knew that both were fearsome in their own rights, mighty powerhouses in a way that surprised others despite the vague air of power they carried. It would have undoubtedly been a sight to behold, this meeting of Cassius Fulgora and Ada Greengrass. Gisèle meant to pry every detail out.

Her own share of gossip was answered first, shoved quickly aside both for discretion’s sake and to focus on Ada’s: “Saving it for another day, yeah. You know how that pesky fudge sauce gets better with anticipation. Especially when it has no shame whatsoever. Claims to be called James Potter, older brother of two and wearer of plaid. But anyway, Fulgora. I need to hear everything. For posterity’s sake, obviously. Not that anyone ever doubted that the male race can be exceptionally stupid, even when they do fuck well, but how do they compare?” The laugh that followed Ada’s description of classmates, however, was much less animated: a quiet gentle thing that curled up warm to fill up the corners of her chest. Because Ada was important and comfortable and warm, the way only home could be, and the ease of how the moment flowed had her curling back into her pillow in utter contentment, bones gone warm and liquid in the feeling. “You tell them, girl,” she cheered, approval clear in her tone. “Most study groups are useless, as are the people willing to start them. I mean, they aren’t even smart enough to that people who have done their research are unlikely to be dumb enough to share it so easily? It’s sad to see such idiocy, really.”

Sleepovers via skype were not the same. Ada could say this with absolute certainty. Sure, she could still see Gisèle and hear her, but it wasn’t the same. Ada wouldn’t call herself an overly tactile person, but she definitely missed her best friends’ physical presence. Being able to curl into her best friend was one of the most cherished parts of their sacred sleepovers. The affection between them was as easy as breathing, warm as the sun, and as natural as the ease to which they fell into their unshakeable bond. Ada wasn’t the cold, aloof, unapproachable person who held her head like she could conquer the world with her hands tied behind her back with Gisèle -- she was just a teenage girl with her equally teenage girl soul sister, and everything that came with that. Ada’s fingers drummed on her laptop, and it was with a pang that Ada noticed how chipped they were -- Gisèle couldn’t paint Ada’s nails through a screen, and no one painted nails quite like Gisèle . No, it wasn’t the same at all.

Ada didn’t like it.

Disputing the fact that this would most likely be good for them was futile, but that didn't mean she had to like it. Hypocritical as it was, though, Ada still wouldn’t choose to be back in England at a university with Gisèle. Ada had too much to see and too much to learn to choose her safety net. This university was an ambition, the freedom was an ambition, the opportunities presented here were an ambition— not dreams, though. Dreams were fickle, flimsy things. Too prone to being fantasy and never reality. Ada didn't dream, Ada achieved. Nothing stood in her way when she had a goal, even if that meant being separated from Gisèle. If there had been a way to have both, Ada would’ve taken it in a heartbeat. 

A hint of a smile touched her lips, laced with a wry kind of humour as she thought of Cassius Fulgora.

“We may have spent almost four hours debating The Art of War when he saw me reading it in the library. He’s unexpectedly intelligent — but don't tell him I said that, his ego needs deflating, not inflating.” It wasn't that Ada had assumed her best friends’ friend was an idiot — Gisèle had standards, after all ( though sometimes Ada questioned them ) — it was just not much about what Cassius Fulgora led Ada to believe he had a mind that could be a match for hers. Cassius Fulgora was, from Ada’s limited knowledge prior to meeting him, a boy with a taste for blood and a penchant for fights, who spat barbed words from behind a smirk and his ego shield. Just like Gisèle, albeit a side of Gisèle Ada was less well acquainted with. Her Gisèle and Cassius’ Gisèle were not quite the same, and nothing had prepared Ada to think that she and Fulgora would have more in common than a mutual best friend. It was pleasantly surprising. Of course, Fulgora still had plenty of time to make her reconsider.

One word snagged Ada’s attention from the smart mouthed Italian backed to the screen in front of her. 

“Plaid?” Ada arched a judgement brow, leaning forward and shaking her head. “Two weeks away from me and your standards just vanish. I can’t believe you’d choose a boy who wears plaid This better be good quality fudge. Plaid.”

[aliferovs]

dreadwvlfprs:

The room filled with different sorts of zapping electric nodules whenever Xenia talked. Perhaps it was due to the capacity in which she spoke, combined with the words said at all, but it was one of those things where it commanded some kind of attention. Then again, it might have all to do with Freddie being interested, and the rest of the environment having lost persuasion. There were a dozen and one hotels in this immediate area, and more scattered across the globe, even if it be something simple as a roadside motel, or expensive as something luxurious, or one of those student hostels nestled in the downtown area of a foreign city. And so, even when leaving this one and at some point, making for the one recommended under Xenia’s talking, it would have similarities to the rest of them. Lobbies, talking people, rooms, a sense of grandeur that might be completely lost on them ( as it were. ) But it was a rare sight to run across another like them, a Super who had utter control over themselves – and who utilised it in a medium outside of what Freddie had known. 

It was not envy which struck them down, nor a sense of slighted-self, but rather a pang. What would their life had been, had the Anderson Tower not noticed their plight and come to their aid? What would university have done if they had remained, attempted to make something quite normal out of something entirely abnormal? Not that anyone had noticed it was them. It’d been penned as an unhappy accident, one of the few times the news reports hadn’t managed to out them ( or anyone else, for that matter. ) Their presence there had been disguised, and in their shock ( no pun intended ) at having committed such an act, they had sunk down to the floor and remained there, shivering and looking very much like they, too, had suffered the effects of the electrocution. It had been more along the lines of trembling exhaustion, however, and the heartrending realisation that they had done a terrible thing, as electric currents had never gone to betray them and more than likely never would. But they had betrayed themselves; that had been the gist of it. They thought they were stronger than that, and it had been proven otherwise. What was the use of control if they never managed to get control? And would they have even been able to move on from that, if Anderson hadn’t found them? 

Their fingers went to the place where the bracelet had once been. This more than likely would remain an unbreakable habit. Even years from now, when all of this stayed in the distant past and did little else than thread across their memory at random times, their hand would find that distinct place where it felt as though they had been marked. Branded. What Xenia said held a little bit a truth to it, and the old tempers that spited them flared. It had been part of the reason they’d been so condemned to leave it, despite what good it might have done them. Because of the strain, because of what they had seen it do to those softer than them. They had made what was left of them hard, they had forced themselves to function as they needed to. But there had been a multitude of others who hadn’t been so fortunate.

“I think what they were aiming for was uncontrolled things beneath supervision. I’m not sure if that’s the sort of thing they managed, but that’s what they wanted to do. They tried to listen, but a lot of what was said was – sort of viewed as rebellious behaviour at times. And you’re – well, I mean, you’re not wrong. And I did get overwhelmed. Completely.” 

How much could Xenia be told? She had catapulted beyond stranger, but Freddie was always a little wary of people. Even if they could read them quite well. They decided to tamper down on what was being said, and to tuck it away for later. If they managed to meet her again – well, then perhaps the secrets of the tower could be revealed. 

At least Xenia had the gift of being able to ramble back. 

“I hope nature places limitations on us, too,” they said. “Because I don’t think we’re very good at realising our own limits until we reach them. And even if we reach them, some people are apt to push past them, to make attempts for more and more. There’s a certain amount of condition and strengthening that can be done, to make room for that – but it takes a toll eventually. Kind of like all those superheroes you read in the comics; even the good guys can’t take a lot before they succumb to kryptonite or whatever else. And everyone can be defeated by someone else, at some point, or so it seems. Which means that nature might place limits within other people. Though – that would be kind of a burden, wouldn’t it.” 

Freddie pictured some kind of square thing, perhaps with those twisted-structures next to it, like a palace of old. Everyone talking about it. Like a castle. But they had never seen a castle, only had spires and such described to them, architecture looking like tall scoops of ice cream from one of those machines ( and that had intrigued them so much, they’d touched such an ice cream cone, just to be able to picture it. ) Is that what this hotel looked like?

They blinked at the sudden splash of colour slathered above them. It came suddenly, rushed into the picture as though afraid it wouldn’t garner enough attention. And their own face sort of – coloured to match it. They could feel that much, the heat building, and it shouldn’t have been out of embarrassment. They didn’t think it was anyway. “Well, at least we don’t have to worry about picking fights over drinks. But I’ll listen in then, if people will be talking about it. I’ve not yet crossed the bridge, or even gone through the park, so this will give me a reason to do both.” It did embarrass them, however, that they didn’t have much of a schedule. That they could go there right now, because they were trying to figure out their purpose. That their life had somehow piled up against them in this way, confused them to wandering. “Maybe I’ll even be able to detect it above all the other buildings, if it’s that tall and grandiose.” 

A thought struck them. “– Did you want to go get coffee?” 

It felt almost clandestine, their conversation. While Xenia didn’t know all the details of Freddie's life, she imagined they did not broadcast their powers to the entire world. As an outsider, even as an outsider with powers, Xenia knew very little about the workings of Anderson Tower. What little she knew had come from recruitment propaganda and Freddie. She imagined Anderson Tower preferred to keep it that way. Likewise, very few people knew about Xenia’s life. Avoiding media was impossible when your parents were not only part of the prominent Adair family, but owned and operated the hotel chain. Xenia, however, had no intention to interact with them more than she had to -- she wouldn’t be their pet media darling. Outside of her family, she could count on one hand the number of people who knew she was more than just the daughter of successful business entrepreneurs. Her powers were her most closely guarded secret.

And yet, here she was with Freddie, a person she’d only just met, discussing them in public. Granted, in the somewhat secluded hiding place Xenia had chosen there were not too many people, and she and Freddie were being careful about what they said and quiet, but still. 

It was nice, having someone know and not feeling afraid. Upon learning about Xenia’s powers, Freddie had neither looked greedy nor horrified -- two reactions Xenia dreaded the most. Well, Xenia supposed Freddie could turn out to be someone with a secret agenda to gain her trust and exploit her, but she doubted it. 

“In order to make room for that extra power, something else has gotta give, you know? You can’t just make space from nothing. Things have a cost, or at least I believe they should. A limitless world sounds like a terrifying one.” Xenia paused, something Freddie said sparking a thought within her, “ -- have you ever come across a person who can block powers? Like, they don’t necessarily have a power of their own but they can cut other people off from theirs? Like a human bracelett.”

Xenia imagined it was possible, maybe even likely that such a person existed -- nature’s way of reminding the ‘supers’, as they were called, that they were not Gods, they were not invincible. They were not even superheros, even though that’s what the world called them. Just people, humans, with mortal lifespans and mortal problems and mortal bodies. The idea of meeting one held no appeal for Xenia ( at least a bracelet could be taken off and thrown out, how did someone stop a living power blocker? ), but she hoped one existed. Some people pushed too far, crossed too many lives, and there had to be a failsafe for that. 

Before Xenia could get lost in her contemplation, she was asked to coffee.

“ -- like, right now?” Xenia flushed again upon realising how rude that sounded. “I mean, if you want to get coffee now that’s fine, more than fine, it’s great I’m here for it. If you meant another time then that’s fine too, you know, whatever works.” Xenia knew her brother would be laughing at her if he could see her now -- flushed cheeks, awkward rambling, self-conscious tucking and untucking of her hair behind her ears as of she could hide behind it. Xenia wasn’t usually one to get so easily flustered, yet here she was simultaneously wishing the ground would swallow her up ( if she couldn’t use her invisibility, she’d settle for the ground ) and hoping Freddie was feeling something similar. Not that Xenia wanted the ground to swallow her newfound acquaintance-slash-friend-slash-something up, but it would be nice to know she wasn’t the only one feeling so embarrassingly nervous and awkward. 

[aliferovs]

Love is blindness |♠| James + Ada

[aliferovs]

soundsofwinter:

The wave of warmth that emitted from his best friend’s voice was not unfelt, but the rush of heat rolled over him in a shiver through his body that otherwise felt desolate and cold. James had always been so warm. The last time that he and Ada had reunited, he had been so excited that he had lifted her up into a full-body embrace and twirled her around in the spot. Now, he didn’t even dare lift a finger, lest all that he grasp wind up being air. Ada was a solid, steady presence in his life, always had been, yet in the moment where he was left most vulnerable, he hadn’t reached out for her reassurance.

( They’d always, always been there for each other. It was a staple of their relationship. He had been there when Ada’s mother had passed, yet when despair had found him, he hadn’t offered Ada the same opportunity to similarly be there for him. )

It wasn’t fair of him, and he knew it, but nothing felt fair about his condition. James was angry in a way that the otherwise even-tempered man was not accustomed to.. He wondered if his mother had told Ada hoping that she could make a difference, but considering the tilt in her voice, he was led to believe that his family had listened to his insistence that he could handle this on his own, that his independence would not be entirely stripped from him. On a rational level, he knew that his family only wanted to support him, but James’ mind was too foggy of a haze to see much of anything clearly. Considering that he couldn’t see anything at all.

James wondered if Ada had her hair pinned back in a braid, a signature look for the blonde. Was she dressed in her typical black or was she wearing a splash of color? Purple, perhaps. He couldn’t know.

He didn’t even know why she was back in England in the first place. And, after over a decade of friendship, James had never felt more of a distance between himself and Ada, even when they had survived being an ocean apart. She was right in front of him, but there was a wall between them that James had built with his own two hands.

He had thought he had bridged the gap between them when he had opened up to her before he was deployed, laying his honest, genuine feelings for her out on the table and displaying himself bare before her. Funny how all the stories insisted that there was nothing better than falling in love with your best friend when James felt horribly wretched, a heavy weight on his shoulders that he knew Ada would help him lift, if only he could voice it.

But he wouldn’t.

Yet there was a line to be drawn, and even with all of his anger sitting in his gut like heavy lumps of coal that could spark a fire at any given moment and catch Ada in the flames of his frustrating struggle, he insisted, “Of course it is.” The words were rushed, contrived. “I just…wasn’t expecting you. Did you message me? I’ve been having some difficulty lately with texts.” No one was volunteering to read and answer his texts to Ada anymore and he hadn’t downloaded the software that would read the texts to him. “Come on in.” Having leaned on the door as a crutch, he moved forward to offer her a path inside, stepping back into the apartment that wasn’t lit.

There was no need to waste electricity, after all. He fumbled for the light switch in the hallway, relying on the sensory memory of its location to flip it on. “Sorry if the place is a mess.” He had to tell her, if she didn’t already know. Even if she did, James knew that the least Ada deserved was to hear it from him, but the words were a jumble in his mouth, the synapses of his brain not cooperating to form coherency. Perhaps the entire wiring was now faulty after the damage to his occipital lobe. “I, uh, actually got back to the apartment not too long ago.” It wasn’t a lie. He had been released from the hospital only two days before. But Ada should get more from him than a stretch of the truth. He shook his head, hand moving to run across his buzzed hair, scalp shaved clean about a month ago when they had operated on him. “But why don’t we go to the living room and we can catch up?” It was a weak offer at best, but then they could at least both offer explanations. Ada on why she was in England, and James for why he hadn’t told her about the end of his deployment.

If Ada wasn’t already certain before of James’ blindness, she was now. Unless, of course, her best friend had suddenly acquired the habit of living in the dark and not meeting her eyes for the hell of it. Ada had to admit, it hurt a little not being told – even his family had kept it from her. Had she not spontaneously shown up on his doorstep, she might never have found out. If it had been anyone else except James who kept something like this from her, she might have wondered if it was out of spite – James had confessed to being in love with her, after all, something to which Ada hadn’t exactly given the best response to. Physically, she’d always been attracted to James, but romance was never something she’d thought about with him. Needless to say, it had taken her by surprise. The words Ada usually commanded so eloquently deserted her, leaving her scrambling to figure out how the two of them had gotten onto such different pages. She still didn’t know. But James was James and not anyone else, so Ada knew vindictiveness wasn’t the reason for his silence.

She followed him into the apartment, heels clacking loudly against the floor. It was painfully loud in the silence that had descended between the pair. Even the sound of Ada’s breath seemed too loud for comfort. Was it this loud for him, she wondered? Louder as his ears and other senses heightened to compensate for the loss of his sight. It was such a different reunion to what their last one had been – there was no hug, no laughter, no beaming grins full of warmth and affection and love. Anyone watching the pair now might’ve thought they were strangers.

It certainly felt like it.

Perhaps Ada should’ve taken his lack of communication, about his injury and in general both, as a sign to give him space. A pair doesn't go from texting regularly to nothing without a reason, after all. Perhaps she should’ve waited for him to come to her, instead of dropping in unannounced. She’d sent him a text letting him know she was in London, but it was clear now why she’d never gotten a reply. And why James was so surprised to see her. Regardless of whether or not showing up was the right thing to do, Ada was already here and there was little use in regrets. The way Ada saw it, James was her best friend, and she would be here to help him through this the same way he helped her when her mother died. It was a relief, too, just to see him again.

Catch up -- that’s what he said. Catching up seemed like an understatement given all that had transpired between them before his deployment, and what had happened to him during it. Ada almost nodded in response to his suggestion but caught herself just in time. Remembering to verbalise her responses all the time would take some getting used to. Ada couldn’t even imagine how difficult this adjustment must be for James. “Living room sounds good. As much as I like your doorway, it’s a little bit too chilly to be standing out here.”

The apartment was one she knew by heart, the place she typically spent the most time at when she was back in London. James’ place had always been one of memories and warmth to Ada. Funny how something so familiar could be so different. Once upon a time, Ada treated this place like it was her own home. Now there was a hesitation to her step as she made her way into the living room, taking in the room and moving to the sofa.

“I, uh, should've called ahead, sorry.” Ada wasn’t used to apologising to James, especially for unannounced visits. The right words just seemed so out of reach. “I thought your parents would've told you I was coming. I just heard you were back and I just...,” she paused, unsure how to explain the overwhelming relief that had hit her when she heard James was back, or the worry that nagged at her throughout his deployment ( as it always did when her best friend went off to war ), or the desperate need to see her best friend for herself, just to know he was alive. Being temporarily separated by an ocean was hard enough, Ada had no plans to make it permanent. “I just wanted to see you.”

[inkspilled]

leave me in the cold

[aliferovs]

inkspilled:

I am not ruined. I am ruination. She repeated the words to herself, the reiteration reaching deep within her to assert the sentiment. The words were heavy. She did not know where it had come from, a phrase borrowed from some unremembered text in a long forgotten library, but it was nonetheless what had clawed free from the cavity of her chest and floated to the back of her throat, choking her there. Because that was what he felt like.

                    RUIN.

His unacknowledged glance scaled over her allegation, but the words glued in her own throat, a raw, choking confirmation of guilt. Evidence that she so readily embraced the act of violence; the cannibalism of tasting his blood. She would have torn him apart, had it helped. And he knew it. The worst of it would always be that he knew precisely how much she did and did not wish it simultaneously. He knew precisely how dearly she yearned to reduce him to a broken carcass and set it aflame; how keenly the very thought stung her.

Gisèle wanted nothing more than to destroy him, and then separate. She could not do it.

Accusation lined his every word. Perhaps, had she been another girl, she could have missed it. But Gisèle Rousseau knew the man before her better than she knew the drag of her own fingertips against her scalp. He had been everything, all at once, for so long now. And with every word that came from his mouth, out poured miles of concealed subtext.

I can’t leave you, it meant. I wish I could, that this could stop, but I can’t do it. And that’s fine because you can’t either. You can’t leave me or break me and, even while you try to do it, you’re worth the games. You’re worth playing the games to me. The mere fact that she knew this – that every word he had ever uttered had unfolded before her immediately to reveal its meaning – was what curled inside her chest, hotter even than the shame.

Because it was shame that burned her at her reaction: his words had slipped through between her ribs, but the hurt hadn’t stopped her body’s response to his hoarse voice and the lack of space between them. Pained words uttered in a voice nearly cracking, burdened by the frustration and pain she had spread, should have rightfully hurt her. And they did. But she reacted nonetheless, heat racing through her like liquid fire, igniting the pit of her stomach. Fuck, even cracking and fighting, she wanted him so damn much.

All evidence pointed towards her having an advantage. Her doing the hurting, her painfully attracted to him even in sadness, her deciding the pace. An observing bystander might even have attributed an imbalance to the relationship: the girl cutting and the boy bleeding. He might have thought so. She was no stranger to concealing her sentiments, after all. It was entirely plausible he take her for her arguments’ worth at some point. It would certainly make him leave. Heartbroken, maybe, but he would be gone.

As much as she wanted that, however, Gisèle could not do it. Perhaps it was nothing but selfishness; her own desire to have her friend and fuck him too.  But she could not do it. She would not let him go, any more than she could hold him. Nathaniel Matheson was her ruin and her absolution; her best friend and worst foe. And she could not let him go. Nate was hers.

And she was his. His gaze said as much, trailing deliberately over her bared skin before pausing at her eyes. Always there. Because that was it, wasn’t it? They both knew. As much as they pretended to sweep their battles under the mattress, to claim it a casual casualty, he would always find her gaze first before they touched. As equals. As partners. A poor diversion it may have been, but it would still be them, as best as they knew how amidst this storm.

He looked like an arsehole. Gisèle wished she could hate it, that the lazy mean amused intimidation pouring off his hulking form were anything but attractive, even as her fingers reached behind her to unhook her bra.

“And hypothetically, what if you were?” she questioned, challenge clear in the tone of her voice. “What if, despite the struggle, you were winning? Theoretically, of course. Would you like a prize for your efforts, Nate? Some way to let you know that this battle was yours; that I am yours? At least for today.”

They were a study in ruin.

In broken pieces who pretended to be whole, in lies that spun truth and facades that fooled nobody. They were in a study in not letting go, even when letting go was the better option. They were in a study in remnants, clinging to fragments of what they were but never trying to piece them back together. It was a fragile balance they had created. A push to every pull, a claw to every slice, fire to every thunderclap, a back to every forth. When the balance was upset, it was quickly restored. 

Nate couldn’t claim he didn’t know how they’d gotten here, it would be lying. He knew the exact moment, down to the date, the hour and the minute that they’d gone from everything to the salvaged scraps in a storm that they were now. He’d known it was coming before it happened, too. 

The war had been raging for years, hopeless and bitter and never ending when his mother sat the family down, not too long after their father’s death ( truthfully, it was not a death many of them mourned ). This is it, she had said, this is enough. Liam and Nate both bore the Dark Mark, though for different reasons, and they were soldiers for a cause nobody was quite sure of anymore. Guilt gnawed at Liam’s bones and blood dripped from Nathaniel’s once ivory fingers. Max was getting to the age where joining the ranks was expected, and the restlessness in Alexandra was unsettling at the very least. Victoria Matheson had had enough. The war had taken enough from them, it wasn’t going to take her family too.

We’re turning neutral, she declared to a room of children ( because that is what they were, even if their ages said otherwise -- growing up in a war did not make them adults ). Stunned into silence, they thought she was joking. The war was going nowhere, the sides were blurring and it was simply fighting for the sake of it now, she claimed. She refused to lose her family to this war, so she ensured it would not happen -- by taking them out. 

Liam’s shoulders had sagged -- defeat? Relief? In fear that this might be yet another glimmer of hope to be stolen from him? Was that hint of tension that never seemed to leave from anger, frustratuon, disbelief? Nate hadn’t known, then, but now he recognised the slump as tired, because Nate’s were the same. Liam had been fighting for so long, in so many more ways than being a mere soldier, and now he was finally being given a chance to rest. Little Max, barely sixteen, looked like he might cry. Nate knew his little brother wasn’t a fighter -- it was why Liam shouldered the burden he did, so the others ( hopefully ) would not have to. Now there was no chance that Liam’s sacrifice might not have been enough. Anger simmered under the surface of his sister’s skin, but Nate saw the rest of it, too. The conflicted feelings of guilt, of anger, of uncertainty -- did she want to fight? Was it worth it? Was the craving in her bones for the attention, the thrill, the dark enjoyment worth the risk? He knew, because while Max mirrored Liam, Alex mirrored Nate. 

The first thought that had occurred to Nate, who was no longer the enthusiastic, thrill seeking reckless boy of fifteen, was Gisèle. Rousseau her name legally may have been, but she was a Matheson, adopted into the family the way Nate adopted her into his heart. He knew her better than he knew himself, and he knew that this was one place she wouldn’t follow. He knew, because she hadn’t followed when, all those years ago, Cassius turned neutral. He’d been with her, felt the bitterness she felt, the hurt that curled around her heart like a claw. It wasn’t difficult to see the fractures this would cause. Yet he chose it anyway, because really, what choice did he have?

( and maybe, he had some naive hope that one day she would come to u n d e r s t a n d, to forgive, to come back into the circle of his arms and stay. )

Nathaniel Matheson could not lie and pretend he didn’t know the cause of their ruination. He would do neither of them this disservice and deny that it was his decision. 

His gaze was still on hers, always on hers, even as her bra fell to the floor. Everything was deliberate about both of their actions, even something as simple as taking Gisèle ’s clothes off. She wasn’t just taking her clothes off, she was allowing herself to be his -- an echo of what they were. It wasn’t just about sex, it was about restoring their balance. They played a game, but neither could ever be allowed to win. Just as she could not break him, and he could not leave her, the game could not be won. Winning meant they were over. Holding her gaze was a reminder of this. He didn’t want to lose her, not even when all they had left were the shattered remains. At the end of it all, he still belonged to her, and she still belonged to him, and there was nothing either of them could do to change this. 

“Hypothetically, I prefer the game when neither of us are winning.” His gaze dragged down her face, back to those lips he would soon claim as his own, down to the now bare breasts brushing against his chest. There was no hiding the desire in his gaze, the tightening of his trousers or the appreciative curve of his lips -- nor was there an attempt to. For all the lying between them, what he thought of her body was always painful honest. It was beautiful to him, and that was never a secret. 

“Is this not a prize?” He questioned, reaching out to trail his fingers down her side, skimming her breast lightly and relishing the feel of her bare skin beneath his hands. Bare for him. He could feel his heart thrumming in his chest, so loudly he almost couldn’t hear anything else. Nate wondered if she could feel it, given how close they were. He let his hand linger for a moment longer, before dropping it again. It was left to her to initiate anymore touching. Nate lifted his head to meet her gaze again. “Are you not mine? Am I not yours? At least, for today.” There was an unmistakable edge in his voice that not enough his thick desire could hide. For today, they said, even though they both knew they had never stopped belonging to each other. For today, they pretended, and they would say the same tomorrow, and the next day, and so on. That was how the game went. “I thought that was obvious.”

[aliferovs]

iinkheart:

An emphasis on pawn. Had she not been practised in the art of hurting him, her breath might have hitched in her throat. Even with the weeks of re-enacting the same tableau, the man’s clenched fist seemed to reach between her ribs for a moment, squeezing tight around her heart. And as with each instance his touch reached beyond the surface of her skin, Gisèle exhaled slowly, expression hardening.

She reached up, laying a hand against his neck. The pulse of his Adam’s apple was visible. Visceral. Evidence of the most damnably soft part of one of the hardest things she knew. ( His body, at least, qualified. Gisèle wasn’t sure if hard could ever define the boy within. ) Slowly, her thumb brushed the column of his throat. “Oh, darling, I WISH. I wish I could break you and toss you like a pawn. There would be no need for precautions then, would there? The game would be won.”

Pulling her hand back, Gisèle moved to remove her jacket and fold it neatly over the back of an armchair. Owning the space. Like she was used to. Like she still could. She spoke as she did so, tone measure and careful. “But, Nathaniel, there are definitely rules in this game. And you know them as well as I do.” She turned back to face him. “For example, there is always a sure fire method to both turn the game and solve any predicament we may have. This.” Her hands reached for the hem of her shirt.

If there was bitterness coating Nate’s words, it was because he didn’t bother hiding it. Then again, Nate probably couldn’t have hidden it even if he wanted to. He knew Gisèle, but sometimes he wished he didn’t -- maybe if he didn’t, if he understood her less, this would be easier. The tide of bitter hurt and anger that always resided beneath the surface would recede, interactions would be less exhausting, subtext less biting. If Nate didn’t know Gisèle, he might have thought she genuinely hated him -- an easy enough assumption to make, he supposed. If Nate didn’t know Gisèle, he would never pick up on the bitterness in her words ( subtle as it was, she was always better at control than him ), or the way she changed topics whenever he struck a nerve, leaving her feeling vulnerable. If he didn’t know her, Gisèle and vulnerable would not be words he ever associated with each other. If he didn’t know her as well as he did, he might believe her when she said he was nothing except entertainment.

But he did, and that’s what made it all so hard. 

She wasn’t wrong to say he had a taste for his own blood. If Gisèle was a knife, then Nate was her favourite cutting board. Hurting others to regain control was her specialty ( not all that different from breaking things, he thought -- maybe that’s why they were in such a mess ), and control was slippery in matters of Nate and Gisèle. But he knew her, and because of that he knew that control was slippery because despite all she claimed, she cared. It was why he kept coming back, why he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. Because he knew she cared. 

( you don’t put yourself through the suffering that they both put themselves through, not when a clean break would have been easier, not when r e p l a c i n g him would have easier and cutting her out entirely would have been easier, unless part of you still cared. )

Sometimes he wished he didn’t. 

A cold hand was placed on his throat, a touch so achingly familar that he almost flinched, body going rigid. She could feel every beat of his rapid heart. It was almost a predatory touch. Despite how softly her thumb brushed across his throat, it felt less like a caress and more like a knife. Her words were a twisting of the knife. He wouldn’t flinch, though. He wouldn’t offer her that sort of weakness. Instead, he twisted his features into a smirk, ripe with confidence he didn’t feel. 

Nate leaned forward, so his face hovered just above hers.

“Honestly?” His voice was hoarse. “I wish I could just leave. To say that the view isn’t worth it anymore, you aren’t worth it, but I can’t leave anymore than you can break me. Where’s the fun in that, after all? A game won so easily is not a game at all.”

Pulling back, Nate’s gaze followed her hands as they lifted her shirt, already knowing how this particular dance was going to end. It was the same routine every time, it was familiar, right down to the bitter ache in the hollows of his heart. They threw darts at each other’s hearts, met each other’s eyes with guarded gazes and words coated in lies, and pretended to ignore the scars on their hearts when the clothes inevitably came off. It was what they did, and it was a routine that Nate, for the most part, clung to.

“Are you suggesting I was winning, dearest Gisèle?” 

Lazy amusement dripped from his voice as his gaze slowly traveled from her waist, taking in the sight even though he’d seen it hundreds of times before, to hover at her lips, before eventually finding her eyes. It was a distraction, they both knew. The placing of a bandaid on a wound that needed stitches. It was their default when barbed comments and poison tipped words stung too close to the heart, a painful reminder of things best left forgotten. It was, in all honestly, a cop out, but it was one Nate never complained about. It was easier this way. 

[aliferovs]

iinkheart:

“It was soft enough to be broken. Things that soft deserve everything they get. And a bruised fist is definitely fair enough payment for the satisfaction of that. Besides, haven’t you heard how this game works? You win or you die. And I’m not. That’s why you come here, isn’t it? You’ve gotten a taste for your own blood.”

“I’m sure if I was to smash your nose with my head or hand right now, it would break. Would you call yourself soft, Gisèle? Someone who deserved to be hurt and broken and treated like nothing more than a pawn? Sometimes, even the hardest of things get broken too, no matter how many precautions get taken. Winners can lose too, after all, especially in a game with no rules. I come here for the view, same as you. There’s nothing more too it than that.”

[aliferovs]

iinkheart:

“Well, if noses are getting broken, they have nobody to blame but themselves. Only the soft get broken. The sharp carry on. And don’t call me darling, unless you’re making me come.”

“How is it their fault? They didn’t break their own nose -- someone else decided that that was the most appropriate response to a situation, even when the breaking of things could’ve been avoided. Even when doing so causes them just as much damage as was caused to the victim. Ah, apologies -- I don’t want to give anyone the impression that Gisèle Rousseau might not be the sharp, utterly unbroken, blade everyone thinks she is by calling her darling.”

[aliferovs]

iinkheart:

“Of course not, Nathaniel. I don’t keep things around long enough to break them; I simply replace my toys once they’ve exhausted their entertainment value. Breaking is your and Fulgora’s forte, I’m afraid.”

“It may be our forte, but don’t sell yourself short, darling. You’re a skilled, intelligent and talented women capable of anything, including breaking things. It’s a shame you don’t see that you actually have quite an aptitude for it. Being as unrelenting as you are, many broken noses have been left in your wake. Among other things.”

[aliferovs]

iinkheart:

“No, your easy access as fuck buddy is. Once the novelty wears off, I’m certain you can be replaced.”

“Ah, create of habit, predictable as always. Will you replace the replacement when you break that too and decide you can’t be bothered even attempting to make it work? I guess you’ve always been better at breaking things.”

[aliferovs]

dreadwvlfprs:

When it was heard for the first time, just as all other things different from what was used to, the comments left lasting impressions, whether or not it was true. It had been both a curse and a blessing to not see it – the footage as it played out across the screen, the buildings collapsing and the twisted-up expressions of those who had no powers ( but passed judgement as if they did ) and the rest of the visual triggers. But Freddie had not needed to see it to hear it. There was no shielding them from the opinionated slander of newscasters and journalists; there was no avoiding the voices accelerating in volume and winding up, high and higher, both sides trying to prove the other incorrect. And once Anderson Tower had become their temporary place of residence, there had been no protection from the backlash of that, either. It was fear which kept them from returning home, fear of being recognised and of causing more grief to their father than he deserved to endure. 

Not to mention, they had grown accustomed to the life of self-imposed exile. Entering into the training programme had been a method of that as well. Blame, all based in the pit of their gut, for what had been done and what hadn’t been done. It would be best if they were far removed from people and from what was left of their family, so that their lack of decisions wouldn’t make worse what was left over from the tempest. 

Yet regardless of personal desire, Freddie found themselves right back in the world they wished to be removed from. Living in one of those cellblocks wasn’t an ideal life, and encouragement had come from Anderson himself. Go on, then, get out into the world and do something with what you’ve been given. Not that he would confess to giving such advice, considering it was seen as wiser to be inside the building, and not outside. Keeping Supers close and their power closer, ensuring it did not unravel into something uncontrollable. Yet the needling urgency to be out in the world where perhaps their atonement could be found had driven them to walk away. It did not matter if there was an attitude of fear within him. 

At least they were out there. That was more than could be said for the majority of those they had come to know by name. Those who developed either an inhibition to escape or one to just – sort of stay inside of that cryo-cube forever. A place where one wished to be liberated or just wished to be frozen. There was no in-between, not like Freddie, who enjoyed existing in shades of grey, never veering towards one edge or the other.

But if there were people like Xenia in the world, supers who had entered no such programmes and not be inevitably squelched before their minds opened, then perhaps there was some kind of hope to be found. It would be relatively unwise, in their opinion, to state that to a stranger, even if she was slowly becoming more along the boundary of acquaintance. Even if Freddie did not feel all too uncomfortable around her. It was that self-imposed exile, combined with a sake of cautionary tales ( and remembrances of prior mishaps ) that kept those words silenced. They tucked them down somewhere else, perhaps to be said at another time. 

Although, speaking of another time, Xenia implied that they would meet again, and there was a lightness in their heart at the concept of it. Strangers in a strange world, but no longer so eerie and unknown to one another. Gradual relaxation into things. Yes, Freddie could let themselves dare to take a chance on such a notion. They wouldn’t even let their skepticism get the better of them. After all, this could be like one of those university mindsets: making promises to meet up later or get together again, only offered out of politeness rather than eagerness or actual want. And therefore the meeting-again never happened. But for now, it would be giving Xenia the benefit of the doubt, and believing her when she said it. It could always be disproven later. And Freddie hoped it wouldn’t, because there was still an optimistic part of them which bubbled out, unbidden and a little bit childish with saucer-round eyes.

“To be honest, I don’t think a lot of earth manipulators even think that far ahead. Perhaps you should have been one, in addition to being the vanishing-man. Because you have a head for thinking through a lot of things, it seems, and that’s a good thing to have. Thinking about all of the possibilities and the could, rather than focusing and getting stuck on the should. All of this kind of stuff is about balance, though, and perhaps one earth-manipulator cannot do it all.” It was all the well that Xenia mused these things aloud; even if she didn’t wish to have answers to it, Freddie could offer their thoughts based on what had been seen. “I knew one who could only control the botanical aspect, and then one who could control metals. So perhaps there’s some kind of – natural selection process. Which brings forth the question: how much is natural when it comes to abilities, and how much comes from us pushing our own limits?” 

Or being forced to push them, they added, although it was quiet and unspoken. It was not wise here, either, to mention that all of their abilities had been natural. Natural resilience to electricity, followed by natural empowerment, followed by the distribution of it outward from them. Leaving it out still made it a thing of natural selection and questioning how it worked.

Xenia’s colours flashed – was it outrage? Freddie provided a simple smile, and hoped that it was more placating than it was bitter. “Well – that’s the thing. I never really divulged that to any-one else besides Anderson himself. So sometimes, I question whether or not he actually believed me, you know? Because supers all of the time would use tactics like that to get out of wearing the bracelets at all.” Their fingers drew lines on their wrist over the place where it had once been. “They would take it off during training hours and coursework that required powers, but otherwise, the things were on. And that wasn’t enough time colloquially – well, you get the picture. That kind of attitude would’ve landed you a rebel.” 

And this made Freddie smirk a little. Because someone of a rebellious nature disrupting the flow of Anderson’s tower amused them. Nonetheless, they were glad Xenia had escaped it.

“I drink coffee,” they said, nonchalant despite the inner rush of flustered heat to their neck. “And several types of teas. And whatever so happens to smell like cinnamon.” Rambling. Because it seemed proper, to fill the spaces, because they had little knowledge as to what else to do. “Oh, does it? Well, being in-between places, I guess I’ll have to try it out. I don’t know what it is about these summers, but this one seems determined to drown us in the muggy stuff. Although I think you should probably give me some kind of … landmark, or direction, because otherwise, I might wander right past it.”

There was a degree of loneliness to being different. A sense of holding something back, because there was always a part of you that couldn’t be understood. Exposing that part meant opening oneself up to scrutiny, allowing the possibility of ridicule, mockery, hate, shame. Sometimes there was pity ( a reaction -- what was there to pity? ), sometimes jealousy. There was rarely understanding. When most of the world comprised of ordinary citizens, how could they even begin to comprehend what it was like to be different? Even the most accepting of people, even her own parents, could never truly understand what it meant. In the beginning, they did all they could to help Xenia learn control, but at the day of the day, it wasn’t something they could do much for. The news regularly reminded Xenia why her gifts were to be a secret It was a lesson learnt young, and it was a lesson never forgotten.

She was fortunate, though, to be blessed with a brother who understood the shadows as well as she understood the light. His power was almost an inverted version of hers -- she bent the light, he bent the shadows. The rest of the world may never have understood, but he did and it was something she would always be grateful for. There was always that sense of loneliness, of never truly fitting in, but Xenia had never been alone. Anderson Tower, the training programme seemed like a quick way to change that. That seemed counter-intuitive, considering it was a tower full of people like her. But it wasn’t, not really. The impression she’d got from Freddie made it seem more like a prison than a refuge. Your powers were not yours, unless Anderson allowed them to be yours. Leaving wasn’t an option because life outside the tower wasn’t safe. You weren’t safe -- to or from others. How could you be safe when your powers had never been tested anywhere except a sheltered, controlled environment? Her invitation to the programme came seven years after discovering her powers -- seven years of freedom. The participants of the programme seemed more like soldiers. They weren’t like Xenia. She wouldn’t have handled that sort of isolation -- especially if, as Freddie put it, she would have been branded a rebel.

“I just don’t understand this logic? If you are being trained into soldiers for the ‘good’ side or whatever, surely knowing how to, like, control your powers in every day, uncontrolled situations is crucial? Or even, I don't know, if you aren’t supposed to be saviours or whatever, you can’t stay in that tower forever. One day you’ll leave and -- general you, by the way, not like, you specifically -- I just? It makes no sense. You’ll get overwhelmed. I found out through trial and error that I disappear when I get anxious. Especially in large crowds, which is somewhat problematic when you’re like trying to keep the fact you can turn invisible secret but anyway. What if I was just released from the tower and was all like I’ve got full control over my abilities! From all that training but then I vanished suddenly? I’d freak out. Maybe Anderson should listen to his students instead of branding them as rebels .” Xenia was rambling, she knew she was rambling, and she also knew that maybe she should stop talking -- Freddie was still only an acquaintance, after all, and Xenia didn’t want to scare them off. Or offend them accidentally. But this concept of blocking bracelets, particularly when one had no control over when they could and could not take it off horrified her. 

Xenia took a breath, paused, and decided to redirect her thoughts to what Freddie said about earth manipulators and natural selection. A light flush coloured her cheeks at the compliments. She’d always been a bit of a nerd ( a lot, her brother would probably correct ), and this concept was just so fascinating. It was hard not to get up in all the possibilities of it all. “That’s an interesting question, to be honest. It makes me wonder though if the botanical earth manipulator might be being held back by the fact they believe all they do is manipulate the botanical aspect? Maybe, over time and with training and sheer will, they could expand? But are so convinced their powers are limited to this one aspect they don’t? Then again, that would be a terrifying amount of power for a single person. As cool as it would be, I would hope that nature placed limits on us all. Both because no one wants a madman villain with insane powers over everything and also because I wonder if a single person could even handle it. Like, you might burn yourself out completely or worse with that much power.“

Freddie rambled, and Xenia couldn’t help but smile. It was actually really endearing. And, Xenia liked that she wasn’t the only one prone to rambling -- it seemed less embarrassing.

“I like coffee. Hot chocolate too. Tea is a gift and I can’t believe I hated it when I was younger, and cinnamon makes everything better,” she offered Freddie a smile, the subtlest biting of her lower lip and the slight deepening of the blush painting her cheeks were the only indication that she was nervous. Nervous that Freddie might not come, nervous that she’d never seen them again, nervous that this would fade to a memory and amount to nothing more. Because Xenia wanted more. Freddie seemed like not only someone Xenia could learn from, but someone she could call a friend. Something she imagined both of them had very few of. Her smile widened. “The Adair hotel is on the other side of that bridge over there, near the park. It’s one of the tallest, and most attractive if I do say so myself but I am biased so just ignore me, buildings. it’s actually the only hotel in that area and people will probably be talking about it if that helps? At all?”