“I’m not saying that I wasn’t listening,” even if it was true, Benji’s attention having been stolen by his own thoughts as the other was speaking. He couldn’t help it though, mind having been trying to work through the kinks in one of his plans all morning. So really, it was his companions fault for trying to pull his attention from that. Still, he smiled brightly, a hollow thing, as he prompted the other on. “But, how about you go ahead and repeat that for me, alright? For posterity’s sale and all that.”
“You wound me.” Silas placed one hand over his heart and dramatically draped his other arm over his forehead, mimicking a swooning motion. “You know what, I don’t think I will. Since, y’know, what I have to say isn’t cool enough for you.” Was that a pun? It was probably a pun. His and Benji’s dynamic wasn’t a clear cut thing. What was the word? Acquaintances. That’s it. Silas was no stranger to sticking his nose in the more grey areas, morality wise. You met some interesting people that way. Benji was one of them.
“Excuse me?” Magda stops the nearest person, trying to hide her mild panic. Himesh would be fine, but her indoor cat had gotten out. And she was very concerned, trying to focus on finding him rather than being worried or angry about who let him out. “Have you seen a white cat? Fluffy, about this big? Please, I really need to find him.”
“Um. No. I don’t-- Well.” Why couldn’t he have been gifted with something like a better memory. Damn. “I think. I saw one near those apartments down the street? I just kinda figured it was an indoor and outdoor cat, to be honest. Like, this way?” He started walking, figuring she’d follow behind him if she was as keen as she sounded on finding the cat.
Little did Silas know that calling it a collectors item just made Kaleb want to grab the glorified toy even more than they already did. They weren’t going to fight Silas for it though, and instead they turned their attention to the rest of Silas’s collectables, trying to match the items to their hazy mix of the last 100 years pop culture. “You do know it only makes you sound like more of a nerd when you call them that, right?” Kaleb inquired with a slight tilt of their head. “We would break you out,” they offer nonchalantly. “It wouldn’t be the first time one of us ended up in jail, and human jails are,” kaleb paused for dramatic affect, “pathetic.”
“Oh, yeah, sure. I’m the nerd. First of all, that’s not even an insult anymore. Nerds are cool now.” To other nerds, at least. But, like, you’d be hard pressed to find people who didn’t share some of Silas’s geekier interests. Best not to let them find his stash of dice, then. “Yeah, I know they are. And they know that, too. They make special jails now. Dunno how much difficult a mutant jail would be to get me out of.” On paper, at least, he was very much still classified as such.
“and-- hey, hey! nope!” silas leaned over from their place on the floor, snagging the small figurine he could practically feel the other staring at. “don’t even start. it’s a collector’s item.” it’s an action figure. but if he’s learned anything about this ragtag family he’s apparently a part of, calling it anything else isn’t going to help. diverting back to the original topic it is. "anyway. why the hell would i hack the cia? i’d go to, like, super mutant prison or something. i don’t look good in yellow.”
“do you think the people in Starbucks even try to spell names right anymore?“ the red headed ceo frowned as she inspected the coffee cup in her hands, “it’s probably more fun to see a person’s face when you manage to spell a name completely wrong.” it would be the last time that pepper would visit that starbucks; all she had wanted was a coffee, not for some teen to think they were funny and write ‘peppa’ on her cup. “do i look like peppa the pig? you know what, don’t answer that,”
“Yes, because out of everything going on right now, someone with a sharpie writing on a paper cup is, like, the worst possible affront.” Silas couldn’t say they cared much. They frequented Starbucks --refusing to call it an addiction-- and rarely did they see their name misspelled. The fangs and horns and blue skin thing meant people didn’t really like to joke around with them. When it was misspelled, though, they found it funny. “Especially considering that’s practically what they’re known for. If you’re that sensitive, maybe go to a real coffee shop.”
⎣ aron piper, aporagender, he/she/they ⎤ I just saw [ SILAS DALEY ] walking around new york they’re [ 19 ] years old and they’re the child of [ LOKI ]. Their abilities are [ FROST GIANT PHYSIOLOGY/CRYOKINESIS ] and they are working as [ FREELANCE PROGRAMMER ]. at their best they’re [ INQUISITIVE & NONCHALANT ] but at their worst they can be [ HOTHEADED & PESSIMISTIC ]. ( jaie, ze/hir, 21, cst)
blue kid!!
It’s cold that night. You spend your first night alive on a doorstep. When the morning rays shine on you, you wail, alerting people on the grounds. You’re cold to the touch, and blue, yet kicking and screaming. Alive. And the school takes in what it assumes to be another abandoned mutant. They don’t know where you came from, don’t know anything. But you run too cold and the horns start to come through just shy of your third birthday. Teeth too sharp and claws tense and cold and too sharp. The ice comes as no surprise.
As the years go by, you show some...peculiarities. You thrive in the cold. The extent, though, is almost alarming. As a child, you scream if put out in the heat. You burn easily, never anything serious but your feelings are too big for your small frame, and every burn is a catastrophe. They do their best to keep you inside, keep you cold. You make friends with the other strange looking mutants. The ones with beady eyes and beaks and fangs and curled up horns, those are the ones you gravitate to.
Your name is chosen at random, and you feel no attachment to it. You choose another for yourself, just as disconnected, but with time it feels like yours. It’s something you chose, a fact about yourself. Those are few and far between. You try searching for answers, but come up empty. No trace of a mom or a dad, no reports of blue babies around when you would have been born, nothing. Your early childhood is wasted by this fruitless search for answers.
Somewhat of an answer comes as you hit puberty, eyes now shining red from use of your powers, distinct ridges and marks raising and staying for prolonged periods of time. The higher ups talk amongst themselves, discussing you. The blue skin, the red eyes and facial crests, the ice. It becomes more and more apparent as you grow that you’re not a simple mutant.
But you don’t get confirmation until you hit 17. You find them. One parent, the human one. You find them, and you always thought you’d have a million questions but faced with the first big answer you only think of one. You have to know what you are.
And that’s how you hear about him. Loki. The relationship wasn’t serious. It was only meant to be a casual fling. But. You resulted from it, and you’re not sure if Loki even knows about you. You don’t ask, and they don’t tell you. You leave the encounter with more questions than answers, but you don’t dare press for more information.
Two years later, you like to think you’re doing well for yourself. You’re permitted to stay at the school, the only home you’ve ever known. You’re not a mutant, but you were raised as such for 17 years. There is still room for you. You’re trying to leave, though. You don’t like clinging to the past, don’t like staying stuck in place. You want more visibility, want to make people see you. You’re not a mutant, but you’re still something society shrinks away from. You don’t pass for human and you don’t want to, rejecting every offer for cloaking spells and devices and what have you. You sharpen your nails, keep your teeth sharp, keep the horns as prominent as you can. This is who you are. Jotunn, mutant, it makes no difference to you. You’re here, and you belong here as much as anyone else. You cut your knuckles on the teeth of people who say otherwise.
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