He didn’t know this dude, but he already could tell several things. One either this guy was a foreigner or something else and two something else was clearly going on and it was not what he thought. “Common for curious kids and those who love to do things in the pool.” He answered. He turned down his meanness. He had a feeling this was the best way to get some answers without scaring this new person. His next question never came out because the other male was now leaving.
“Wait, wait. We may have started the wrong way…or more like I came here with my asshole mode on, but you don’t need to leave. Two people can share a pool…and you are too interesting to just let you go without even telling me your name.” Leroy explained, hoping that would work. If not, he could always ask around. And if that didn’t help, well, he was going to see him again one day or another.
Hmmm. Curious kids and those who enjoyed the whole pool environment. That made sense in a satisfyingly enough way. Reagan could let it go and focus on reluctantly freeing a hand from their towel cocoon to brush some of their curls away from their face. Said hand froze a little as the other kept talking before pushing through the surprise and making eye contact with a small tilt of their head. For the most part, they were able to fly under the radar, only really interacting in chance encounters like this, and they were pretty sure they preferred that..but there was nothing urging them to leave now.
Yet, anyway.
In fact, it was quite the contrary, actually. They were brimming with questions and none of which they thought anyone would deem ‘good’ to ask but that didn’t stop them from forming. What an ‘asshole mode’, what was its purpose, did they have one? Why did he say ‘interesting’? Reagan had hardly done a thing besides ask a ridiculous question and climb half out of the pool. But the invitation was there and they weren’t going to refuse it.
“I’ve heard asking tends to work if you want something.” Reagan teased lightly. “But since you said I could stay…my name is Reagan. What’s yours?” Figuring the other was waiting (like you were supposed to when food was delivered), they tossed the towel over the closest chair and slid back into the water. It was tempting to stay submerged, familiar nerves in their stomach because people were hard to predict and conversations didn’t always go well, but rude was something they strived not to be, so they kicked back to the surface and looked around for the other. “Have you been here long?”
“You know I can feel you staring, right?” Leon’s words were easy, spoken between breaths as he balanced on his palms. A stretch, a shift in weight to sink further in to the pose. Yoga had been something that, typically, he did in his room, but with the weather finally starting to turn away from the chill, he’d instead fond a spot away from prying eyes in the Advocate’s Hall, windows to the outside wide open. A breeze, the sun beaming in through the windows, it set a quiet peace to the entire thing. At least until he felt eyes on him, but not bothering to see who quite yet. Not until he’d dropped his body lower, leg’s stretching out, and eventually settling in to sitting on the floor. “What’s up?”
Reagan’d been minding their own business, sleepily headed off to the kitchen for caffeine and food, and ended up sort of blindsided by an amazing display of grace and strength. Truly, they hadn’t meant to stare...but who could pass by and not stare? “Sorry.” Reagan breathed quietly, having learned that was the expected response to a chiding before blinking a few times as the other resettled on the floor. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just...what was that?” It looked like the type of serene they often tried and failed to find on the bottom of a swimming pool or through a decent sparring match. They’d been trained in the importance of stretching and various forms of dance to learn grace and rhythm and subtlety but that was...beautiful. Breakfast was long forgotten now as their mind got overtaken by something new though they did their best to not get their hopes up. Skills like that were not easily picked up.
Leroy followed a routine every day. It was the best way to keep his mine in a linear path. It kept him sane. Sure, he tried to make it look like he had his shit together, even when it wasn’t, and that he didn’t need any help, but his brain was usually a mess. Just putting thoughts into words to answer with a smartass remark and that do in almost every single conversation was hard enough. The less he thought about his life, the better, and a nice swim after a workout was never a bad idea. It was one of the best ideas to deal with the mind of Rex. No, he didn’t get into the pool after working out. Shower came first. He had manners and basic sense of hygiene. The latter which made him question if that was the reason why the other asked such a bizarre question. At least in his opinion anyway. However, of course the first thing he let out of his mouth was an asshole comment.
“Why? Are you jerking off? If you are, then I’ll just wait until the pool gets clean again.” He asked as he looked at him with a towel that was just covering his naked body.
Reagan had made drastic improvements in slang, but it was the smaller things that kept catching them off-guard. For instance, Leroy’s tone went above their head as they briefly considered the pool. They knew what ‘jerking off’ meant now, but they’d understood that to be a more private affair. Maybe they were wrong. Given the text they’d accidentally clicked on earlier that day…maybe it was a much more public and accepted thing than they’d assumed. “Is that a common thing?” They asked back finally, moving off to the side to rest on one of the ledges. “Jerking off in pools?”
On one hand they could see the ease of minimal clean-up, but it seemed like so much work for those that couldn’t adapt or have water-breathing abilities. Sputtering on water seemed like it’d be a mood-killer but maybe it wasn’t. They’d been cautioned that people were into all kinds of things and it was different for everyone. Reagan even managed to refrain from asking about sputtering and instead focused on trying to coax themselves to pull themselves out and let the other have the water sanctuary. They’d gotten their time, it was only fair to give it up to someone else in need. But they were reluctant to do so, partially because they weren’t ready to go back into the hustle and bustle of the Hall and partially because shifting back sometimes hurt.
Gathering what lil motivation was there, they finally pulled themselves out to sit on the ledge, exhaling sharply as the fins and webbing disappeared before glancing around for the towel they’d remembered to bring for once. Unfortunately evolution didn’t give much of a fuck about comfort, so Reagan often ran cold and grumpy about it, goosebumps already breaking out over their skin as they wrapped the towel around their shoulders and kept their feet in the water for another moment, content to not rush off if the other didn’t seem bothered by their presence. “I hope you enjoy your swim.”
When everything got too much and the kitchen wasn’t enough and Nolan was busy or Reagan just didn’t want to ask for anymore of his time, they came down to the pool. So far, it appeared to be one of the quieter areas of the compound, especially once they got into the water and could stretch out along the bottom of the pool. Everything always went all blurry and quiet, enabling them to let go for a little bit and just breathe.
Usually, once they’d decompressed, they’d stop to notice what changes their body undertook, because it wasn’t always the same. Sometimes it was gills, sometimes it was a bubble of air floating around their face, sometimes they just didn’t need to breathe at all, but it always kept them on their toes.
Tonight was gills, webbed fingers and toes, and from the weird feeling behind them - probably fins. If they were feeling more energetic, they’d have liked to test their speed in the water, but it’d been one of those days that was just bad and heavy from the moment they got up and everything spiraled out from there. Truly, Reagan didn’t even know if they were actually decompressing or just hiding at this point, but it seemed safest to stay submerged until the sun came back up.
Or someone made them move, whichever came first.
A faint sound made them freeze but it was impossible to tell if the wavy visuals spoke of a person on deck or just the lights changing so they simply waited to see if they’d move along or insist on crashing the one-person pity-party, unsure of even which option they’d prefer at this point, before reluctantly surfacing.
If it was work ethic alone that people judged the competency of a hero, then Kaz would have been top tier easily. But alas, it wasn’t the only criteria. Day in and day out, when his help was not needed, he would take his time trying to think of new and exciting (as exciting and enthused one such as Kazimir could be outwardly) ways to use his powers creatively. Because if he was lacking more oomph, he intended to make up for it with ingenuity.
As such, on a mundane day as the present, Kazimir stands in his burning glory. The barren skullface of death never looking so comfortable doing target practice by his lonesome. This time, his flames took on the form of thin shrapnel, like burning needles hanging in mid-air and ready to strike.
And they do.
But not in the way he expected.
He was a few degrees off, embarrassingly so. Managing smaller flame-based weapons was more difficult than he intended, the ordeal made even more humiliating when, as he looks over his shoulder, he catches sight of another individual in the room who might have witnessed said event. Kazimir groans internally, though the pure and unadulterated stoicism never falls from his face and he looks towards the other in exasperation.
“I really hope you’re here to provide good criticism.” he breathes out softly, the flames dissipating rather quickly as he takes on his human form briefly to speak. “Otherwise, I would rather not hear how much I failed that shot miserably, thanks.”
Reagan’d met a few others like themselves growing up, that were … different somehow than those in the coats and goggles studying them, but nothing like this. This was flame and … something they didn’t quite have words or understanding for. Maybe magic. They felt a little ridiculous for being awed still, but so much about this world and its people continued to fascinate them.
Still, that didn’t mean they’d planned to get caught in their stunned admiration.
“Erm.” came the oh-so-intelligent response once the flame addressed them after becoming human-figured and further tying up their tongue.
They were just a protege, and one that had been here under a year at that. What right did they have to offer any criticism - good or bad? But, it had been asked for, so after a minute of internal debate, Reagan pulled up the dregs of their confidence and decided to go for it.
“I think that maybe you’re used to your targets moving?” They offered hesitantly. “You probably don’t even realize you’re calculating where they’ll be by the time the flames hit but you might be? Subconsciously?” Reagan was trying hard not to offend, having gotten into a dozen too many fights before realizing that it was how words were heard, not necessarily spoken that influenced people’s reactions, but it just made them nervous and even worse with words.
“If you’d rather a moving target - your flame darts likely won’t hurt me.” It was probably a ridiculous thing to offer, but at least it was finally something worthwhile that Reagan could do. It had been awhile since anyone had poked at or prodded them so a part of them was eager for the chance to make sure their powers were even still working and if they got a spar out of it - all the better.
Send “✆” for a MORNING text.
Send “” for a text that WASN’T SENT.
Send “☎” for a RUSHED text.
Send “⁇” for a DRUNK text.
Send “✿” for a SUGGESTIVE text.
Send “ø” for a LATE NIGHT text.
Send “✘” for a HATEFUL text.
Send “#” for a RANDOM text.
Send “@” for a SCARED text.
Send “&” for a LOVING text.
Send “%” for a CURIOUS text.
Send “ツ” for an EXCITED text.
Send “$” for an ACCIDENTAL text.
Send “♀” for a HEARTBREAKING text.
Reagan had not intended to stay with the Advocates for as long as they had and doubly not intended to allow their roommate to somehow take up a place of importance in their life. Yet, here they were. Not only had Nolan’s side of the room become an even bigger safe haven than their own, but Reagan caught themselves seeking out things that they knew the other would enjoy or find amusing. Partly just because they knew he’d enjoy it and partly because it was one small thing they could do to try and give back some of what Nolan’d offered them.
Which was what led them down a rabbit hole of recipes the night before that all promised to be good at building and maintaining muscles.
Or something.
Now that they were looking at it though, Reagan was seriously debating scrapping the whole thing and making some pancakes, but instead they carefully juggled two jars and two mugs back to their shared room as quietly as they could. Setting all four on the nearest nightstand, they had to forcibly suppress the desire to slip in next to Nolan where they knew it was warm and soft and just…nice. Their own bed was never as nice, though it probably had nothing to do with the mattress or blanket and everything to do with the missing extra body but that was neither here nor there.
No, they were trying to be considerate.
Especially because they knew the stupid loud alarm would be going off any minute now and just settled on the edge of their own bed to glare daggers at it as it jarred their nerves along with effectively waking Nolan up.
The urge to crawl into bed was even stronger as they watched the other wake up, so they buried their hands in their sleeves, crossing them over their chest, and waiting patiently for either them or the food to be noticed. A subconscious small smile played on their lips as they waited before giving a small shrug and motioning a sleeve towards the jars.
“The internet gods said that chia-pudding is great for protein and omega-3’s and other random words that I am pretty sure mean for healthy fit people so…I tried. I’m not sure I did it right because honestly, the berries and bananas look like the only eatable - edible- part. …I may have accidentally made glue? I’m not sure. But uh, I could go make pancakes?”
Reagan had a rambling problem when they got insecure and used the pointing hand to physically cover their mouth instead while they waited with literal bated breath to see if Nolan would even taste it, all while internally warring over if they should even *allow* him too.
DISLIKES: grapefruit, metaphors, dark enclosed spaces, science
HOBBIES: working out, martial arts, learning to cook
TALENTS / SKILLS: Languages, research, espionage
FAMILY
PARENTS: Unknown to them
SIBLINGS: Trying to locate their twin; unknown if others exist
CHILDREN: None
MARITAL STATUS: Single
SIGNIFICANT OTHER(S): None
OTHER FAMILY: None
PETS: None
SEXUALITY
SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Queer
DATING STATUS: Single
DOMINANT / SUBMISSIVE / SWITCH: Switch
TOP / BOTTOM / VERSATILE: Versatile
TURN-ONS: affection, some food play, humor
TURN-OFFS: bondage, medical kinks, roleplay
SUPERHEROISM
ALIAS: LabRat
POWERS / SKILLSET: Adaptive Evolution (will spontaneously adjust to survive any environment); Empathy (from heroes lore - enables them to sense someone’s desires, history, or dreams by touch); trained to be a weaponized spy (knows multiple languages, electronics hacking, scouting, breaking and entering, a few types of martial arts, proficient with many weapons, and first aid)
COLORS: Varies
APPEARANCE: Reagan tends to forget that clothing is a necessity for societal reasons and may be prone to walking around sans clothing until prompted to cover up. Then they’ll likely grab whatever pieces are closest regardless of color, texture, or functionality and continue on their day. They likely consider a black eye mask and any hooded garment enough of a disguise for fights but can put more effort in for more sensitive missions.
WEAKNESSES: self-protection that goes too far (renders them mute so they cannot be hurt by their own actions, suddenly can’t hear when they believe that someone is lying, the changes are not instant and leave them vulnerable if rapid environmental changes are introduced etc.); naïve and inexperienced to a degree that can put them in avoidable dangers; and an inability to lie
MENTOR / PROTEGE: Protege
LENGTH OF ADVOCATE MEMBERSHIP: Six Months
SUPERVILLAIN ARCHNEMESIS: None yet
SUPERHERO HISTORY:
*tw for abandonment*
Reagan’s instinctive adaptations to survive birth could be considered something of a miracle…or a sign of the devil. Their parents believed the later, left the hospital sans their infant and resisted all attempts at contact, forcing the hospital to turn the new infant over to the state. However, the Irish government intervened, taking the child for itself and placing them into a research facility where Reagan would spend most of his formative years.
Tests to explore the limits of their adaptation abilities, classes in various martial arts, espionage, languages, and hacking combined with relative solitude became their norm. Reagan wasn’t aware of anything odd about their upbringing, having figured the head scientist was a parental figure, and turned their focus on excelling at the tasks put before them until new subjects came in. Their arrival put Reagan in a training role for the first time and set up their exposure to anger, cruelty, and a whole world outside of their lab. It was also the first time someone implied that they had a family outside of the facility and that they had likely not been brought in voluntarily.
Reagan wasn’t sure what to do with that information at first and once the head scientist (Kerry) caught on to the corruption, she pulled them off training and sent them into the field. The adventure and excitement was enough to buy her another year but gradually tensions came to a head and eventually, Kerry did have to confirm that Reagan had not been born into the facility as they believed with the added bombshell that the agency had unsuccessfully been attempting to locate a second baby to see if they had the same or differing abilities. Kerry suspected a nurse had smuggled them out - likely because they had not shown as obvious signs of mutation as Reagan had - and placed them with an overseas family.
With their whole world turned upside down, it was only fitting for the local heroes to decide that now was a great time for a breakout effort. Reagan joined with them originally but it only took a handful of days to realize they had no place among the heroes. Their hands were not clean, their mind too muddled, and their upbringing left them at such a loss, they didn’t know how to “fit in.” But they did know the basics of how to slip away unnoticed, of getting out of a country, of setting up a safehouse, and beginning a search for someone who by all accounts, did not exist.
That research brought Reagan to the US and to the Advocates as they chase rumors and grasp at straws to find the only other person in the world who may be just like them.
Now came the biggest challenge of their young life as they must find a way to fit in, glean information, find family, and maybe, just maybe, discover a hero inside after all.
It was supposed to be a simple mission, go out and deal with an attack at a computer lab. They’d been called in because some advanced tech was being used, but it shouldn’t have been a problem. Dark Star lead his small group of trainee’s, keeping his eyes open as they entered the building from the roof. For a time, everything had seemed quiet. He’d thought the attackers might have already fled.
At least, until the blast from some sort of pulse rifle sliced through the air, only barely deflected by Nathaniel’s subconscious protections. As the protege’s readied for further attacks, someone landed in the middle of their little squad. Wearing skin tight material and with two deadly blades attached to each arm, the figure spun, swinging wildly. Most of the squad got out of the way, but one took a blade across the chest, going down.
Dark Star reached out, wisps of black tinted energy weaving patterns around his hand, fingers held in stiff, janky, directions. “Back. Off.” With a grunt of exertion he sent the figure hurling into the air, then thrust his hand out, throwing the bladed maniac into a wall with a sickening crunch. As more enemies, wielding blades and blasters, appeared he shouted, “stand together! Don’t let them separate you! Remember your training, and we’ll be fine!”
Reagan tended to assume that any mission deemed a “quick in-and-out” would fail to be quick, easy, or without complications. They hadn’t been wrong yet. Case in point - tonight’s complication came with blades. Nathaniel was there before Reagan could react, flinging the being well out of reach, which was irritating, but no more so than having to forcibly silence the callous voice of their prior training urging them to leave the fallen and attack. No part of Reagan liked the pointed reminder to themselves that teams and teamwork were very important to this group, but they still managed to force themselves to bend and check on the fallen person before motioning for the rest of their “team” to close ranks around them.
Their field first-aid had been more focused on fallen teammates than self-treatment, so their hands were quick and sure as they checked for any immediate signs of life-endangerment before stripping shirt and jacket off to secure a makeshift pad and gauze treatment. Their patch-job done, they immediately nominated someone else to sit with them to apply pressure and look for the bleeding to cease, before pushing back up to their feet and taking in their immediate surroundings.
Fighting was one of the very few things Reagan held any certainty about, so it felt good to feel solid in their own skin again as they jumped into the fray. The only disappointment was that it took far less time than they would have preferred to contain the situation and they almost threw the last fight - just to draw it out a little longer - but ultimately decided against it. Barely having broken a sweat, they retreated back to check on their teammate, before dutifully standing back to await further instruction.
All while trying to stifle the hope that maybe, just maybe, the mission wasn’t quite finished yet afterall.
Rhys takes liberties with this, ties a rope and props up a plank to create a makeshift goal. It’s rickety but it serves well enough, and the weather is one of those late February days, full of very bright sunlight.
From afar it might look like he’s underdressed, in shorts and a sports shirt, sneakers precisely those he’s used as a football coach some weeks ago. He takes advantage of spare time, and in an hour his cheeks are flushed, and the front of his shirt drenched in sweat.
But the greenness of his eyes shimmers in delight. It’s been a while since he’s played by himself. A movement catches the corner of his eye and he turns, chest heaving, beaming a bright, wide grin at the stranger.
“Hey.” The ball bounces from one knee to another, expertly, ceaseless, never dropping. “Wanna join?”
The complex had gotten crowded and *loud* driving Reagan to seek out quieter areas to decompress. It was still a lot sometimes. All the activity, all the people, all the organized chaos and sometimes it just became too much. Today was one of those days with the added bonus of a little sting because they’d thought they were past this now.
A voice startled them out of their thoughts and they peeked around their hood to eye the man speaking and the strange feat of some athleticism he was doing. Reagan was a stranger to most sports. It was difficult for them to understand not only the purpose of grown adults running after leather balls but other grown adults watching them do it and not participating in it themselves. It was all a very very strange ritual.
But no less intriguing.
Which is the only reason their gaze went from the ball to the man’s face and back again before a small nod sealed their fate. “I think I would like that?” Reagan stated. “Am I the part of this that sits on a bench and watches?” As far as they could tell, there were none of those around and that seemed doable.
His fish tale stretched out long over the white sandy beach. The cool water waved over his body and his tale floated lightly. The shine of the bright sun above him. He let out a light moan before he pulled himself up. He flipped his tale up and splashed it in the salt water.
His electric field vibrated and he looked up. He flipped over so that he was on his stomach. “Oh, hello.” He smiled as he slapped the water with his tale. “What brings you out here?”
Reagan had a small list of errands they were supposed to attend to, but a turn here and a turn there and somehow they’d found themselves on a beach. And that was a distraction all its own with all sorts of fascinating scents, smells, and sights long before they stumbled upon....a fellow housemate. Teammate. Whatever.
“Hello.” They returned easily now, hands moving into the pockets of their shorts in a misguided effort to not stare. It wasn’t like they’d never seen anything like this before, it had just been unexpected and they were not great at disguising their curiosity yet. “Would you believe me if I said I made a couple wrong turns and ended up here instead of...” They glanced down at the now-crumpled to-do list in their pocket. “Brent’s Hardware?” Shoving the list back into their pocket, they gave a little shrug. “I think I like it here much better.” Although, a semi-recent lesson came back to them forcing them to take a step back. “Oh, sorry. Am I intruding?” People often sought places like this for rest and to get away and here they were potentially stomping into that. “I could go?”
For the first moments after he wakes up, Tremor forgets where he is. All he knows is that he’s under the warm covers of his bed, the dawn light seeping in through the window with the birds singing just outside in their nests, and for a moment… he reaches over to touch his wife. But she’s not there. He’s not in his home on the west coast, nor is he in the firehouse - no, instead he’s in the headquarters he now calls his home, something that makes it even harder to keep his personal life and super life separate. So as the realization of where he is dawned on him, he just sat there in silence, letting his mind catch back up with reality.
Moving to sit up, he placed his hands on his knees and took a deep breath, stealing himself from the loneliness he felt. He knew he shouldn’t feel this way, since he’s in a place where so many people gather to be themselves and work together in a collaborative effort to make the world better, but he can’t help it. His wife was his everything and now that she’s gone… His world isn’t the same.
Still, he managed to get up his feet and make his way to the cafeteria, getting the ingredients together to make a simple omelette when a light flicks on. Shifting his attention to the door, Tremor offered a small smile. “I’m just about to make an omelette… would you like one?”
It’d been almost seven months since Reagan had first shown up to the Hall, so by all accounts they should be acclimated, yet sleep remained difficult. It hadn’t taken them more than week or two to pick out safe places to go when their new room got unbearably stifling, but, by far, their favorite was the kitchen area. There had been no such thing where they grew up. Food was delivered on a tray, if at all, so the concept of a kitchen with all its options and possibilities endlessly fascinated them as the kitchen and its inhabitants nearly always had something new to teach them. They’d found that it helped, sometimes, to focus on a small concept like a sandwich and gain some reprieve from the big things like formalized education, careers, and love.
Pulling over the fluffiest soft hoodie someone had gifted them, they let the sleeves spill over their hands as they shoved their feet into equally fluffy slippers and padded their way down the hall. For the most part, it appeared to be a quiet night, so far anyway. So, they were somewhat surprised when a light flicked on moments before they reached the kitchen. Someone else must be awake too and Reagan wasn’t disappointed to see someone else there.
Climbing up onto one of the stools, they tucked their legs into their hoodie and glanced at what was already on the counters to see if they could puzzle out what ‘omelette’ might mean and if they’d want one. “Do you think I’d like it?” Reagan countered with a small wry grin. The concept of having “tastes” still baffled them as food was food and should be equally as able to be consumed, but a very intense reaction to grapefruit had made them rethink that stance. “I do not like sour.” They offered as a way to swing the other’s opinion one way or another. “But I do like breads.” They didn’t see anything bread-like from their vantage point, which was a small disappointment, but they did spot the kettle . “And tea. Would you like some tea? I think I’ve got this down now.” Hot hot water and tea leaves into the wire basket but not for too long or it would get bitter and undrinkable. “Can I help with anything?”
