stand down

Not that he blamed them. Their kind was on the list of things human’s wanted pretty much wiped off the face of the earth… and they’d done a fantastic job so far. Mutant numbers had dwindled down, most were neatly packed in four camps, and Elliot was just glad that gas chambers weren’t in the works. Yet. He wouldn’t put it past them.That gave mutants leeway to be a bit grumpy. Some, however, were painfully abrasive to their “teammates,” Elliot included (misplaced aggression, in his opinion), and while he was sure some of them had legitimate reasons behind their behavior—like a painful backstory or three—he wished they’d go be mean to somebody else. But Elliot cared about his own survival. In this place that meant making friends (safety in numbers) and staying useful. For the latter, he just wished some of his peers made it easier on him.

"I said you’re in my shot!" The girl’s voice cut into his thoughts, and Elliot recognized her from training. Addison, his mind supplied.

"Oops." A shrug. Elliot wasn’t sure what exactly he was in the way of, but he took a step to the side hoping that was enough movement to appease. "Sorry." And he grinned, wide and open and all white teeth at the sight of the camera in her hands. "So. Is that a Canon or Nikon? Just curious. I’m a Canon guy myself." Photography had been something he’d picked up when he worked on the streets: monitoring targets, places he planned to bust. Not artistic, sure, but it was enough to hold a conversation with the other mutant… who looked very familiar.

Clearing her throat, Addison slipped the strap of her camera around her neck, letting the camera hang before running a hand through her hair. Addison was sure that she had also seen him before, but couldn't recall his name for the life of her. Remembering names was nearly impossible for her as it wasn't something she tried very hard to get better at. "Yeah, I was," Addison answered, nodding her head once. "Unfortunately. That place was fucking hell with how cramped it was. I think I've seen you before, too, but I have no clue what your name is."

There were times like this when Oliver wished he had the ability to time travel. It was a useful ability, and. although he’d never met someone with that particular brand of mutation, he couldn’t see very many pitfalls when it came to it, unless it was like that romance novel about the time travelling idiot who died in the past.

Oliver flipped the switch, shuffling forward as he blinked, adjusting to the bright lights overhead. He hadn’t been able to sleep. That wasn’t a new thing. He always had a wretched time trying to sleep in new places, simply because he didn’t trust where he slept. He didn’t trust his room to be secure enough to ward off any potential threats, and he didn’t trust the people on the island to just not be threats. It was something that happened in every new place, but this time it was more difficult than others. Even the city hadn’t been that bad; no one had given a damn who he was.

Here, everyone cared, if only because they were supposed to be working together. It made it that much harder for someone who had been in hiding, watching every step he ever made, to relax for more than five seconds before shoving his guard back up.

Time travel would be a handy ability to have, because then he could be twelve again, free of his mutation and still the holder of his parents’ affections. He sighed, crossing to the center of the room and looking around. Food had always been something that had either been incredibly meaningful to Oliver’s family or something that was a necessity. When there would be no one else around, his mother would go to the market, pick up certain ingredients she wouldn’t have otherwise, and make everything that her own mother had made back in Russia.

Laying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, Oliver had started to miss his mother’s okroshka and pelmeni, the way she’d always go out of her way to make him ukha when he was feeling under the weather, or the shashlyk his father would make on the weekends when they had nothing to do. He had missed home and the desire to pull that part of himself to the surface and let himself feel for a moment had been overwhelming. Refraining, he’d made his way to the kitchen, bypassing a guard while he tried to figure out what he could make.

Turning, he moved towards the fridge, pulling it open and inspecting its contents. It had been a long time since he’d had the opportunity to actually cook, and he felt a little unsure of where to start. The last time he’d cooked something vaguely Russian had been with his mother on his sixteenth birthday, when she’d chased his father out of the kitchen with a wooden spoon, laughing all the way. That had been nearly a decade ago, and Oliver couldn’t remember where to start. He knew where the middle and end were, but the beginning was something that he couldn’t fuck up. His mother had taught him that.

Tonight she was particularly angry due to being awoken by a nightmare. Of course, she would never admit it out loud. She was twenty-two year old woman, after all — not a child. Child or not, Addison nearly jumped out of bed when she awoke. It took her a moment to calm herself, quietly repeating to herself that it was just a dream and that her father wasn't actually trying to kill her. 

Sleep obviously wasn't an option at the moment for her, Addison decided. A soft sigh fell from her lips as she threw her legs over the side of her bed, yanking the covers from her body as she did so. It was then that she noticed the condition of her room, which looked as though a tornado had hit it repeatedly. A wave of her hand sent her desk chair in an upright position and another wave pushed her dresser back against the wall.  She'd worry about the rest later, but a glass of warm water was needed at the moment. 

It was what her mother would bring to her whenever Addison had trouble sleeping as a girl. Sure, it was dumb, but it always worked. As a child, Addison was convinced her mother had some sort of super power and that was how she was able to send Addison to sleep so easily. Turns out that Addison was the one with the "super power" all along. Thinking of her mother made Addison's stomach drop slightly. Her mother  had done everything in her power to protect Addison but it ultimately wasn't enough to keep her around. She knew it hurt her but there wasn't anything to do about it now. At least, that's what Addison told herself whenever the guilt started to arise. 

From down the hall, Addison could hear someone in what she thought was the kitchen. She hadn't done much exploring of her surroundings yet and it was easy to get lost in the facility. The kitchen wasn't too close to where all the bedrooms were and it only took her a moment before she reached the kitchen. Inside was a man, his back to her as he dug around in the refrigerator.