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âIâm not saying that I wasnât listening,â even if it was true, Benjiâs attention having been stolen by his own thoughts as the other was speaking. He couldnât 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. âBut, how about you go ahead and repeat that for me, alright? For posterityâs sale and all that.â
âYou wound me.â Silas placed one hand over his heart and dramatically draped his other arm over his forehead, mimicking a swooning motion. âYou know what, I donât think I will. Since, yâknow, what I have to say isnât cool enough for you.â Was that a pun? It was probably a pun. His and Benjiâs dynamic wasnât a clear cut thing. What was the word? Acquaintances. Thatâs 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.Â
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âExcuse me?â 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. âHave you seen a white cat? Fluffy, about this big? Please, I really need to find him.â
âUm. No. I donât-- Well.â Why couldnât he have been gifted with something like a better memory. Damn. âI 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?â He started walking, figuring sheâd follow behind him if she was as keen as she sounded on finding the cat.Â
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 werenât going to fight Silas for it though, and instead they turned their attention to the rest of Silasâs collectables, trying to match the items to their hazy mix of the last 100 years pop culture. âYou do know it only makes you sound like more of a nerd when you call them that, right?â Kaleb inquired with a slight tilt of their head. âWe would break you out,â they offer nonchalantly. âIt wouldnât be the first time one of us ended up in jail, and human jails are,â kaleb paused for dramatic affect, âpathetic.âÂ
âOh, yeah, sure. Iâm the nerd. First of all, thatâs not even an insult anymore. Nerds are cool now.â To other nerds, at least. But, like, youâd be hard pressed to find people who didnât share some of Silasâs geekier interests. Best not to let them find his stash of dice, then. âYeah, 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.â On paper, at least, he was very much still classified as such.Â
âand-- hey, hey! nope!â silas leaned over from their place on the floor, snagging the small figurine he could practically feel the other staring at. âdonât even start. itâs a collectorâs item.â itâs an action figure. but if heâs learned anything about this ragtag family heâs apparently a part of, calling it anything else isnât going to help. diverting back to the original topic it is. "anyway. why the hell would i hack the cia? iâd go to, like, super mutant prison or something. i donât look good in yellow.â
âdo you think the people in Starbucks even try to spell names right anymore?â the red headed ceo frowned as she inspected the coffee cup in her hands, âitâs probably more fun to see a personâs face when you manage to spell a name completely wrong.â 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 âpeppaâ on her cup. âdo i look like peppa the pig? you know what, donât answer that,âÂ
âYes, because out of everything going on right now, someone with a sharpie writing on a paper cup is, like, the worst possible affront.â Silas couldnât 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 didnât really like to joke around with them. When it was misspelled, though, they found it funny. âEspecially considering thatâs practically what theyâre known for. If youâre that sensitive, maybe go to a real coffee shop.â
⣠aron piper, aporagender, he/she/they ⤠I just saw [ SILAS DALEY ] walking around new york theyâre [ 19 ] years old and theyâre the child of [ LOKI ]. Their abilities are [ FROST GIANT PHYSIOLOGY/CRYOKINESIS ] and they are working as [ FREELANCE PROGRAMMER ]. at their best theyâre [ INQUISITIVE & NONCHALANT ] but at their worst they can be [ HOTHEADED & PESSIMISTIC ]. ( jaie, ze/hir, 21, cst)
blue kid!!
Itâs 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. Youâre 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 donât know where you came from, donât 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.Â
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. Itâs 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 youâre not a simple mutant.Â
But you donât get confirmation until you hit 17. You find them. One parent, the human one. You find them, and you always thought youâd have a million questions but faced with the first big answer you only think of one. You have to know what you are.Â
And thatâs how you hear about him. Loki. The relationship wasnât serious. It was only meant to be a casual fling. But. You resulted from it, and youâre not sure if Loki even knows about you. You donât ask, and they donât tell you. You leave the encounter with more questions than answers, but you donât dare press for more information.Â
Two years later, you like to think youâre doing well for yourself. Youâre permitted to stay at the school, the only home youâve ever known. Youâre not a mutant, but you were raised as such for 17 years. There is still room for you. Youâre trying to leave, though. You donât like clinging to the past, donât like staying stuck in place. You want more visibility, want to make people see you. Youâre not a mutant, but youâre still something society shrinks away from. You donât pass for human and you donât 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. Youâre here, and you belong here as much as anyone else. You cut your knuckles on the teeth of people who say otherwise.Â
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