the fire finds a home in me.

blake nguyen is an omega-level mutant with the ability of war embodiment. she’s been in new york for twelve years where she spends most of her time as a movie stuntwoman & combat choreographer and mutant rights activist. when i think of her, i think of clothes on the floor covered in grit, childhood trophies gathering layers of dust, and the sharp scent of gunpowder. she is affiliated with no one ( neutral ). || ( levy tran, thirty-three, cis female, she/her ) [ alex, 30+, they/them, cst, n/a ]

@c23intros || @chromosome23hq || ability breakdown

Abbreviated Timeline:

At 5, Blake's ability manifests. For the next 13 years, she collects forms of combat (and tournament trophies). Eventually, she turns to MMA.

At 21, Blake outs herself as a mutant a couple of years after the presidential address. She's expelled from the MMA circuit, and a whirlwind and very public legal battle follows.

At 25, she watches as the health of her childhood friend, Iditri, deteriorates. Towards the end, she also has an affair with Iditri's husband, Hriday.

At 31, Iditri passes away and Hriday, now Louis, drops out of Blake's life.

At 33, Blake has been working as a movie stuntwoman and combat choreographer for 11 years. She is also a vocal mutant rights activist.

“Hi, yeah, let me save all of us some precious time on this—” Blake leans in to grab the man’s card — she can see it has ‘Brad’ scribbled at the top, which seems too on-the-nose for the beefcake ( barely ) dressed as a Chippendale dancer. “—Brad. You’re not her type.” She scribbles in the ‘no’ box across from Stevie’s name, slaps the card against his muscular chest with a patronizing smile, and then shoos him out of the chair before he can gather the brain cells to protest. “Yeah, and I’m taking your time. Thanks, sweet cheeks.”

Blake’s still penciling down a few ( unflattering ) notes about the last idiot that vacated the seat across from her when it's already got a new occupant, and she has to do a double-take at his costume before she laughs. “Hey, check us out! Points for unintentional coordination, right?”

“Damn, girl,” Blake says with a grin as she slaps her card on the table, giving Tenzin an all-too-obvious once-over. “You’re looking fine as hell, which, get it? Vampire?”

@c23tasks

“Minh,” Blake snapped, able to sense him far before she was able to see him — not to mention the air that billowed from the open portal, caustic and lukewarm, a feeling she was exceptionally familiar with. “Get your hand away from my hair. And you,” she pointed across the room at Minh’s brother, Ty; his mirror image. “You’re gonna have to be smarter about your portals if you wanna use them in combat. I can always tell exactly where they’re coming from.”

But maybe Blake had the advantage, of both ability and knowing these two idiots for their whole lives.

“No. I just like my privacy. Why? You gonna get jealous?” She smirks, promptly stepping on and over a body as she walks through the alley. Jackie, even if she was surrounded by friends and students was always feeling the specter of solitude, of being alone when there was no reason to be. Perhaps Blake, a stranger could always help her with that. There’s nothing for her right now, except ash and bone and the horrible rattling in her chest that signals grief. It all goes to the back of her mind, though, as she focuses on Blake.

Crossing her arms and gesturing towards her leather jacket, there’s a moment of intrigue as she talks about her motorcycle. “Took apart a couple. Don’t tell me you got a Harley stashed somewhere there.”

“Sweetheart,” which Blake only called her because it seemed like the utter antithesis of what this woman was, and Blake liked that. “You haven’t even told me your name, and I’m still inviting you up. Does that make me sound like the jealous type?”

As Stevie sighs, long and drawn out, she allows her body to slide down deeper under the covers. When she rolls onto her side (a half-hearted attempt at ‘escaping’ her problems) her nose bumps up against the skin just under Blake’s exposed collarbone. Another sigh escapes her lips before can form enough of a coherent thought together to speak. “I know.” She starts, her arms snaking around her girlfriend’s waist. “You’re right.”

“I can’t fight him tomorrow– it would be a dick move.” Blake was right about everything else, too– but Stevie’s not ready to fully admit to that. “But I can’t really win a physical fight with him any other time, you know? He’s got the advantage there.” Thanks to his one-touch-KO power. “Unless I get some kind of.. slap.. stick? A slapping stick? Is that a thing? Oh! Or one of those really obnoxious clapper toys!” Stevie grins, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and angles her head up from Blake’s chest to meet her eyes in the dim light. “You don’t happen to have some kind of studded.. No.” The sentence is left to drop as she catches the mildly serious glint in Blake’s eyes, her own softening in response. 

“I hear you, babe. I really do. The silent treatment isn’t working for anyone. Me, him. Probably not Riley. Apparently not you, either. No one.” The voice that comes out of her next is.. strange. Uncharistically uncertain. Small. “But I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.” Stevie goes quiet for a moment; then, eyes meeting Blakes, voice still soft and unsure, “What would you do? In my place? What would you say?”

Blake lets Stevie ramble her way through abuses she can inflict on her brother with a smile that’s equal parts patient and amused, only half-interrupting to brush some of the wayward strands of hair from her forehead. She understands, she honestly does; she has two shitty younger brothers of her own, with their own very specific capacity for destruction. Maybe that’s why Blake believes the Crowes can get through this; she understands exactly why Stevie’s upset, and she agrees, but it’s also hard to imagine anything — anything — ever coming between herself and her brothers, not permanently. Blake has to hope Stevie will ultimately feel the same way.

“Well, first I’d take two shots of whiskey,” Blake starts, and as soon as Stevie is smiling or rolling her eyes ( or both ), she adds, “And I’d be completely fucking honest with him. It’s what he deserves, it’s what you deserve, and it’s the only thing that’s gonna fix this. If you’re upset with Levi because he held some very relevant info back, then he’d have every right to be upset with you if you did the same thing.”

A proposition? After a bloody fight? Jackie can’t help but smile at the proposition, a stilted, feral little thing as her eyes scan over Blake and gauges whether or not it was worth it. To go over, to pretend like she’s half-normal. To have a life, however shit it is. A second. Then two. A long thought, before she exhales and relaxes.

“You better have good booze, princess.” She kicks one of them again, probably catching a tooth as he tries to get up. Wiping her knuckles against her jacket, she shoves them back in her pockets, the intrigue in her face all too prevalent. “And I need to clean myself up before I get back to my place.”

There’s a pause as the woman glances Blake over, and Blake simply waits, unapologetic. An exhale comes like an admission, and Blake tilts her head curiously, still smiling. “Full bar, of course. Pick your poison. On the off chance I don’t have it, we can pick it up on the way.”

    Royal can tell that this runner is seriously sizing him up as she approaches. She’s brave, getting closer than most people would. The keenness in her eyes tells him she’s not some dumb city person though, she just knows how to handle herself. He sniffs the air curiously, but the only scent that grabs his attention is peanut butter  – ooh, protein bars.

    At her question, he drops his paw, huffs loudly, and gives a very distinct nod. He’s always nice to hikers. It’s hard to smile as a bear without seeming threatening, so instead Royal meets her eyes with his and wiggles his pompom-shaped ears a couple times.

    Very slowly, Royal stands. This is always the best part. He pushes off the ground to stand on his hind legs and slowly bows, gesturing with both paws like some sort of doorman urging her to continue on down the trail. He makes sure to hold the pose for a few seconds, long enough that it can’t be passed off as a trick of the eye. Then, he drops back down to all fours and winks at her.

Okay, she knows she’s not imagining it when the bear nods, grinning broadly and watching those fluffy little ears twitch. Well, relatively little. Absolutely nothing about this bear is little, and Blake is used to being one of the taller ones in the room.

The feeling is only amplified when the bear stands, and in spite of herself, Blake gasps. Not because she’s afraid, just because she’s impressed. She approaches with far less caution as the bear drops to all fours again, but not to continue on down the trail as directed. No, her curiosity is way too piqued for that now.

who: @the-amazing-blake​ what: ur typical cofee/tea/etc starter only the connection isn’t typical :\ where: some coffee or tea or whatever shop ! whatever she would have !

a familiar voice. instinct almost caused him to hide, to avoid seeing the source… but growth kept him in place, their last conversation playing in his mind. between the two of them, there were so many ‘would’s and ‘could’s…  at the front of the line, he overheard that familiar order that belonged to that familiar voice. and after a few moments of repetition and no response ( for literally whatever reason maybe the employee is literally whispering ), he broke from the line and swooped up the drink. all courage built, his eyes finally fell upon her – upon blake. steeling his nerves and trying to relax his demeanor, he walked to her table with her order in hand. with a slight, unsure grin, he recited the order and held it out to her: “ i believe this is yours, yes ? – the man was rather quiet. ”

.

Blake’s personal assistant was an actual, verifiable saint for ever dealing with any of her bullshit. Blake would try and make sure she got canonized someday. Today, though, she was rapid-firing messages to the beleaguered woman that yes she was running late but yes she’s on her way, she just needed a triple-espresso redeye to get her ass out the door.

Hriday’s voice broke through Blake’s concentration like a shot, unlike that of the soft spoken barista. Maybe she should’ve made it a quadruple.

Blake fired off another quick text that she might be even later, actually, before she snapped the flip phone shut and shoved it into her back pocket, ignoring the immediate, persistent buzz of an incoming call.

She hated the weird little butterfly twist of her stomach as Hriday recited her order to her. It’s stupid to be flattered he remembered, Blake told herself. It wasn’t exactly a difficult order. “Yeah. … thanks.”

“I’m glad you didn’t get hurt.” Hale doesn’t often care about her clients, but she does care about Blake. If anything terrible happened to her, it would be upsetting. “I think your weapons are fun! It’s a shame I missed that,” she says, teasingly, trying to keep things light and playful between them. Nobody wants to pay for a depressed sex worker. “How many people did you hit?” she asks, curious about how good the other woman’s aim is. 

She nods, running her fingertips along her tail. “Yeah, I do. It doesn’t turn me on, but it feels nice.” A lie. The truth is that it only turns her on when Tiff does it, but she can’t tell Blake that. “I should probably tell you I don’t have control over my tail. It kinda… does its own thing. I think it’s linked to how I feel, but I’m not really sure. Are you okay with that? It won’t hurt you, but it might try and restrain you or spank you,” she shrugs.

‘I’m glad you didn’t get hurt.’ Blake finds herself softening at the sentiment, quietly touched. She’d like to think she knows Hale well enough to know that’s not a line, not something that’s being said just because she thinks Blake would want to hear it. She finds she does like to hear it, though, maybe only because she knows it’s genuine. “Honestly? I lost count. There were a lot of those buggers running around.” Blake wrinkled her nose. “The most I can hope for is that I left a lot of ‘em questioning their life choices.” Because she did leave them alive, even if she’s questioning her life choices now that she knows what happened to Hale. If Blake had been there, whoever had done that wouldn’t have been so lucky.

Blake doesn’t bother to reign in an amused smile when Hale admits her tail seems to have a mind of its own. “I’m okay with that,” she promises, with no shortage of enthusiasm to back it up. “And I promise not to be weird about it.”

“Usually I’d put a bullet in them, but honestly? They’re lucky I don’t kill anymore.” She wants to, of course. It’s an ache to the hurt—the bullets and the anger, mostly reserved for CEOs with black books too large to wipe clean or dictators who entrench themselves in politics with heinous force. That anger spills over in her life now, the unjustness and unfairness of living making hard to even live without being angry. Her eyes turn to Blake, and nod.

She puts her hand out to shake, and Jackie grasps it firmly, no slack and no give. “Pleasure’s all mine, Blake.” The first eddies of emotion trickle out again, and she gives her a smile. The blood hasn’t washed off, but for Jackie, she hopes it never will. At least then, she can understand that she has something in her hands.

“I think Princess has a nice ring to it, personally.” Her hand doesn’t let go, and she stares her down, inky black void against brown eyes. “You wanna grab a drink or something? I think one of the nastier bars here won’t mind the blood on my hands.”

Blake’s newfound friend, because that’s immediately what she’s considering her, doesn’t offer a name in return. Blake doesn’t particularly mind, since the offer for a drink comes after anyway. “I would love a drink,” she decides easily, glancing down at her hand once it’s released, lightly smudged with blood. She doesn’t balk; she’s seen much, much worse.

Samson’s almost envious of the casual ease Blake has simply existing. Walking into places like she belongs, and she does, because she decided she does. Pacing around, slow, quietly, he can feel her slowly winding up to the real reason she’s here. Whatever is on her mind. Thankfully, just as she doesn’t pull punches in any sort of arena, she doesn’t wait to ask what she’s here for. Saw Cherry the other day… Samson’s shoulders sag. It’s for her safety, it’s just temporary. “Some stuff’s come up it’s… ” He’s such a shit liar, jaw tensing, that same feral rage bubbling in his chest, “ Complicated. How’s—how’s she doing?” He knows it’s cruel to ask, that he should be talking to Hale, himself, not going through someone else. He just needs to make sure he can get the right people on his side. Or even tolerate him before… before he tries to live a life. A paranoid thought ticks over. He can’t let it go. “‘she put you up to this?”

‘Some stuff.’ Blake almost laughs at the obvious understatement — ‘some stuff’ is reserved for, like, an impromptu grocery run or having to take care of your neighbor’s pet, not whatever the hell is going on that drove Samson to pummel his opponent into a bloodier pulp than usual. But she keeps her reaction toned back, save the obvious look of disbelief. The expression heightens when he asks how Hale is doing, which should be his answer, but Blake clarifies, “That’s her business to tell you.” Ask her yourself. “Because, no, she didn’t ‘put me up to this.’ I didn’t even expect to find you here.”