During the Great Rikti War of 2002, Lena Elliot, the heroine known as Swan, had had a life changing moment. She had been walking through one of many hundreds of army tents set up for triage purposes when shed come across a small boy of no more than six years old. He had been kneeling next to one of the cots the injured were lain on until a doctor could see them, holding the hand of the woman that lay still atop it. The woman was dressed in what had once been brightly colored spandex, but was now torn and bedraggled from her efforts against the Rikti.
The boy had looked up as Swan approached and she had been surprised to see his eyes were burning, blue whisps of eldritch energy curling out from under his lids to gather and boil against the shelf of his brow. He sniffled loudly and turned back to gaze at the still form of the woman whose hand he held.
Shes sleepin, he said in a voice that drooped with exhaustion. Shes been fightin rickities all night an she needs to take a nap. Im takin care of her until she wakes up.
But Swan had known differently. Her tentative psychic reach into the womans mind had revealed nothing. The boys mother, the heroine known as Slipstream, was dead.
Luckily they had found the childs father, a non-powered man who, as a firefighter, was no less heroic than the boys mother. But it still got Lena to thinking of how many new orphans would be left behind by this war. The foster system would be able to handle the majority of it, but what of the super-powered children? What foster family would be comfortable accepting a child who could lift their couch over his head when throwing a tantrum? How could normal foster parents hope to understand the unique challenges of raising a meta-human?
Lena Elliot had lost her own parents when shed been an adult, her mother and father kidnapped by the evil 5th Column. She had been lucky enough to have them by her side all throughout her childhood, but still she felt that loss keenly and she could relate to the problems these new orphans would face.
With her familys wealth and political connections, after the war Swan dedicated herself to the creation of the Slipstream Memorial Asylum, Sanctuary and Hospice. While it had initially started as an orphanage for super-powered children its role soon expanded to include any child who had powers and found themselves unable to adapt well to the public school system because of them. While Swans hero duties kept her from doing more than attending board meetings once a month, she still kept an active hand in the school. Not a single staff member was hired, from Janitor to Principal, who was not personally interviewed by her.
Given her reputation of using psychic powers during said interviews, many applicants withdrew from consideration the moment this was explained to them.
Three months after the car accident found Jennifer wandering the grounds of Slipstream Memorial, which all the other kids called SMASH for short.
It was lunch time and most of the students and staff were crammed into the cafeteria, screaming to be heard above the din. As todays meal choice was either rectangular pizza slices or grilled liver and onions, a fair number of them were resorting to use of their powers to get the better grub first.
Since the deaths of her parents Jennifer hadnt had much appetite. Even Ten Cheese Beef Tacos, her absolute favorite of favorites, could no longer tempt her to do more than nibble. She also found she didnt like crowds or noise. This, of course, made her case worker
or Personal Care Counselor as the woman called herself
very concerned. They would spend hours talking together about her feelings, how she was handling her new classes, if she were making friends and, of course, all the endless discussions of her parents deaths.
Jennifer had considered lying to the woman, who had the unlikely name of Abinia Abbernathy, but decided the effort just wasnt worth it. The truth was Jennifer felt nothing. It was as though someone had snuck up on her while she slept and jammed a shovel into her, digging out the part of her that used to feel anything. There was hole inside her where her parents used to be
where her heart used to be.
Abinia had told her this was a normal part of the grieving process and that it would eventually pass. Jennifer wasnt sure she wanted it to. Feeling nothing wasnt fun, of course, but it was better than what she thought might be hiding INSIDE the hole. There was a creature inside the hole where her heart had been. It was a creature of misery, pain and rage; all claws and poison quills. If that raging, ravening beast was Grief then she didnt want it to ever be loose.
Better to feel nothing than feel what that thing might do to her.
So, rather than not eat in a room full of chattering super kids, shed decided to take a walk outside. Since it was a gray, slightly dreary day, she had expected to be the only one out in the yard. It turns out she was wrong on that point.
Jennifer turned a corner into one of the many alleys the convoluted architecture of the building formed, when she heard a voice.
Please do not endeavor to emulate the behavior of our hygienically challenged acquaintance, the voice was young, male and a touch exasperated. The extrusions and evulsions resulting from entering that waste receptacle will certainly settle into your dermal covering. The resulting olfactory malaise will surely torment you and those within proximity for the foreseeable future.
She had considered turning and walking away, but the pure confusion of trying to translate what the boy was saying into human tongue distracted her. She didnt want to be around others, but by the time she remembered that it was too late.
She stood in the center of the alley entrance. The boy with the gift of garbled gab was the first one she spotted. He sat on the edge of the kitchens loading dock, swinging his legs back and forth. He was thin with shaggy blonde hair that looked like it hadnt seen a comb in several days at least. He wore wire rim glasses over eyes the color of a glaciers secret heart. His tee shirt had a picture of the Warner Bros cartoon character Wile E. Coyote on it, with the caption Yes, you may refer to me as Super Genius. His jeans were worn and far too big for him, mute evidence they had come from the donation bin. As his feet swung, Jennifer noticed he was wearing two different color socks.
Rico, dont crawl into the dumpster, another voice drew Jennifers attention. The gunk inside will get on your fur and youll stink for weeks.
I just said that, from the thin boy, sounding vaguely annoyed.
The second boy was as different from the first as it was possible to be. Although he looked to be the same age as the first, he had a much more athletic build. Also, where the first boy was pale and blonde, the second was deeply tanned with hair so black it seemed intent on sucking the light from the very air. At twelve years of age, Jennifer had been finding herself becoming more interested in boys and the specimen before her was what she would have classified as yummy. At the indignant response from the blonde, the raven-haired boy had smiled broadly, making Jennifers heart go pit-a-pat in her chest.
You really need to learn to speak English like the rest of us, Dak, he said, laughing. Isnt that right Rico?
Rico!
With difficulty, Jennifer tore her eyes from their exploration of that smile to look at the third figure in the alley. She blinked at the sight before her.
Being home to any super powered child who was having problems fitting in gave SMASHs population a higher percentage than usual of mutants or aliens with a slightly less
shall we say
traditional appearance. Rico was apparently one of those children.
Rico was only about three feet tall, though it was hard to tell for sure since he had long legs which he kept folded up to his chest. He had a face that looked like the unholy mating of a bat and a koala bear. His ears were very bat like, tall, pointed and wide from the sides of his head. He was covered head to toe in thick fur; the main coat of which was a pretty lilac color with darker purple striping along his back, arms and legs. He was currently perched on the edge of a large green dumpster, leaning forward and peering down into it with interest. Behind him, a long swishing furred tail stuck out for counterbalance.
As if he could feel the weight of Jennifers stare, Rico suddenly looked up. Eyes the color of a fog shrouded landscape under an early morning sun met hers for brief moment before chaos erupted.
RICO!
The creature bounded upwards in a single thrust of its long legs. It landed perfectly on the opposite wall of the dumpster, letting its legs recoil beneath it as its motion carried it forward as though about to fall off its perch. As soon as Rico was parallel to the ground it launched once more, hitting the ground once halfway between the dumpster and Jennifer then rebounding to hurl directly into the stunned girls chest. One second she was up, the next everything was ground, arms, legs and fur.
Rico! Rico! Rico!
The thing on top of her was obviously very proud of its achievement because it bounced on her with each chipmunk-toned battle cry.
Rico you nerd, a voice, barely able to contain laughter, said from somewhere beyond the purple fur that filled her vision. Get off her before you crush the poor girl.
Then her sight was filled with a dazzling smile and eyes that looked like melted chocolate. He grinned at her and reached out one strong hand in an offer of assistance.
Sorry about fuzz-face there, he said. He gets a little over-enthusiastic sometimes. My names Trace
welcome to Misfit Alley.
My mind wanders so often you've probably seen its picture on milk cartons. - Me... the first person version of the third person Steelclaw
What follows is the first of what I hope will be an on-going, organically growing story. I will add future chapters to this thread to keep everything organized... because lord knows I have these organizational tendencies.
I don't want to give away too much right out of the gate. Let's just say this story follows the careers of a group of super powered children who find themselves in the very grown up world of Paragon City.
Enjoy...
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Oh, Daddy they do not! Jennifer Tilman said in between her giggles.
Her father adopted an affronted, slightly teacher-ish expression. They most certainly do. They lie in wait just under the surface of the water and when people dive in they rush out in a group and try to yank their swimsuit bottoms off.
In the front passenger seat Jennifers mother was trying, without much success, to keep a straight face at her husbands latest in a long series of skewed takes on reality. Jennifer felt no such compunction towards seriousness and howled in laughter, kicking her feet against the back of her fathers seat.
I dont think youre treating this matter with the proper gravity, Daniel Tilman said without cracking a smile. All those poor, unsuspecting swimmers who only thought to get in the water then WHAM! Naked as a jaybird while the lake creatures scurry away with their swim trunks. On the other hand, from a strictly conservationalist standpoint, I suppose the little buggers need to eat too. Im sure they must fulfill SOME sort of role in the local ecosystem, though for the life of me I cant see where swimsuits would fall on the food chain.
Ayahla, Jennifers mother, at last gave up the battle and joined her daughter in hopeless laughter at her husbands antics.
Im told they rather resemble itty-bitty, dust sized octopi, he continued blithely, steering their small car through the heavy end-of-weekend-and-going-home traffic. I guess thats why they call them Lil Luscas.
They had spent the day at the beach; one of Jennifers favorite things to do during the long lazy summer days. The drive to and from was a long one, but never seemed so to Jennifer. She never quite understood when her friends complained about taking trips with their parents. She would try to explain that she enjoyed talking with her parents during the long trips, to which her friends would roll their eyes and adopt expressions hinting that talking to their parents was on the fun scale at about the same level as eating cold spinach straight from the can.
Her fathers insane commentary on the world around them and her mothers frequent rolling of eyes and role as the sarcastic straight-man were the perfect end to what had been a fairly spectacular day. Though usually a wave-jockey, Jennifer had avoided the water all day, communing instead with the sun and warmth of the sand.
At first she had been afraid the day would turn out badly. Her mother, who often referred to herself as the sole voice of reason in the asylums choir, had insisted Jennifer put on sunscreen as soon as theyd spread out the blankets. Jennifer had smeared a small amount on the back of her hand, which she smeared upwards along her forearm when a wave of nausea had swept through her. She had swayed momentarily on her feet. She HATED that queasy feeling; like all at once she could actually feel the world spinning and was motion sick with it.
The feeling passed quickly but she still felt a little odd. Her arm where shed smeared the sun lotion felt numb; like her tongue had the time shed gotten that shot at the dentists office. She checked to make sure mother wasnt paying attention and used a towel to scrub the lotion from her arm and hand. She had felt immediately better. When her mother asked if she was had put on the lotion a few moments later, Jennifer had (truthfully if a bit evasively) said she absolutely had.
After an entire day of baking from the sun above and the sand below, Jennifer likely should have resembled a cooked lobster, but had seemingly escaped un-broiled. She bounced in the back seat of their small sub-compact, so full of energy she felt ready to burst.
The natives are preparing for war, methinks, her father said in ominous tones.
Oh? What makes you say that? her mother rejoined; loyal to her role as straight-man.
Because theyre beating on their war drums otherwise known as the back of my seat.
Sorry, Daddy, Jennifer said and crossed her ankles in an attempt to cage the nervous energy that was like a living thing within her.
Sokay pumpkin, he said, winking at her in the rearview mirror.
They were almost home by now. Paragon City loomed on the horizon, the great sky scrapers of Steel Canyon already visible, tall and proud against the slowly setting sun. They lived in an apartment within the grimy confines of Kings Row, though her fathers recent promotion at work had them all dreaming of changing that circumstances. Her mothers teaching degree had thus far only earned her the occasional substitute position but there had been nibbles from Hero One Memorial Middle School in one of Paragons more upscale suburbs. Fortune, fickle as it usually was, seemed to at last be smiling on them.
Traffic, which had been a congested, slow moving mess thus far, had miraculously eased and the little car finally matched the posted speed limit. Jennifer opened her mouth to begin her daily ritual of dinners entrée negotiation with her mother when Ayahla spoke first. The note of concern in her voice silenced her daughter in an instant.
Daniel, isnt that truck going a little fast?
Jennifers father glanced to his right at the eighteen wheeler approaching the intersection.
Its okay I have the light.
They entered the intersection. And the world exploded.
Sound beyond Jennifers understanding of the word assaulted her ears. The agonized shrieking of torn metal. The howling of rubber scraped raw over asphalt. The cataclysmic battle cry of impact. The tiny car was hurled, violently thrust sideways, by the unstoppable force of the tractor trailer. The young girl felt the initial strike give way to a moment of reprise. She felt floating and free in that instant and wondered if this was what death felt like like flying. But the moment ended. The truck had only launched the tiny car into the air and when it landed it began to barrel roll along the street.
The world lost cohesion in Jennifers eyes. Colors blended and the lines of demarcation that had always defined objects in her vision broke apart into a chaos of impressions and confusion. The back seat of the car seemed to be growing smaller, the ceiling pressed down against Jennifers head, forcing her to bow her neck as though in prayer. The passenger side wall had absorbed the first fatal impact and now cuddled close on Jennifers hip.
The car rolled more slowly and was nearly about to settle to a stop, by some miracle upon its tires rather than its roof, when the truck once more caught up with it. It struck the small vehicle on its rear drivers side corner, right on the tip of the fender. Only now, at this final note in the symphony of destruction, did the brake lights on the eighteen wheeler flicker to life.
The car spun wildly at the last collision, pressing Jennifer back against the ruined remains of her seat. The car skipped like a drunk dancer up onto the sidewalk to crash thunderously into the front of a small grocery store.
Silence.
Jennifer shook her head gingerly. Other than the ringing in her ears from all the noise of the collision and a lingering dizziness from the tumbling and spinning, she felt okay. She didnt notice that her head was no longer pressed awkwardly against the roof of the car.
Mom? Dad?
Outside the car voices were calling out; asking if everyone inside was all right. They werent the voices she wanted to hear. NEEDED to hear.
Daddy?! Mom are you okay?
Fear began to sink needles in her heart, cramping it, making each beat more painful than the last. She couldnt breathe. She couldnt see their faces. Of her mother all she could see was one tuft of mahogany brown hair, riotously curly despite her mothers best attempts to straighten it. Only her fathers arm was in view between the two front seats; stretched across the space towards her mother as though, even in the madness of the crash, hed been trying to reach for her. As she stared she could see a single shard of glass, no larger than a splinter, embedded in his wrist. A tiny bead of blood blossomed around it. A diamond in the center of a blood red rose.
No she whispered. No, please
She began to lean forward. She didnt want to see. Seeing what was in those two front seats was the last thing she wanted to do. But she HAD to see. She HAD to know.
Then hands were on her. Reaching through the shattered back window of the hatchback they curled around her arms and shoulders; drawing her away from answers she wasnt sure she wanted to know.
Dont struggle sweetheart. Were here to help you.
Thats it, hon dont try to move on your own let us move you.
I dont see any lacerations or obvious injuries but get the neck brace on her just to make sure.
No I want to see my parents Let me see my Mom and Dad! Helping and gentle or not, she began to fight the hands then. Didnt they understand? Why wouldnt they let her see her parents?
Then a face appeared above her. The woman was her mothers age and had the same warm, always slightly tired look to her. She smiled down at her, but her eyes didnt join in on the smile. Her smile told Jennifer that her parents were being tended to and that everything was fine. Her smile asked Jennifer questions about how the girl was feeling and if this hurt or that hurt; all the while interspersing promises that shed see her parents soon. Soon.
Her eyes, however, called her smile a liar.
The world began to break down once more. Those solid lines which had always seemed so immobile, so immutable, ruptured and died. Colors leaked against one another, sending sense and definition into prisms of conflict and chaos. This time, however, it wasnt the motion of a tumbling car which shattered her sight into this meaningless morass.
This time Jennifer was robbed of sight by her orphans tears.
My mind wanders so often you've probably seen its picture on milk cartons. - Me... the first person version of the third person Steelclaw