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Hand Over Fist; Guild members (PM to join), Brute, Kitty
Topic Started: Feb 15 2010, 06:00 AM (479 Views)
Gambit(Matt)
Member Avatar
Kinetic Energy Manipulation, Empathic Charm
Time of Day: 10:09
Place in the Timeline: January 13th


“And on other news, two mutants were arrested on charges of first-degree murder for the deaths of three families that occurred last Wednesday. Karl Sutherland has more.”

“Dan, I'm standing in front of the house of Frank and Helen Munroe, a couple that moved into the neighborhood a little over a year ago. Police reports show that the police were called out to the Munroe house on three separate occasions over the last twelve months due to disturbances, but no arrests were made...”

The picture imploded, leaving the screen blank as Remy pressed the large red button on the remote to shut it down. Tossing the remote on the bed, he walked over to the hotel window and pulled the curtain aside, his crimson eyes scanning the snow-covered ground. The Von Struckers were dead... killed off by Pride-bought cops not long after the dirty sons of bitches found out that the twins were mutants. It meant that there was no one in this god-forsaken city that knew who the hell he was or what he could do.

Still... it didn't make him any less paranoid. Old habits died hard; especially ones you learn at a pretty young age.

Yet business had called him back to the powdered Windy City. The local chapter of the Guild was having problems dealing with a local legend, and it was starting to show up in the books. He'd been able to ignore it until the most recent disruption which prevented Charlie from snagging a load of pharmaceuticals from the hospital four blocks away. Remy had been counting on that carefully-planned heist to rake in the biggest profit from a single deal in months.

Unfortunately, they had another run-in with some yeti. Remy snorted at the thought of Big Foot stalking his men and disrupting them in the middle of a busy hospital. The whole thing sounded like a really bad B-movie.

He glanced over his shoulder to check the time, ten thirteen... Gator would be back any minute and then they could get started. Looking back out the window, he reached up to scratch the mechanical arm at the elbow... it had been years, yet he still got the phantom itches.

“'Bout ready to get to work, kid,” he inquired without looking away from the scene outside. The question had been directed at the only other person in the room – his tracker.
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Primal
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JP remy and raen




Motherfucking Chicago. He’d thought he’d seen the back of this city when he’d fallen out of it, sick and gangly-limbed, and swore he’d never come back, but promises in post-war America amounted to conjecture and bullshit, even personal ones.

He’d loved this place. Well, no, that was a lie; leaving it behind had been one of those climactic life-changing events, but it held onto him through first memories and familial ties like an insuperable umbilical cord. There was a strange dichotomy between his loathing of it and the feeling he owed it something. Like a big fucking turd. That big bronze Lincoln squatting in Grant could do with the decoration.

“'Bout ready to get to work, kid,” [Remy] inquired. Raen glanced over at the thief, pressed up against the ceiling-to-floor window, and hid a smirk.

He didn’t need to try to find scent-trails. Chemical deposits lingered, odours straining thick on the back of exhaust and oil and rot. He could map this place out on stink alone.

“’Bout ready to leave?” he shot back.

“Hell yeah. Lets get dis over with so we can go home,” Remy shot back without taking his red eyes off the Windy City. “There's a reason we in Louisiana and not Illinois.”

That was for sure; he didn't like it up here. People were aloof and chilly at best, and at worst just plain mean. Sure, places like New Orleans and Lafayette had their share of assholes and crime... name a place that didn't, but the good people were genuinely good, and wanted everyone around them to feel the same way. There wasn't a day that went by where southerner didn't hear a “how y'all doin” from a complete stranger, and Remy missed that.

The food was better too.

“Says somethin 'bout dis place that we prefer New Orleans,” as his usual half grin spread across his rough features. The Big Easy had been all but obliterated by the warring factions of the Thieves and Assassins Guild, but compared to the ruins of the Cajun capitol, this place was still a shit stain.

“You gonna be okay? I know places like this can mess with your head... I know I don't like comin here no more'n you. Or Kansas City, but we gotta do what we gotta do.”

Raen snorted and stubbed his cigarette out on the bedside tabletop, charring the veneer. It added to the blackened patina, scored with old burn marks. The question amused him, as if he’d break down halfway into their foray and curl up and rock himself like a panicked child, overwhelmed by memory or sensory explosion. Chi-town didn’t deserve that kind of influence over him.

“Yeah, Rem, I reckon I’ll make it.”

Here though, it was difficult to disentangle himself from the past. Especially here. Remy was right to ask; anywhere else Raen might have laughed in his face.

A knock at the door cut over anything Remy was about to say, and it creaked open as Gator peered in, “Falsworth ain't comin. Says he's under Guild protection as a member, so protect him.” The large man snorted, “Coward.”

Remy shrugged, “I ain't sayin one way or the other. Guy's lookin after his boys, and from what we saw earlier, it's probably best they stay away. Sure, dey good thieves, but that lanky son of a bitch looked like he'd go down if Mother Goose took a swing at him.

He glanced between Raen and Gator, “Dat's why I came up and brought some of de best with me.”

Without another word and acting as if that tender brotherly moment hadn't happened, Remy fully turned from the window and stalked toward the doorway, “Well, c'mon. That bastard's out there waitin on us. Let's not disappoint him.”

Thrusting his hands in his pockets, Remy continued down the hallway with the tail end of his trenchcoat fluttering in the eddies around his feet. He didn't look back to see if the others were following him. After five years, there was one thing for certain that he could count on. They always followed.


“Well,” Remy asked as he stood across the street from the empty hospital eying the police tape that stretched in front of it. “What you got, pup?”

“A name,” Raen replied dryly, not looking up. Remy wanted to get on his nerves, he could do it when they weren’t looking for a big hairy asshole.

“Ain’t no one been here for days. Heat’s all dried up. Scent’s all over the place too; I ain’t gonna be able to track anything unless I get a whiff of the fucker. Clothes or something. Whatever. Cops’ve crawled all over the place. Stinks of cheap cologne and pig sweat. Somethin’ like wet dog around but,” he shrugged, straightening, and laughed without humour; “could be a wet dog.”

Remy considered his options as he eyed the feral; well, plan A had been shot to shit... it was time to move on to plan B until A could work itself out. He pulled the cigarette hanging from his lips and flicked the ashen tip into the white fucking powder that drove them into this dead end.

“Gator,” he finally said, his eyes still hovering from Raen to the hospital, “You said there were some street rats runnin around the area earlier?”

“Mm,” Gator responded in his rough, monosyllabic manner. Remy closed his eyes and brushed the faint impatience aside. Two of his best men also had the worst people skills out of the entire bunch, that was the reason Theoren was second in command despite lacking in other areas. At least his cousin knew his way around words.

“And,” Remy inquired.

“One of 'em tried to lift my wallet.”

A triumphant grin spread across Diable's features as he slid his half-consumed cigarette back between his lips, “Give it to the pup.”

He looked back at Raen, “Who knows... maybe you can scrounge up someone younger'n you and I'll actually start usin your name.”

Raen tugged the wallet from between Gator’s outstretched fingers, and effected a grin. On the saurian’s tan features, it looked more like a snarl.

“Rem, go fuck yourself.”

The leather stank of cash and weed and coke, piss and chips and beer… it smelt of Gator and some chick’s cunt. Raen pulled a face. Sniffing another guy’s wallet could tell you all sorts of crap they didn’t want you to know. Mostly, how often they didn’t wash their fucking hands.

Grubby kid fingers whiffed up alongside pussy. Singling a scent out amongst hundreds of others was like finding a coloured thread in amongst a mangled ball of duller others; once he selected it, their pheromonal imprint stood out as if highlighted, thin and flagging but clear amongst the morass. Raen tossed the wallet back to Gator, and pointed with his chin in the direction that faint kid-stink twisted.

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Anole
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Victor couldn’t help feeling happy. He had a shower and a full belly. Some new clothes and at least a few minutes on somebody’s couch, running up their electric and gas bills. He wasn’t really watching the TV, but it made him feel pretty awesome having it on. It was the fact that he could watch TV, rather than the fact that he was, that he enjoyed. Victor sprawled on their couch, sleepy from the warm and food and wondered why he hadn’t thought of breaking and entering before.

It wasn’t like he was gonna get caught. With the ability to blend into his surroundings, he hadn’t been caught once in the five years he’d been on his own. Well, except for a little while ago. Vic thought he was a pretty good pickpocket, but he’d barely slid the tips of his fingers into the folds of cloth before the man turned on him. Vic hadn’t paused or said a word. He just ran.

But now, he and Anne had a whole house for perhaps as much as a week. He’d spied the family packing suitcases into their dinky minivan. They could easily be going on vacation. Victor hoped they’d be gone for a good long time. Long enough for him to make the most of the fully stocked kitchen, anyways.

“Anne.” Victor sat up and glanced around the room. He hated when she wasn’t in his line of sight. He never knew if she was nearby and watching or just going about her business. It was impossible for him to know whether he was truly alone or not. Even still, he’d grown to enjoy her presence most of the time.

“You here?”
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Anne Lee
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In certain instances, such as this one, Anne found it a lot easier to not use her powers. Anne could summon food, clothing, water, and even materials used for shelter. Since she met Victor, however, she realized one simple thing: there was no fun in summoning every needed item. There was no thrill of sneaking up on people or watching to see how long it took for them to notice their missing items. The summoner recognized the need for back-up plans if her powers in a situation could not be used. Also, there was the annoying thing where, no matter how much she tried, there was a great difficulty of summoning objects directly from a person.

Meeting Victor not only gave her a new way to get what she wanted but also made her realize (recognize) the simple fact, not everyone on the street was as good off as her. New clothes and a full stomach of food weren't a special privilege for her. They were the norm if she so chose it. With this being the case, whoever decided on the breaking and entering, she did not object one bit. Victor deserved to have no worries for once in his life just like her. Maybe after the family returned would she look for a safe house like the one she had in New York. That way, Victor would enjoy being able to watch TV more often.

From the living room Anne heard her named called. She was in the office type area trying to convert the family computer to a secure Internet connection. (The family's saved files, accounts, pictures, games, and computer work had already been hacked in to and read.) Unlike Victor, she knew right where he was at all times due her mutant sense of location. So, she first ignored his calling.

About a minute after he yelled 'you here' she gave up at making the secure Internet connection. It was not as though she could not accomplish her goal later. "I'm here," she yelled from the office area. Summoning an apple, she took a bite of it with enjoyment. After doing so, she walked to where Victor was on the couch with a slight skip in her step.

"I can set the computer up in here if you want," she said. "Not hard to do. Won't be like they wouldn't be mad. The house is already broken in to so we should redecorate freely." After a short pause where she eat another piece of the apple, Anne continued, "Anything ya want me to find. Maybe this house has a secret stockpile of goodies and I'm sure there is a movie collection somewhere. Haven't watched a movie in ages."
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Primal
Unregistered

JP Remy & Raen




“Street rats sure have come a long way since I was knee-high to my daddy,” Remy said as he flicked the ash off the tip of his half-gone cigarette. He watched as flecks of ash scattered along the snow-covered drive before turning his eyes back toward the house it belonged to.

“Mm,” Gator grunted in acknowledgment; a note of conviction could actually be detected in his monosyllabic response, letting Remy know that he genuinely understood what his leader was saying. Most members of the Guild were comprised of orphans, runaways, and castoffs – when society turned their back, those they deemed vagrants and miscreants stole their wallets.

Times changed though, and gone were the days of staying in abandoned warehouses and ratty, cockroach-infested, empty apartment buildings. Now street kids were sniffing out places with hot water and cold soda in the fridge while the owners were either at work – or even better – away on a business trip or vacation. Remy couldn't decide if they were getting softer or smarter.

He finally tore his eyes from the middle-class home to study Raen, the look in his eye questioning whether this really was the place the thieves were. Breaking and entering was small potatoes for the international Guild; they had bigger fish to fry.

“Kinda brings back memories, don't it?”

“Ain’t no good ones.” Raen’s eyes narrowed. Homeless kids in nice fancy homes with snacks and cartoon network. Not quite what he remembered, but it was near enough.


Ten Years Ago

His skin itched. Sometimes it felt like thousands of ants were scurrying just beneath the surface. He’d scratch and gouge and pick at his arms until they were raw and bleeding, those little scabs hardening and becoming permanent nodes of scar tissue. He’d find new ones by the hour, sometimes. On his neck. His face. On his shins and feet and hands, his nails turning black like radiation victims’.

Sometimes he wondered if there had been a leak in the city, some unannounced accident at some unknown location. Hidden tanks of nuclear waste bursting from drums hidden underneath Chicago proper. But no one else came forward complaining of dwindling sight or shrivelled nails or skin that turned dry before it cracked and bled and scaled over.

Every day he saw less and heard more, blinded by too-intense scents and the cloud of fuzz across his pupils. His eyes always hurt, ‘lids rubbed raw and swollen.

There was coffee spilt all over the counter.

Coffee’s kind of a novelty when you’re borrowing someone else’s apartment for a couple of days. As is continental cheese, bruschetta, French loaf and butter, bacon and cherry tomatoes and iceberg lettuce and frozen gateaux that should have probably been thawed before frantic consumption… but mostly coffee. Amongst scrounging for scraps of weed and the odd gram of meth, caffeine was a welcome treat.

Now it dripped in a steady trickle onto the laminate flooring. Shards of ceramic lay strewn from the island to the refrigerator. Brown splatters stained the wall.

Raen stood in the middle of a kitchen that was not his and panicked. He hobbled towards the knife block and in frantic desperation drew a chef’s- and felt like a moron.

Not only could he hear them crawling around like overgrown cockroaches, he could smell them. That cop stench was too familiar. They stunk like the inside of a cell, of urine and washing powder and sugar and gunpowder.

And he was in here—someone else’s apartment—and he was unarmed (apart from this stupid little knife) and he was half crippled and half blind and if he admitted it, a dirty fucking
mutant. And that’s all they’d see, and in five minutes they’d all burst through the door and redecorate this dumbass kitchen with grey matter and gore. Human rights in this city didn’t cross the gene pool-- didn’t extend to homeless kids with bad DNA.

Fifteen-years-old and scared shitless, Raen backed up against that coffee-stained wall and slid to the floor, knife in hand. His shirt stuck to his skin.

“Mon Dieu,” Remy muttered, pulling a face as he lifted a pair of female panties with leg holes almost large enough for him to squeeze through. He tossed them over his shoulder, peering back under the bed he'd located the lingerie to continue his search.

The Von Strucker's financial adviser was a balding, wiry sort of a man that the thief had met a couple of times, and as he renewed his efforts in searching for something of use, he desperately tried to keep his mind from contemplating the logistics of Bruce the accountant and his taste in women. Finding nothing under the bed, Remy pulled himself off his knees, his eyes darting around the room for any telltale sign of a false outlet or anything else that could be used as a hiding place. He didn't have much time before the twins realized their model employee wasn't so model anymore, and unless he had something to hold over their heads, he'd probably be picking off assassins like flies for the rest of his life – an existence Remy Lebeau would not allow if he had any way of avoiding it.

“Damn,” he muttered. What he needed was here... he
knew it. He just didn't know what it looked like or where in the house it was. It could have been anything from a large stash of drugs to a laundering room to the real accounting records as opposed to the ones polished up for the IRS.

Remy was suddenly ripped from his thoughts as a shadow passed in his peripheral vision from the bedroom window. Without hesitating, he threw himself against the wall beside it, slowly peeking outside but unable to see what had passed. Satisfied that he could leave the room without being spotted, the Cajun immediately bolted through the bedroom door and strode down the hall and into the living room. He made a beeline for the window, crashing against the wall beside it and peering through the vinyl blinds to see the entire apartment building surrounded by cops.

“Oh damn... they move fast.”

“The keys,” said the officer of the SWAT team as he held out his hand to the apartment manager. With a startled squeak, the wide-eyed middle-aged lady handed the man a large ring crammed with keys; the officer frowned at it for several moments in silence before the manager gave another little squeak.

“Sorry,” she said, grabbing the keys and flipping through them, grasping one in her fingers as she dangled the entire collection from it in front of the officer. “That's the one.”

The officer nodded as he took the key from the terrified lady and approached the door, directly covered by eight of his best men while the rest secured the rest of the building. Reaching the door, he tried the knob just to make sure it was locked. What a surprise... it was.

Sergeant TJ Snyder tensed a little as he slid the key into the lock, and turned till it clicked. He took a deep breath as he reached for the door knob once more; at one time, an entire SWAT division for a squatter would have been a stupid waste of resources, but with war brewing and mutant terrorists cropping up everywhere, his superiors tended to err on the side of caution... especially when mutant sightings had been seen in the area. He gave his men a glance and a nod to make sure they were ready, then threw the door open and stepped aside, clasping his firearm in both hands.

“This is the Chicago Pee Dee! You're under arrest! Come out with your hands on your head or we will come in and get you. This is your only warning!”
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Gambit(Matt)
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Kinetic Energy Manipulation, Empathic Charm
JP continued

They erupted through the door, boots thunderous. 

Raen bolted in a panic, heading for the pantry, instinct overriding sense.  But they were coming into the kitchen now, all shouts and cocked guns.

He tried to spin past them and away from their reach, out of aim, but all that natural agility had gone.  Graceful acrobatics turned into clumsy lurches and awkward flops, his limbs flailing, legs twisted and contorted, useless disfigured appendages that left him crippled and stumbling.  He couldn’t run; instead it was a limping stagger.

Raen thought he heard someone yelling, something about getting down on the ground, something about not moving, and then there were shots, and he was on the floor, ankles tangling.  A sudden weight bore down upon his back, something slamming hard into his stomach, wrists wrenched around and pinned behind him.  Winded, he tried to cough but couldn’t.  He felt his shoulder strain, tendons wrung in the wrong direction.

And then the whole apartment shook.  Granulated plaster and dust exploded in clouds around them.  The power flickered and went out, lights spattering madly.

Everyone milled in a panic.

The second explosion was almost non-existent compared to the first; the drywall glowed briefly as it seemed to fall apart with a quiet pop as the front door belched a fuchsia-tinged cloud of heat at the SWAT team. He figured the discharge would probably injure several, but the main purpose for setting off the door was to create a diversion. Hopefully by the time the smoke cleared and the cops stormed Bruce's apartment, ol' Remy would be in the clear.

The scene that met his eyes through the haze of chalk-white powder, however, was enough to shoot his plan down the shitter. Several things went through his head at once – he'd just walked into a room full of cops, they weren't after him after all... they seemed to be after the kid pinned to the floor, and he had just announced his presence to the entire squad, making sure that they were fully aware that not only was he a thief guilty of breaking and entering, but a mutant on top of everything. He'd just stuck a massive 'kick me' sign on his back.

Years of training with Jean-Luc and avoiding authorities caused Remy to spring into action immediately; his feet were off the ground before the first SPAS 12 was turned on him. Telescopic staff in hand and fully extended, he slammed one end of the weapon into the side of one cop's head with so much force that it cracked the black helmet the victim was wearing. Two fuchsia cards disappeared into the chaos and panic that was Chicago's finest, erupting in small explosions of kinetic energy that sent several of them flying once more. Remy immediately landed in the midst of the ones who had either avoided the brunt of the attack or were managing to pull themselves to their feet and began a flurry of attacks, channeling bits of kinetic energy through his staff to warp armor and shatter helmets. With a final sweep of his staff, he caught the man who was still on top of the kid under his chin and sent him sprawling into a wall.

Raen was giddy with confusion.  For a few seconds the apartment was a war zone, point blank range explosions and the staccato of gunshot, and the heavy slumping of bodies hitting the floor.  The teen shuffled along on his backside, avoiding prone officers, trying to put distance between he and the freak in the trench coat.

He felt the icy burn of cold metal, hand brushing up against a discarded Beretta, dropped from unconscious fingers or lost in the mad scrabble.  There was no coherent thought to his action; he snatched it up and scrambled to his feet and turned to face the only man left standing.

Raen aimed the sidearm straight at the stranger’s chest, shaking and unsteady from adrenaline.  Blackened fingernails pressed painfully against the handgrip.  His lips peeled back into a snarl, animalistic and desperate, everything about him feral, except for his movement.

He spun his staff around, knocking the issued pistol aside and out of reach of one of the recovering men before driving his foot into the man's face. Several of them were groaning, moving and squirming on the floor as radio chatter burst over their shoulder-mounted speakers; most of them were out cold. Scanning the crowed to make sure there was no immediate threat, Remy turned slowly on the spot until he locked eyes with the kid standing in front of him, supporting a gun with shaking arms pointed directly at the Cajun.

“This de thanks I get, kid,” Remy said with a cocked brow as he stared at the kid unblinkingly... there was almost a tinge of amusement mingled in those slightly panicked red-on-black eyes. Finally he shrugged, the staff making a popping sound as it returned to its less bulky two-foot length.

“Whatever. Either shoot me,” he continued as he slid the staff back inside the folds of his trench, “or put dat thing away and come on. Ain't exactly waitin around for any more dese fine gentlemen to show up.”

His breath rattled loud in his ears, palms sweaty.  Through the fog he could make out the silhouettes and shapes of the fallen, twitching across the floor.  One gurgled around a mouthful of bloody saliva. 

Even so he hesitated, clasping the pistol, grip tightening and loosening and tightening again until it rubbed a sore patch where there weren’t any scales.  Fuck.  All he could smell was fear and blood; his decision-making processes turned to sludge.  The last time he’d agreed to go anywhere with anyone had been six months back with the Es Cee boys, and look where that had gotten him- lit up with bruises and hiding in empty apartments.  This swampmouth jackass could end up worse.  Could be some kind of pedo. 

But who the fuck wasn’t a pervert in this shitbucket of a city?

Chewing hard on his lip, Raen gritted his teeth and forced himself to drop the gun.



Now

Funny how things turn out.

Raen stared at the warm shape the door made on his vision, imagined kicking it open and storming in just like those pigs had all those years ago.  He smirked.

“Nostalgia’s a bitch.”

With a nod Remy cut his eyes over to Gator, “Go 'round de back. We'll take the front.”

Jerking his head for Raen to follow, the Cajun took off for the street as Gator gave a grunt of acknowledgment and headed around the house toward the back.

As he reached the door, Remy brushed his fingers against the lock, and watched as it quickly deteriorated, reminding him of paper slowly burning around its edges. Within moments, the majority of the deadbolt had been eaten away, allowing them to simply open the door and walk inside.

“Ain't touched picks in so long... might not even remember how to use 'em,” Remy muttered, casting Raen a quick glance over his shoulder as he swung the door open and strode into the moderately comfortable looking hallway and toward the sound of voices. The first room was empty, but as he peered into the second one, he spotted a blond girl and a little green freak lounging on the couch, looking like they belonged anywhere but here.

"Anything ya want me to find. Maybe this house has a secret stockpile of goodies and I'm sure there is a movie collection somewhere. Haven't watched a movie in ages."

“Y'all havin fun playin house?”
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Anole
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Victor, at Anne’s lack of answer, returned his eyes to the television. He had no idea where she’d gone, and that worried him, occasionally. The world didn’t like homeless kids. The world also didn’t like mutants very much.

Weren’t they lucky, then, that the two of them managed to fit both descriptions? Because that made life easier. Especially when the only options you were given were transplanting yourself to Jus Soli, or going to jail. Victor liked staying where he was, thank you very much. And he didn’t understand why people felt they had the right to tell him where to live.

That was why he ignored them.

He jumped a little when Anne finally answered. Okay… So she was around. That was good to know. One of the agitating things about having Anne around was that she didn't even have any fancy bells or whistles to her teleportation. What if he decided he felt like watching porn or something, at the random family's expense? Not a chance, with her ability to appear at any possible moment, no matter how inconvenient, without so much as a bamf to note her arrival.

"Nah, I'm good." He had no need or interest in the computers. He hardly knew how to use one. That was Anne's kick, and he'd leave her to it. And there was nothing they had that he wanted. He wanted food, a bed, and a shower. He'd gotten all three. What use was money, when you really couldn't spend it anywhere? Or a TV, when you had nowhere to put it?

He'd just opened his mouth when a shift in the shadows by the door caught his eye, not even an instant before the figures stepped into the light.

Victor's reaction was instantaneous. Other people were never welcome in his presence. Other people never cared that he was just trying to live his life. They were always yelling or screaming or calling for the police. Once, other people had decided to shoot at him. Experience had drilled into his mind and soul that other people were not to be trusted. The instant he recognized the shifting as human, Vic pushed himself up, his legs already coiling under his body. He held for only a moment to shout at his friend, ignoring the fact that the man had paused for words. He couldn't care less what this man had to say.

"Anne! Go somewhere, NOW!"

And then he sprung for the window. He didn't care that the window was currently closed. He just needed to get away. An instant was all he needed. A fraction of a second out of the other people's sight, and he would be gone forever. Anne would find him later. She always did. He just hoped she wouldn't hesitate.
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Anne Lee
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What were the odds of the same house being broken in to while the previous intruders were inside? Anne wasted no time trying to think of them. It had disappointed her that Vic showed no interest in watching a movie or searching for whatever this family hid in their house. Though she was a homeless mutant, Anne never experienced more than a night of being hungry. Having the ability to get whatever she wanted lead her not to understand how Vic was before she met him. If she spent a night starving, huddling in alley it was because she wanted to. Of course she was careful. There were people hating mutants everywhere but things were better off. Now if he was still... Things would be different if he was with her.

Vic's warning was not met with hesitation. Even if Vic did not want to join her in searching the home, did not mean she wouldn't. Anne had been searching for random objects while watching the TV. Her mind reached out to the objects so, when Vic told her to go somewhere, Anne summoned the thing her mind just searched out that moment. With in a second the object appeared (a fork from the kitchen) and the next second, she disappeared.

Once in the kitchen she tried to figure out where to hide. There were the cupboards (which was the obvious choice.) However, as she opened the cupboard furthest from the door, Anne knew two things. One, staying the house was not safe. Two, Vic would most likely not make it out of the house.

Thinking that her sudden disappearance would confuse the intruders, Anne summoned a shoe from the coat closet and teleported there. She then summoned the TV remote from the living room after dropping the shoe to the closet floor. The escape plan was simple enough. After teleporting to the living room she would grab Vic and summon an object as far away as her 'sense' could reach. Then both of them would be able to get away from whoever broke in to the house. A simple teleportation to safety was in order.

But who were they? Why did they break in to this home? Was Vic OK? Still in the coat closet, Anne waited holding the remote. Would it be safe for her to teleport back to the living room? Vic could disappear as well by camouflaging himself. He would be OK. Anne hesitated.
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