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Bring Me Back; Mercy
Topic Started: Jan 28 2013, 03:05 AM (403 Views)
Julio (Kip)
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Seismic Energy Generation

Date: January 24, 2013
Time: 7:52 PM

For some preposterous reason, the world had contrived an unofficial mandate for the beginning of the new year being the allotted time to make a change; though, if these individuals genuinely wanted to adjust their lives to a more positive composure, why wait until the next January to do so? Wouldn't the best maneuver for transformations and promises be to take action immediately? Despite Ric's blatant deprecation of the concept, he is known for his bad habit of conforming to society's best trends; becoming, yet, another victim to this influential preposition of change. So what were his personal New Year's resolutions?

Actually, Ric never made an official list of resolutions, he kind of just stated numerous goals he wanted to accomplish for 2013. This is why he only remembers a few of them. The first one being to put more effort into helping others. The majority of his friends, family, and teammates would just tell him, "Ric, you already do a lot! Don't stress yourself out." Ric never feels that way; there's always more to do-- another civilian to save, another robber to capture, and another cat stuck in a tree. He had a pretty pessimistic perspective of the world, in which he believed was to be doomed and there was absolutely nothing to stop it. The only way to make it better was to slow it down.

But how could he slow it down if he had his own problems to take care of? Which brings us to resolution number two: come out of the closet. The first experience he had with his sexuality manifested his mutant powers, which ended up killing and injuring several people, including his two cousins. Ever since then, he has bad associations and memories when it comes to dealing with his bisexuality. He forced himself to believe he fell in love with a woman, only for that relationship to have ended. Nothing good can come out of keeping this a secret any longer, but what would the world say to him? Ric's all about labels, and he doesn't want to fall into the wrong category.

Which is about to happen right now.

"Hey!" Ric tumbled forward, nearly breaking his knees on the cement sidewalk beneath him. Catching his balance, he saw a teenage boy holding a purse, running as fast as he could. Several yards behind him were an older woman and man, chasing him. "Great," Ric thought, "another stolen purse. I never get the good cases." Wiping off his shoulders, Ric ran after the three ahead of him. He saw the teenager turn a corner up ahead, and Ric took an alleyway to cut him off. In mere seconds, Ric brought his hands together and clapped a single time. Vibrations were sent through the air, knocking the appearing boy off his feet. "Ha! You aren't going anywhere." Slowing his pace to a walk, he snatched the purse, "I don't believe this belongs to you."

"Yeah, it does! That's not even a purse! It's a satchel?!" He was frantic now, attempting to steal the 'satchel' back. "Come on, man. They're coming!"

"Are you sure? I don't think this belongs to you." Ric began to fumble through the bag full of small items, such as a pack of gum, a ring of keys, a cellular phone, a small notebook, and a man's wallet. While opening the wallet, it was as if Ric felt the bullets pierce him as two gunshots rang. Although it wasn't him who was hit-- before him, the boy lay still as blood leaked from his shirt. Ric heard an applause, car doors closing, and tires racing off, but he just stood there, staring at the ID of the boy found in the first flap of the wallet. And next to it was a card that said: Registered Mutant.

Snapping back to reality, Ric dropped to his knees and held the boy's head in his arms. "No..." Taking a moment to take everything in, Ric's eyes watered, "No, no, no, no! Somebody! I need help here!"
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Mercy
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"Mum, I'm not a nurse. You need to ask one of the girls at the clinic about it." Maggie sighed, pinning her phone against her shoulder as she rifled through her purse for a stick of gum.

"I know dear, but her poor throat is troubling her so much I hate to take her out in the cold." She was using the mom voice. Maggie hated not being able to resist the mom voice.

"Have you tried giving her tea?" She sighed, knowing that it wasn't worth the fight.

'''I've been making her tea and soup all day but she won't have it. I even made her pudding earlier, but she said it hurt too much to swallow."

"She's probably got Strep, mum. She'll need antibiotics or the whole school will have it."

"Isn't there some kind of lozenge for it I can get at the pharmacy?"

"Mum, just take her to the bloody clinic! Getting her darling little nose cold isn't going to kill her." She located her gum at last and popped a stick in her mouth, cinnamon spreading across her tongue.

"Honey, where are you? It sounds like someone's shooting."

She was right. Maggie had frozen in place, her throat suddenly very dry.

"I have to go mum. I'll call you when I get home." Her mother was still saying something when she ended the call.

What do you do when you hear a gun fired nearby? If you're a sensible person, you take shelter. Perhaps you call the police and tell them that there are dangerous people walking around shooting guns in your vicinity. At the very least, you walk briskly in the opposite direction.

Maggie, having never really applied to the 'safety first' school of thought, started running in the direction the shots had come from.

A few blocks ahead, a car come screeching around the corner, jumped the curb and took off down a narrow side street. The fact offered her some comfort, as it meant that whatever fight had taken place was probably over. Fewer guns could always be considered a plus when charging into combat wielding nothing but good intentions.

The first street she tried was empty. So was the parking lot, and the second street and the office park. Her lungs burned and her legs started to ache. Maggie was not a runner by any stretch of the imagination, and her adrenaline stores had just about run dry. When she finally found what she was looking for, her stomach clenched into a knot. There was an awful lot of blood on the pavement.

"Have you called an ambulance?" She asked as she came up to kneel beside the two young men, trying not sound as painfully out of breath as she actually was. She wished she had some sort of badge to flash. 'Don't worry, I have mutant healing powers' wasn't the kind of explanation she could pull out in mixed company. "Does he have a bag? I need you to see if he's carrying any medication." The question was complete bullshit, of course -no medicine was going to heal the gaping holes in the boy's chest- but his friend seemed more than a little distraught and she needed to distract him, just in case he decided to slam her into the pavement for using faith-healing voodoo on someone who needed 'real' medicine.
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Julio (Kip)
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Seismic Energy Generation
What is worse: the legalized-killing and blood-stained souls of soldiers contending to a war of a purpose long-lost and forgotten, or the inscrutable odysseys of outlandish superheroes whose afflicted lives are falsely labeled as leading dreams for boys and girls? For Julio Richter, the vindication to that question-- which isn't asked just quite enough -- would interminably be the latter. Although he would sculpture the fact as, "Being a superhero sucks because we're expected to commit to deeds that sometimes are impossible to accomplish. And when we fail to that reliance, we become broken action figures; simply tossed away to be abused by society."

So why was he a hero? Julio Richter, also known as Rictor-- a crime-fighting mutant immersed in the political and whimsical adventures of the X-Men. Police officers, firefighters, and even school teachers, all define the inspirational word of "hero." They save the lives of others in need and they make the world a better place; a more humane place. These mutant vigilantes protects the populace sometimes and saves the world here and there, but what is so phenomenal about these trauma-struck heroes who deal with life-threatening situations every minute of their existence? "Drama, death, and despair," Ric would say, "drives the duration of us defenders."

"Cardiopulmonary resuscitation!" It was all too much, as the sole action Ric could currently perform was to endlessly sob into his sleeves. "Why are you spelling it out, Ric?! Just freaking do the job already!" Between his short-winded breaths, water-blurred vision, and rapid-thinking, he impulsively placed his hands against the boy's bleeding chest and pushed three times. "I'm not doing this right, I'm not doing this right, I'm not doing this right." Ric held open the boy's quivering lips and breathed into his mouth. Repeating the process, slightly altering the steps each time, the body's hardened slowly developed into a lifeless limp. "There's blood... everywhere."

With all the commotion going on this small square-footed sidewalk, all life around him was silent. The criminals who shot the boy were most likely far gone by now. Being in Mutant Town, citizens probably hid in panic behind their window's curtains, despite stealing a sneak peek at the scene. However, sudden footsteps unanticipatedly broke that frightening silence. "Over here," Ric failed to clamor as blood, tears, and saliva distorted his speech. He tried not to look back, but he had to see who was coming. Was it an aid or a threat?

Seeing a woman kneel beside them, Ric didn't recognize any signs of menace from her; actually, he would call her pretty if he wasn't distracted by the ongoing incident. "Do you think I had time to call an ambulance?! Look, he's dying!" He didn't comprehend who or why this woman was as she was dressed in a rather casual attire. Figuring this out only made his head worse. "Can you do something?! It looks like you know what's up!" If this woman was someone who could help, and actually knew what she was doing, nearly half the stress would be expunged from Ric's mentality. He then listened to the woman and teared through the boy's bag. Flipping it downside up, he emptied everything onto the cement floor.

Nothing. There was nothing Ric saw of useful information-- save for that mutant registration card. Picking it up, he carefully held it in between his four fingers, as if it was the most treasured item of all time. "No, ma'am. No medications." Words slipped out of him, but he didn't perceive them as anything but mere sound. The only thing that mattered to Ric at this very moment was that this boy may be dead. And this boy, was a mutant.
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Mercy
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Why did nobody ever call the ambulance? If you can't fix your sink, you don't stick your head out the door and scream for help, you call a plumber. Why did people assume that it worked any differently in a crisis situation? If you had time to wail and fret, you had time to call in a trained professional who could potentially do some good. Maggie tossed her purse in Ric's direction without turning to look at him.

"My phone is in the front pocket. Call an ambulance." She told him, hiding her irritation beneath a thick layer of professional calm. At this point she didn't think it would make much difference, but anything that kept him busy would be a help. She reached for a pulse to ground herself with. It was weak- so weak that it took her a few tries to find it -it was enough to help her focus. She breathed in deeply, and exhaled a wave of velvet darkness that enveloped her thoughts. She didn't hear Ric when he told her the verdict of his fruitless medicine hunt. Her entire world had become the feeble pulse of blood spurting from destroyed arteries.

She sensed right away that she had stepped into a dying world. Even as she reached in to tenderly mend shattered flesh and bone, it was obvious that there was no hope of saving him. One of the bullets had lodged in his heart, shredding the muscle and ensuring that Maggie had no way of working around it. If he had been breathing...if he hadn't lost so much blood, or if any number of other completely irrelevant 'what ifs' were in place, she might have had enough time to step back and physically remove the bullet. She was however, keenly aware that the moment she stepped away, he would die. It was amazing that he had survived long enough to remind her how very unlike a miracle worker she was.

The boy wasn't in any pain. The dying brain releases a flood of endorphins sufficient to make even the most agonizing of deaths bearable, at least for the last few moments. She liked to think it was God's way of ensuring that his children came to him with peace in their hearts. She let go.

The face Maggie saw when she opened her eyes was pale and smeared with blood. Gently, she leaned down to kiss his forehead and smoothed his hair over his brow.

"God our Father,
Your power brings us to birth,
Your providence guides our lives,
and by Your command we return to dust.
Lord, those who die still live in Your presence,
their lives change but do not end. "

Maggie finished it there. She then reached into her pocket for a handful of change and removed two quarters, placing them in the boy's hand, just in case ferry service on the other side had gone up over the years. Perhaps it wasn't the most Catholic of ceremonies, but she figured it got her point across.

"He's dead."

While the prayer had been a whisper, her final announcement was spoken clearly and without passion. She turned to watch Ric with quiet eyes, her hands folded in her lap, and waited for the wave to come.
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Julio (Kip)
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Seismic Energy Generation
Imagining himself in the allegory of the cave, Ric came to the decision that having the knowledge of only one thing for the entirety of his existence wasn't so bad; it was definitely much better than what was going on right now. Doing absolutely nothing but staring at a wall, feeling the heat of an undying fire behind him, the only thing that was corporeal and concrete was the still shadow before him. Maybe Plato was wrong when he constructed this story of his mentor. Maybe he was wrong in the fact that, as humans, we aren't supposed to learn-- we aren't supposed to be taught that there's more to life than what others fabricate for us. That the only thing true in his story was the idea of people killing the ones who craved for knowledge.

Because, as of right now, Ric did not want to believe what was happening. He wished he was in the cave, staring at that wall, and erased everything else that was once real to the world. How could he be so naive? So moronic? So... ignorant? Ignorance; the one conception that served as a tool to fully turn around Ric's desire to be trapped in that cave. The cave, which only taught ignorance. What Ric couldn't afford to neglect was the boy before him, who's possible death would stain his hands. The sudden object flying toward him brought him back to urgency. Catching the purse, Ric fumbled for the woman's cellphone. While doing so he mumbled, "Yeah. That's Mutant Town for ya; they expect us to do everything."

Ric wasn't sure if the woman knew he was a part of the town's detective agency, forcing him to ask, "You new around here?" Multitasking was difficult when it came to someone's life on the line; he was asking questions, but he wasn't committed to the conversation. Finally finding the phone and dialing 911, there was only one ring until the other end picked up. "Hello?! Someone's been shot!" When asked for his location, and despite Ric knowing the city's blueprints like the back of his hand, he didn't have an answer; instead, he just shouted, "Three blocks west from the Brownstone! Get here. Now!" There was no need to explain. There was no need to answer questions. If the police department did their job correctly, they wouldn't have to ask questions. Hell! If the cops ever did their job right, there wouldn't be need for any superheroes. But, yet, here they are.

Aggressively pressing the 'end' button, Ric would have destroyed that phone if he had pressed it any harder. "Hey, I cal---," he began to say when he was interupted with what he next saw. The woman seemed to be fixing him up, but she had none of the required tools to do so. "Uhm... what are you doing?" There was no answer; he leaned down to her level, noticing that the woman was in a trance-like state, with all her focus on the beat-to-a-bloody-pulp body. Was she a mutant? She couldn't be-- he has never heard of her before, at least not around here. Before Ric's hopes could get up, she suddenly stopped, with a solemn expression drawn across her face. "Hey..." Trying to decipher what was going on, he almost forgot about the boy, who now seemed completely dead.

"He isn't..." God our Father, what? "No. Why are you saying that? No, stop!" But he couldn't break her prayer. After she finished, Ric saw her place two quarters in his hand. He wasn't familiar with that practice, but he didn't want to question it; it was mostly for good intentions. Emotions were at his highest, but he didn't know exactly what to feel. The first time he had ever experienced something like this was when a man had shot his father right in front of him, and he was only a kid at the time. At that moment, in the Mexican prison cell, Ric was afraid. Afraid for his safety for his father no longer being able to protect him. Ric was angry. Angry at the man who had just committed the inhumane crime. But most of all, Ric was perturbed.

Confused with how to react, Ric just covered his eyes and prepared for endless possibilities. Shockingly, the man who murdered his father had died, which Ric later realized was by his own hands. So he had a taste of revenge. But what would he do here and now? Those thugs were long gone and this woman had nothing to do with it. There was one difference between both scenarios. Then, a man had shot his father without warning. Now, Ric was the ultimate cause in allowing this boy to be shot. There was a young man, a dead man-- and the person to blame was Ric. "I'm sorry..."

"It's all my fault. I'm so sorry." Ric stared at the deceased body, hearing the sirens of the too-late-arriving ambulance around the corner. He still didn't know what the woman was trying to do, but none of that mattered now. What was done was done and there was no changing it. People die. And that's life. It's how we deal with death that makes us who we are. So who was Julio Richter?
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Mercy
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Maggie was not a stranger to death. While she fancied that they shared something of a mutual respect for each other, they fought often and bitterly. Sometimes the battles were long and drawn out, sometimes swift and decisive, but always there was a desperation in her heart that could only come from fighting against an unstoppable force. On days like today, she could almost feel death patting her shoulder in consolation. "You've done all you can, Mercy. Let me take it from here."

She knew that if she thought about it any more she'd only burn herself out. This was just one more splash of blood on the pavement. One more dead kid for the world to forget about over their morning coffee. It wasn't fair, but there was no way of making it right. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could hear the angel on her shoulder crying.

"There's nothing you could have done."
She told Ric gently, dusting off her knees and turning up her jacket collar against the metaphorical chill that had settled over the alleyway.

"His insides were torn to pieces. He'd never had made it to the hospital... I'm sorry for your loss."
What else could she say? Had they been brothers? Friends? Lovers? When grief was strong enough, it tended to look the same on everyone. Maggie was no counsellor, and she knew better than to poke at a sore spot without the proper equipment. The police would take care of it. Red and blue light danced across the scene as the sirens brought their men. Maggie retrieved her purse and went rummaging for the card that marked her as a registered mutant, knowing that they would need to know why her hands were covered in blood.
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Julio (Kip)
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Seismic Energy Generation
Death wasn't anything new to him. Being a "superhero," Julio Richter and his team had experienced several battles in which encountering casualties was near impossible. They would just look down and sigh, say that they could have done better, and move on in the next couple of days. So why was it different this time? Why didn't Ric just see this as another victim of this fucked-up world? He knew the answer to that, it was the obvious; these questions were just distractions to help him thinking, rather than breaking down. If Ric knew better to be able to simply distinguish a purse from a satchel, maybe this kid would still be alive. If Ric knew better to not conform to cliche's of society -- a man steals a purse from a woman only for that woman's boyfriend to pursue the thief -- maybe that kid would still be breathing.

Who was this woman to tell him there was nothing he could have done? Ric could have stopped the couple. He could have aided the boy escaping the scene. She wasn't there, she didn't see what happened. But what use was it telling her that? It wouldn't change anything. Talking about it wouldn't bring him back. The metaphorical blood dripped from Ric's hands, staining him forever. Should he respond to her? Normally, he would see the woman as a helping hand or a shoulder to cry on, but he couldn't think about that right now. The ambulance finally arrived, the paramedics took the stretcher out, and the cops zipped around from the other corner.

From his peripheral vision, Ric could see the cops preparing their guns and using their car doors as shields. But they must have recognized him as a member of X-Investigations, because they dropped their weapons and casually walked toward him. Was Ric ready to talk about it so soon, though? Did he have a clear enough head to summarize what had just happened? Though, Ric was definitely the fight in the fight-or-flight situation, and whether he knew it or not, he was subconsciously prepared. Which is why it came to a surprise to him when he had willingly walked toward the nearest officer.

"Officer. You can get your guns off this miss here. She helped as much as possible and it would be best if your paramedics got to speak to her; it seemed like she knew what was going on." Ric referred to the woman behind him, hoping that the cops would believe the story. Because from the looks of it, she was really bloody and that normally wouldn't look well. "Long story short: a couple, one male and one female, had shot that kid, and drove away."

Taking a notepad and a pen out, the cop began to write things down. Though, Ric never believed that cops actually wrote shit down. If they were true cops, they would remember the details. At least, X-Investigations never needed stupid notes. "Can you describe the couple and the car they drove away in?" he asked Ric.

"The woman was blonde, about 5'6'. The man had a hat on, but his hair may have been brown, maybe black. He was about 6'0'. I didn't get much else, but there car was a early-2000 make of a black Honda Civic." The cop nodded his head as a thank you toward Ric, and presumably went to tell his squad the details. Ric turned around and headed over toward the woman. In her hand, he saw a mutant registration card. Mutant? He assumed correctly. "Hey, uhm. Thanks for doing... whatever you did. I didn't catch your name. I'm Rictor of X-Investigations." Ric stretched out his hand for a handshake, but realized that both the woman's hands were covered in the boy's blood, so he hesitatingly brought his back in.
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Mercy
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"Margaret Collins. X-corp."

She caught his retreating hand and shook it firmly. Rictor was more covered in gore than she was, so she didn't she a point in being squeamish.

"And you're welcome. I'm sorry I didn't get here in time."

One apology was all she allowed herself. Any more that that, and the numbness clinging to her thoughts would quickly turn to a poisonous guilt that would sink into her bones. It was a relief to find out that Rictor was an investigator, and judging by the manner he had displayed thus far, not a personal friend or relative of the victim. Any day she didn't have to come face to face with acute human suffering, she counted herself lucky.

"Umm, since we both work out of Mutant Town..." She said, holding putting her registry card between her teeth as she rifled through her purse for paper and something to write with. She murmured something unintelligible as she scribbled her phone number down on the back of a receipt, then handed it to him.

"If your, emm...commander, or whoever needs me to do any paperwork for this, you can get me at that number."

It was tough to get a feel for someone's personality during a crisis, since fear and desperation tended to change people in drastic ways. That taken into account, Maggie had decided the moment she saw Rictor that he was the kind of guy who took things personally. It was something she had a lot of experience with, and when she had fist stepped into the alley and seen him worked into a blind panic, she had understood. When she had first to New York in the wake of the Apocalypse, that helplessness had been her entire life. Seeing it on another person made her feel...almost irritated in a way. It was an unwelcome reminder of a Maggie she had left behind. Still, she could hear her angel whispering for her to be kind, and so she obliged her imagination.

"Or, if you just wanna talk, that's fine too."
She added with a little shrug, glancing over her shoulder at the paramedics as they started to gather around the corpse.

"Anyway, I should go talk to those guys..."
She let the sentence taper off and turned away from him slightly, waiting for permission to end the conversation.
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Julio (Kip)
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Crowds. There were more people arriving on the scene. Police men and women, paramedics, and civilians. Civilians who now thought it was okay to intrude on this privacy like it was a reality show on the TLC network; however, at the time when needed most, they cowered behind closed doors. Despite their good or bad or plain nonsensical intentions, more people was beneficial for Ric. He handled situations smoothly under pressure when he had more eyes observing him. Being alone and isolated gives him time to think and over-analyze things, which almost always turns out to be unhealthy for him-- considering his lack of self-realization.

The deceased body was still there, but its light dimmed into a blend of its surrounding, so it didn't become Ric's primary focus. So when the woman reassured his retreating handshake, he was able to properly respond without his arm weakly flailing. At first started by the woman's alertness, he stumbled for words, "Ms. Collins of X-Corps, yeah? Well, it's a pleasure to meet you." The mutual blood on both of their hands exchanged when they met. Ric paused for a few seconds to just... stare at the quickly diluting, velvet liquid. Only because it was considerate to give his full name in return for her's, "Julio Richter's my name-name."

"Uhm, I---" He didn't know what to say because he didn't want to make her feel guilty. Hell, Margaret shouldn't have to feel guilty whatsoever. It was Ric's fault this kid was dead; there was no denying that. "It's... not your fault. No need to apologize." Why couldn't he take his own advice? There was still the hammering guilt banging its way around his head. When Margaret started fumbling through her purse, Ric thought it would be a good idea to help her out by holding her registration card, but that would have been a bit awkward if he tried grabbing for it. So he didn't. Instead, he grabbed the quickly scribbled phone number she handed to him.

First, Ric was confused at who Margaret may be referring to. "Commander? I don't think we," after thinking about it, he continued with a certain confidence in his voice, "Oh! Madrox, you mean? He's no 'commander,' and he has plenty on his plate. I'll most likely keep a hold of this; thanks." The blood on his hands transferred and bled the white paper. He tried his hardest not to think about it, plucking it right into his back pocket. Looking at the cracks in the cement ground under their feet, he was taken aback once again with Margaret's words.

"Talk?" He wasn't sure what she meant by this. Was she hitting on him? Nah, she couldn't be. This would be a totally inappropriate time to be giving numbers, and Margaret looked and acted mature enough to not be that low and shallow. Or... maybe she was just lending a helping hand. Whatever it was, Ric did feel comfortable with it. "Yeah... yeah, sure. Whenever we are in need of your---" Before he could finish what he was saying, he had to know what her services consisted of. "Wait. You never told me. What do you do?"
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Mercy
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Maggie stared at him for a long moment with her brow furrowed, almost as though she hadn't understood the question. In truth, she had been going over different potential lies in her head before she realized that for once, she could just tell the truth. It felt strange, like putting on a new pair of shoes that hadn't yet been broken in, but it didn't feel bad.

"I, um...I fix people."

It was a pretty lame answer, but she hadn't spent a lot of time thinking up a way to make her powers sound scientific and impressive. Absently, she glanced over her shoulder at the paramedics. When she turned back to Ric she laughed awkwardly and gave her shoulders a shrug before crossing her arms across her chest.

"Yeah, I know..."

She sighed, her voice laced with weariness.

"Not my best work. I mean, I know that I'm not gonna be replacing Elixir in the history books any time soon, but I can usually...I just didn't get here in time."

She shrugged again, defeated. What more was there to say when you gave something your best shot and still fell short? She fill out the paperwork and try again next time.

"I should really..."

She murmured, once again hinting at her desire to end the conversation. She didn't want to seem rude, but she was desperate to get the questioning over with so she could go home and meditate over a pot of tea and a butter tart.
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Julio (Kip)
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In his head, Ric was going through the various mutations Margaret could have been capable of. He didn't exactly see what she was doing because he was worrying too much about he had fucked up, yet once again, so he had absolutely no clue as to what her powers could be. There was the obvious choice of healing manipulation, but the kid was still dead, so that was out of the question-- or else he would be alive and thanking her for saving his life! What else? A telepath? It did look like she was concentrating really heavily, maybe soothing him as he slowly passed away.

"You're kidding me?" was a Freudian slip as Ric did not mean to say that out loud. Usually when healers were around, the death rate decreased, which is why it came to a surprise for him that she was a healer. He didn't mean that in a rude manner at all because that reaction was partially because he was kind of shocked that he was a healer. If there was one type of mutant that deserved to be more abundant than others, healer was the answer. Especially in Mutant Town, due to their saturation in crime and violence.

When Margaret made notion back to the dead body currently being prepared to be taken away by the paramedic, Ric tried his hardest not to look that direction. There was a part of him wanting to tell her to just straight up describe her powers to the finest detail, but he knew that this definitely was not the best time for questions like that. Not to mention that she was kind of weary already with the whole situation; however, he would probably attempt to steal all the guilt from her because it was his fault by the end of the day.

Ric noticed that it was getting a bit awkward between him and Margaret. They were total strangers that met each other through very extreme circumstances. So he decided to man up and say, "You should go get some rest." That was something he wanted to tell himself, but he didn't want to sound so self-preserving, especially to a person he just met. "But before you go," he reached in his pocket again to pull out his wallet. Shifting through the several expired coupons to random gift cards, he eventually pulled out an old business card that he wasn't even sure he had anymore. "Here, this is my agency's card, just in case you don't have our contact yet. And my personal number is on the back."

Stuffing his hands in his pocket, he breathed heavily and, "Well... maybe I'll see you around?" He didn't want to admit it, but that was a lie. Sure, Margaret seemed like she would be a great friend for Ric, but every time he would look at her, the dead body of that teenager he 'killed' came to mind, and that was just a horrible memory he wanted to forget. He turned around to walk amongst the wind to who-knows-where; however, he would eventually find himself back at the Brownstone.


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