Fantasy ★★⋮ » New Blood

[Lustre]

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「USERNAME」⋮ LU'STRE & CLIO
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▐║━━ PLOT ✎

Two of the most widely known and respected superheroes in the world, Copycat and Berserker, have finally decided to retire and attempt to lead ordinary lives. The world has never been safer since the mysterious disappearance of the most infamous villain, Grimsbane, a shrewd and ruthless opponent whom our superheroes never could truly defeat. In the wake of their withdrawal from the superhero scene and the emergence of many future champions, a young and aspiring entrepreneur, Salem Cane, founded a superhero youth center where the newcomers are trained and instructed in the ways of gallantry.

Hazel Baudeliere and Roarke Lockridge are a pair of such people and the children of long-time friends and comrades Eli Baudeliere, i.e. Copycat, and Klaus Lockridge, i.e. Berserker, respectively. Gifted with special abilities, they are expected to follow in their parents’ footsteps and protect innocent people from harm, handcuff bad guys, save a kitten or two stuck on a tree, and keep up appearances in their private lives as well. The two struggle with living up to their family names and balancing their own needs with the needs of the world. Under pressure from their parents and their developing abilities, they join Salem Cane in his fight against crime.​

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▐║━━ CHARACTER SHEETS ✎​

 

[Lustre]

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A spiraling wave of heat whipped Roake's crimson-red face, his thin, cherry-tinted lips looked shriveled and ill. Roarke felt almost overwhelmed, swept away by a current of people making their way home from a hard day's work or rushing through the streets to strike a bargain with reluctant shop owners in the midst of spring sales. He had mistakenly clad in heavy black clothes and a hoodie and coiled a woolen scarf Lulu claimed to have knitted 'round his neck. He could have sworn winter still held her grip on the land but spring had come in sudden cascades of sunlight and already the heat felt stifling and oppressive. Such weather never bode well with him for it meant more work at the local hipster hangout where he regularly carried trays of desserts and coffee and oft had frosting stuck in his hair after playfully vexing his all-female co-workers. Luckily, work was over with but the day still pressed on.

His ivory-white teeth gnawed at his chapped lips as agitation sunk it while he passed by the Main Square. He slipped two fingers into his pocket and drew out a piece of paper creased and folded so many times that the letters have begun to fade. Each time he inwardly recited the content, he cringed in both embarrassment and fear. It was as though his father's ominous shadow was looming overhead, watching his every move and threatening to swoop down on him in a sudden fit of rage. Roarke knew better than to test the wrath of the Berserker, a rage-fueled fighter and a well-thought-of superhero. Today would be the day Roarke too would assume an alias and fight crime, albeit lacking in both strength and wits and with a power so weak and feeble that he could barely move a pen with his mind let alone a jaywalker in front of a speeding car.

Nevertheless, he pressed on towards the industrial part of the town where he was told to meet Salem Cane, a philanthropist billionaire with a mission and supposedly a heart of gold, and train to become a member of Cane's superhero team. Roarke thought it to be a flimsy plot to a bad movie and an unconvincing claim to fame, but he still found himself facing a dreadfully tall skyscraper which towered above all. His heart ticked over, his breaths turned shallow, and his eyes squinted upon the dazzling sight of architectural wonder.

"You've gotta be kidding," a whisper escaped his tight lips. He stood as stiff as stone of half a mind to turn tail and run back home but he reckoned the quicker he proved his father wrong and showed him that he wasn't cut out to be a hero, the better. He slipped inside through the main entrance hoping to remain obscure; he had even put his hoodie over his head for more stealth points. Instantly, the sound of footsteps striking the marble tiles filled his ears. The hall was full of office workers crowding in front of the elevators or queuing at the reception desk. The interior was surprisingly bleak and dull - entirely painted in white with a few works of art here and there hung on the walls with the exception of a stained glass window through which sunlight shone onto the marble floor and lit it up in colors barely visible in the crowd. Roarke paid it no mind and headed towards the reception desk. He repeated a sentence in his mind like a mantra, a simple greeting followed by a line so cheesy it pained him to speak. It was a password, the letter explained, the arcanum of Cane's superhero team.

The receptionist was a young woman with a broad, flashy smile which appeared to be permanently etched on her face. She mechanically repeated her lines and waited for Roarke's response but it took him a while to get past thinking whether smiling that much hurt as much as a kick to a man's privates. Alas, he cleared his throat and spoke in a low, grumbling voice, almost reluctantly,

"A hero does good," a sigh escaped him and he paused before adding, "for good, not for glory." The receptionist nodded and beckoned Roarke to follow her. She led him past shady nooks and crannies until they reached a waiting room in which dozens of people who appeared to be his age-mates were already seated, waiting for Salem Cane, or so Roarke assumed.

 

[Clio]

In strange waters

✿

Mood: Nervous, anxious
Outfit: x
Wants: To know what's going on, a cup of hot chocolate

✿ Hazel Baudeliere

Hazel took a deep breath. Winter was coming to an end, snowflakes being replaced by lazy rays of sunshine, hot chocolates being traded by iced teas. It made her quite sad. The melancholy of winter had always been one of her favorite things. It was like the world stood still for a few months, reminiscing about past feelings of happiness, with no intention to go back to its frenetic old ways. However, every year, it did. Spring woke from its slumber and, with that, the usual polychromy of life was back, as if it had never left at all. She shook her head, feeling some loose strands of hair fall on her face. She knew exactly why her mind was wandering away from her current situation: nervousness. At first, Hazel had thought it was a well thought-out practical joke. There was no way someone named Salem Cane, a supposed philantropist and billionaire, wanted to train her. The name alone sounded strange in her mouth, as it rolled out her tongue. It reminded her of laboratories and chemists, for some reason. A normal person would have thrown the card away, probably. But she was no normal person.

Admittedly, her first motivation to do it was the look on her father's face when she told him about it. The famous Copycat could not believe his daughter, who held such a passive and uncontrollable power, had been noticed by anyone, much less someone who wanted to assemble a superhero team. He scoffed, his violet eyes —just like hers— hovering over her face for a few seconds, before going back to the newspaper he had been reading. There was no need to say it: Eli Baudeliere did not believe she had enough power in her to make a powerful superhero. And so, she was forced to prove him wrong. Her second motivation was herself. Although she had been training ever since she was a little girl, there was only so much she could do on her own. Control was what she lacked the most and, without a prepared teacher to show her exactly how, the situation could not change. Her force-fields were starting to become a nuisance, coming up when they were least expected. If she wanted to be powerful enough to prove everyone wrong, she needed that type of training and, so far, Salem Cane and his crazy academy seemed like the only reasonable choice. The third reason was secret, even to her.

And so, there she stood. An elegant skyscraper towered over her, making her feel small, helpless. She bit her lower lip softly. The so-called password resonated inside her mind, making her blush by pure embarrasment. There was no way she could say that out loud. Even thinking about it made her cringe and ponder the possibility of going back home. But it was now or never. A chance like this one was one of a kind. Thus, trying to keep her mind blank, she walked inside. Whatever she was expecting was definitely not what was in front of her. Office workers buzzed from one place to another, filling the large room with different noises that drilled into Hazel's head. She wondered what was really going on there. Why would Salem Cane need so many office workers? What was his real motivation? She knew those questions would remain unanswered unless she carried on with her mission. She walked the few steps that separated her from the reception desk, and shivered at the fake smile painted on the recepcionist's face. Hazel wondered if she was even human. Nonetheless, she smiled back, and the two stood in awkward silence for a few seconds.

“A hero does good,” Hazel felt her voice shaking, but continued on, hoping to get it over with as quickly as possible “for good, not for glory.” The sentence was so cliché that she wondered if they had taken it out of a teenage movie. She hoped not. The receptionist nodded, letting her know she had understood what she meant —thankgod— and got up, only to start walking to some unkown place deeper in the building. Hazel followed her out of habit, and after taking many turns and twists, ended up in a waiting room filled with people who seemed as out of place as her. She lowered her gaze and stared at her hands, still walking towards the sitting area. They would not stop shaking. The nervousness had passed and anxiety had took its place. She sighed, only to feel herself colliding against someone, seconds later. She opened her eyes wider and frantically searched for the face of her unwilling victim. Roarke stared back at her, and she made an 'o' with her mouth, showing how surprising his presence was to her. “Roarke.” Hazel said, acknowledging him. They had known each other since they were infants, both their fathers bonded over an endless friendship. “Oh, shit, sorry about that.” She laughed, softly. “I was actually not paying attention, at all. So, what's this all about? Has Salem Cane shown his face yet? I hope I'm not too late.” Her violet eyes took one last look at Roarke and then focused on every stranger in the room. Hazel wondered about their motivations. They seemed to be so far from her, so unknown. She sighed. “At least I have you in here. I was going to lose my mind already.”

 

[Lustre]

No one spoke. A few exchanged empty looks and shifted in their seats, evidently wary of one another. Undoubtedly, the rummy bunch entertained the same thought and brooded over matters which directly implicated many a people outside this stuffy, windowless room, but each looked for the slant that fitted their own cause, whatever it may be. Roarke’s agenda was distinct in its simplicity – he had come to fail for failing was the only thing he was particularly good at. However, the air was thick with tension and it was difficult to keep a cool head and a low profile. He had barely moved from the door and it took every ounce of willpower he had, a measly fragile thing, to remain inside.

With his shoulders huddled and hidden under a layer of baggy sweatshirts and a drooping hoodie to obscure the dull glint in his eyes, Roarke stood a ghostly statue pondering where or more importantly next to whom to sit. He cast a quick, hopefully furtive glance towards a lanky man donned entirely in black, much like himself, who was chewing on a blade of… grass. Most peculiar. The man shot an edgy glance back to Roarke, evidently gifted with the keenest of senses. Roarke considered it a shortcoming and kept looking for the perfect ‘sitting-mate’ feeling his heart sink to his feet.

To his left, he spied a pleasant-looking girl presumably his age. Her hair was the color of the sun and her eyes appeared even brighter but she was oddly fidgeting in her seat. Roarke wondered if she as was agitated as he was and whether she could be a part of his definition of a safe place. Alas, before he could make his move, she grew another eye which shone the brightest right on her forehead and it looked straight at him sizing him up as if he were food. A cold chill ran down his spine and he immediately opted out of gracing her with his presence. Unexpectedly and in the very moment, he caught a whiff of a sweet scent which tickled his nostrils. It was daisies, he thought, no, roses for sure, or was it daffodils. He surveyed the room for the source and found a man in the far corner with spiffy, fiery red hair and a snarky smirk on his face. He was staring directly at Roarke, almost playfully. Roarke arched a brow and took a step back, taken aback by the man’s open display of what one could only label as affection to avoid resorting to vulgarity.

Suddenly, each person in the room seemed to be a complete and utter wacko. A freak. And Roarke was having none of that. He spun on his heel towards the exit with every intention of forever leaving the place but without any warning, he bumped into Copycat’s one-kitten litter – Hazel Baudeliere. He seemed to recall, albeit vaguely, Eli mentioning something about Hazel and the superhero business, but the man spoke rarely of his daughter unless all he had to say were ill-witted words. Even with a defensive power, Hazel was far more suited to save the day than Roarke ever would be. She possessed one other power too though she knew nothing about it – her mere presence calmed Roarke’s nerves. He could almost hear himself shout out a ‘thank you to no ends, Hazeley’ but it was a whisper instead.

He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into the corner, tactlessly and thoughtlessly pushing aside a few people so they could sit down and avoid being in the spotlight. He pressed closer and spoke in her ear, “She has a third eye. And I think I just got hit on by a guy.” To Hazel, it must have been gibberish, but such was Roarke, tactless and thoughtless. He shook his head and sighed a heavy sigh, leaning back to rest against the wall. “He’s not here yet. But, we, the circus freaks, sure have gathered,” he swore he spoke in so low a voice that only Hazel could hear him but many turned their gazes upon him and sent unspoken threats. The red-haired pheromone-inducing guy had his eyes glued upon Roarke, spiking up his goosebumps and hackles, and the three-eyed girl still thought him to be food.

“What does Eli say of him?” he inquired, a tremble in his voice. He had to keep his cool to keep his head firm upon his shoulders, not even remotely aware of how his question might affect Hazel even though he was well aware of their… unique parent-child relationship. “Mine has no use for words.” The Berserker spoke only of Cane’s immaculate good-looks and success, rubbing it in his son’s face but the son pretended not to care for the son would never be the achiever that his father was.

 

[Clio]

In strange waters

✿

Mood: Quite confused
Outfit: x
Wants: To meet Salem Cane

✿ Hazel Baudeliere

Instead of the reply she was confidently expecting, Hazel felt Roarke's hand lock around her wrist, earning a soft whew from her, a sound to indicate how surprising the movement had been. He quickly pulled her into the corner, and the girl asked herself if maybe he had run into some trouble. Roarke had always been unpredictable to her—a sort of unknown and yet familiar entity. She did not know he would be there, but the more she thought about it, the less surprising it was. Although the boy possessed almost no power, his ability was a valuable one, and if he learned and practiced until he could get stronger, he would surely be a force to be reckoned with. She almost didn't notice they had reached their destination, her body plummeting down on a chair that was far off from the main stage and quite separated from the rest of their (soon to be) classmates. Her brow furrowed, confused, and she turned to Roarke, if only to ask for an explanation. However, the boy had been much faster than her, and she felt his warm breath tickling her ear, causing a shiver to go down her spine.

He poured out words about a girl with a third eye and... a gay man? Hazel tried not to laugh, but a smile was already forming on her face. Roarke seemed to be deeply troubled by his prior experience, but to her, it didn't sound like anything terrible or out of this world. The whole lot of them had abilities, after all. “Shh!” She said quickly after hearing him refer to the rest as circus freaks, but it was already too late. She could feel people around her getting angry, scowling at their presence. This is not how she wanted her first day to go. Not at all. To control the situation, she would first have to focus on Roarke. Hazel scanned her surrondings. Finding the girl with the third eye was proving to be harder than she thought, but a cerulean-eyed skinny boy caught her attention first. He seemed... normal. Nothing out of the ordinary, at least externally. He soon found her gaze, and a mischiveous smile appeared on his face, while his body grew larger and larger until he had filled three chairs on each side. Hazel blinked a few times, confused, before looking away. An ability like that could not help much in the event of a battle, or worst, a war.

Just then, a small girl entered the room. She couldn't have been older than nine or ten. The brunette had thought Salem Cane had some sort of age restriction, but apparently not. Were they going to train her, too? She appeared to be eating a candy bar of some sort, although her little white dress was still spotless. Upon further inspection, however, the candy bar turned out to not be candy at all, but a piece of thick wire. She couldn't help but watch as the girl ate it all, looking satisfied as she finished. The more time she spent there, the more Hazel wondered if coming had been the right decision. She could only hope so. Just then, Roarke spoke again, turning her attention towards him. The mere mention of her father soured her mood, as she was sure it showed on her face. She nodded, gently. Hazel understood the lack of relationship between Roarke and his father as much as she understood her own, but there was no denying that they both had valuable opinions. Hazel licked her lips, and shrugged. “He thinks he's too good to be true.” She stared at Roarke for a few more seconds, then moved her gaze to stare at the ground.

“But my father is not always right, you know? He's probably pretty irked he doesn't get to be a part of this, because he retired early and all.” She dismissed her father's worries with a simple flick of her hand. “Whatever. I know it must be hard to believe in a billionaire with hopes to train a next generations of, uh, superheroes...” She hated that word, and usually didn't use it at all, but it seemed fitting at the moment. “...but it is what it is. We're already here too, aren't we? And you've been hit on by a guy already. Go you, Ro.” Hazel laughed sharply, but was cut short by a rather professional looking woman. She wondered if she was the same one that had welcomed her at the front door, but it seemed unlikely. Apparently they all dressed the same. Talk about lack of originality. “Roarke Lockridge? Hazel Baudeliere?” The unknown woman said with her monotone voice. Hazel put her hand to Roarke's mouth, effectively silencing him in case he wanted to say something stupid, and nodded, a corteous smile on her face. The woman stared for a few seconds, and then nodded back. “Good. Mister Cane will be here soon. Please wait in your respective seats. Thank you.” She was gone as unexpectedly as she appeared. Hazel lowered her hand and offered Roarke a quick apology. “Sorry! You know I had to do it, you're way too unpredictable for me.”

Just then, the lights were turned off, and the magnificent curtains guarding the main stage slowly receded. This was it. Salem Cane would finally make his grand appearance.

 

[Lustre]

Eli spoke wisely, Roarke reckoned and bobbed his head to the side, deep in thought. Hazel’s words became echoes wafting in the air, mere tickles in his ear, and were drowned out soon enough by his own. Roarke’s ability to soliloquize showed remarkable creativity. In a split of a second, he had already put Eli on a pedestal and branded Salem Cane a dog perched on its hind legs eagerly awaiting a treat. A lofty smirk grew on his face at the idea. Out of habit and childhood fancy, he then planted himself next to Eli. Roarke, a decent sidekick in garish tights and adorable undies, and Eli, a prolific hero in Gucci. The very thought of what had long passed brought him out in a cold sweat. He groaned and shifted and caught wind of Hazel’s voice once more. Was that a laugh he had heard? Did he cringe a tad bit too much?

When another employee shifted into focus, with a stern face instead of a practiced smile and well-acquainted with their names, Roarke parted his lips to utter a snarky one-liner or two, but to his surprise and admittedly horror, Hazel slapped them shut with a swoosh of her hand. He jabbed a finger into her ribs when she apologized and folded his arms on his chest. “I can control myself, Haze,” he huffed. That was quite a blow to his pride. He wished to pester her further, but the lights suddenly died down and the curtains were drawn. His heart ticked over briefly. There was still time to leave, he told himself.

But nobody appeared on the stage. Roarke surveyed the room and noticed that quite a few people were agape with wonder and anticipation, which Roarke found strange. Nothing was happening, at least nothing Roarke could see. It was only moments later that a slender but tall silhouette of a man on the stage came into his view. To the rest of the audience, he had been standing there the entire time since the curtains were drawn. It was a man clad in a black suit flipping over sheets of paper and fumbling for an opening line.

“My secretary insisted I had a speech, so he prepared one. A truly wonderful piece of writing, Charles,” the man spoke in a deep voice and smiled a broad smile. “But silly me, I can’t seem to find the first page.” He cast the papers aside and adjusted his tie. “’I bid you welcome, fellow good-doers,’ or so it went. It is a pleasant surprise to see so many young people own up to their potential by coming here. Truth be told, I expected half of you.” His piercing, electric blue eyes surveyed the room, and Roarke thought it obvious when Salem Cane fixed his gaze upon him that he constituted the other half. It pleased him to know he had gone against the odds, but at the same time, he wished he hadn’t come at all. “Now that you are here, we must work together to root out the evil that plagues us. You shall train together, fight together and win together. Your powers will grow and so will you. You will become a being larger than yourself. You will assume another identity and be known as your aliases. And only then will you find your true purpose.” It was an uplifting message and it inspired hope and a sense of duty and purpose in many, and it fought hard to breach Roarke’s wall of skepticism., but whether it pushed through or failed was difficult to say. Roarke wore a puzzled expression, a blend of ambition and crippling disbelief. “Tests and training start tomorrow. You will be given a questionnaire to fill in and submit as soon as possible.” Two employees appeared suddenly and began handing out many sheets of paper as per prior instruction. “You will be required to live here during the course of the training but are otherwise free to move about as you wish. This facility is equipped with everything you might need. And I think these were the basics Charles wanted me to focus on. That would be all,” Salem Cane said with a white-toothed smile. “Oh, I almost forgot. Wouldn’t want to be scolded.” He cleared his throat and began, jabbing his index finger upwards as if to make a point, “A hero does good for good, not for glory. Remember that.” He finished and sauntered off the stage in smooth steps.

“What a speech,” Roarked wrenched a sigh from his chest as he grabbed the sheets of paper one of the employees was waving in front of his face. “I can’t believe he even pulled that horrible catchphrase.” He stood up slowly skimming through the papers. There seemed to be a lot of questions and instructions. He turned to Hazel and said, “Help me with these. You know I don’t test well. I’ll buy you coffee. Or we can go have dinner at my place. Dad’s making his special today.” It wasn’t that he didn’t test well. It was that he believed his own lies.

The crowd began to steer towards the exit. The red-haired man crept up behind Roarke, towering above him, and said in a sweet voice, "See you tomorrow, Berserker. Roarke flinched slightly and scowled at the man who took his response quite lightly and with a smile left the room. "Berserker?" Roarke whispered in confusion. What did they expect? Another rage-fueled fighter?

 

[Clio]

In strange waters

✿

Mood: Angry, frustrated
Outfit: x
Wants: To go

✿ Hazel Baudeliere

Only darkness was waiting on stage once the curtains opened completely. Hazel narrowed her eyes. She could hear all the whoas and ooohs, but she could not see anything. Moving from one side to another, trying to make something out of the pitch black stage, she sighed. Although she was not small, she was not tall, either. Roarke had seated them in a far off corner, which had probably negated every possibility she had of seeing Salem Cane's face. She shot Ro a dirty look, but he paid her no mind, trapped as he was in the sight in fron of him. Maybe he could see something she couldn't? He looked to be deep in thought, scanning every little detail his eyes came across. The girl could read every reservation he still had: they showed up in his face, in the gentle pressing of his lips together or maybe even on his hardened demeanor. She hoped silently for them to pass. Just then, a loud voice resonated on every speaker inside the room, causing her heart to jump and her head to turn quickly towards the source. It was Mr. Cane himself. It was only then that she realized he had been standing still, hiding in the shadows. The mere thought creeped her out. There was definitely something strange about him, but she could not put her finger on it. At least, not yet.

His voice was soothing and his smile wide. It would have been easy for her to let go and trust him completely, believing his speech about purpose, fighting and winning. Hazel wanted to, she really did, but she could not lie to herself, at least not with this. Salem Cane scared her. If it hadn't been for her father and the fucking childhood trauma plus self-esteem issues he had instilled on her, she would have been long gone. But instead, she was sitting right there, with a thousand unknown souls. Did they want to run, too? Why were they here? Power? Money? Fame? Life with abilities was never black or white. Many people seemed to think you were either a hero or a villain. But between them, there were a million shades of gray. She wanted to believe she was a hero, but some days, alone in her room, moonlight leaking through the windows, she couldn't be so sure. Her moral compass was not broken, that was certain, but the years had taught her that, sometimes, different choices had different consequences. Although a choice did not define her, the public, those who only knew about "superheroes" through the press, may think differently. Being hated by her father was awful enough, she could not imagine what she would do if millions of people despised her, too.

By the time she came back to reality, after being trapped in a strange train of dark thoughts, two employees were handing sheets of paper to those present in the room. Hazel had no idea what that was about, but she was sure she would soon find out. After making some quick observations and reciting that catchphrase that the girl just wanted to forget, Salem Cane left. It was then that Hazel realized she had been holding her breath. That man surely was something else. Roarke sighed next to her, and she nodded at his words while she made sure to get one of those sheets from an employee. It was, apparently, a questionnaire. She smiled. She was good at that, at least. Ro seemed to know that, too, because he inmediately asked for her help. Hazel stiffled a laugh and opened her mouth to reply, but just then a mischievous-looking red-haired guy towered over her companion, reciting something that sounded more like a threat than anything else. He also mentioned Roarke's father, Berserker, before leaving for good. “Well... that was weird.” She shrugged. Klaus Lockridge was well known, it should be no surprise that someone recognized his son in a sea of people with abilities. “Let's do this. Okay, first question: Which is more important, nature or nurture?” Hazel bit her lower lip in concentration. “We'll go with both. If we only say nature, Cane will think we effectively don't care about training, and if we only say nurture, we'll reveal our possible lack of faith in our own abilities, which is always a bad thing for a gifted individual.” She nodded to herself while she wrote down her answer, hoping Roarke was doing the same.

“Second question: How can we motivate ourselves more effectively through reinforcement? Hm, that's harder.” A few seconds in silence had to pass before Hazel could finally decide on her answer. “By rewarding ourselves for the little steps that takes us closer and closer to the desirable outcome. This way, we can show him our goal is not virtually impossible, and that we value progress over quickness.” The rest of the questions were fairly easy, and were done in no time. By the time she was done writing, Hazel lifted her head to search for another employee to give back the questionnaire. She spotted the same sour-looking employee she had seen before who, coincidentally, spoke her name a few seconds later. “Hazel Baudeliere! Roarke Lockridge! Lydia Loyd! Max Marwel! Jake Dillon!” Hazel had absolutely no idea who the other three were, but the woman had spoken both their names, and that was enough for her. “Let's go.” She said, grabbing Roarke's hand to guide him towards the employee. Once they got there, she scanned them for a second, before fishing two keys out of her pocket and giving one to each. Just then, a tall, blonde guy arrived, a frown present in his face. “Baudeliere, Lockridge, Dillon. You, along with Loyd and Marwel, will the staying in the same section, section C. Each of you will have their own bedroom, and two bathrooms, divided by gender. Anything else will be in the common section. Starting tomorrow, you're required to live here, along with your comrades. Thank you for understanding.”

Hazel once again nodded. Living there didn't sound so terrible, at least not with her current home situation. Besides, she was sure her father would appreciate the new-found freedom. Taking a step to the side, Hazel's arm accidentally brused against Jake Dillon, who instantly recoiled, with anger seething through his voice. “Don't you dare touch me, you hear me? Don't want you building your power off of mine, just like your daddy did. You're nothing more than a pathetic thief.” Her violet eyes. That had been the feature to give her away, hadn't it? They made her father famous. Hazel felt the familiar electricity of a forming force-field in her hand. The boy's answer had been too agressive, and her lack of control made everything worse. Still, she knew the employee was watching her every move, so she took a deep breath, gave her sheet away and turned around, not saying a word. It was not worth it.

 

[Lustre]

Roarke scanned the questionnaire and barely discerned anything as simple as one’s blood type, gender or other personal details. In the upper left corner, he spied an odd sequence of numbers and having cast a quick glance over to Hazel’s sheet of paper he concluded that the numbers varied. He bit down hard on his bottom lip and squinted at the neat, printed letters and enough empty space between questions to fit a fleshed out paragraph. A soft whimper escaped his throat. Barely had he put pen to paper when Hazel pitted her wits against Salem Cane and worked out a stunning reply. “Yes, yes, absolutely,” Roarke was genuinely impressed and embarrassed. He nodded in agreement as though he understood half of what she was saying but he only wrote down a jumbled half-sentence desperate for a verb and a dot. Inwardly, he was already panicking, but he kept the hysteria to himself.

The second question was a troublesome one and it made him snort contemptuously. Hazel was sure to have a well-thought out answer whereas Roarke could only come up with sarcastic remarks none of which lacked in vulgarity. He wrote in big capital letters ‘YOU TELL ME’ but crossed it out when Hazel mentioned ‘reward’ and added the word with a broad grin on his face. But he didn’t truly believe that, so underneath, in barely visible letters, he spelled out ‘we can’t’. The rest of the questionnaire seemed easy but Roarke still had trouble coming up with anything substantial. He mostly copied Hazel’s ideas but in incomprehensible parts so that in the end, his sheets of paper contained only gibberish.

Finally, he was able to take a breather and hand in the filled out forms, itching to get out of the building onto the street and then straightaway either visit Lulu or meet up with his soft, cozy bed. But then, as though misfortune favored him quite, he unknowingly gained roommates. He took the key and twirled it around his pinky as his face twisted into a sour grimace. Weren't the dorms optional? And how was he to move in without the essentials? But what bothered him most were the roommates. “This place looks so posh, tho. Too bad it can’t bother to fix separate flats.” His voice was thick with sarcasm. The tall, blond-haired man merely gave Roarke an unnerving glance glazed over with overbearing pride and left the room in long strides. Had it not been for the fact that Roarke would be leaving this place quite soon according to his own estimates, he would instantly appeal the ‘verdict’.

He slipped a hand into his back pocket and took out his phone – a worn remnant of its former android glory. He was about to share the ‘good’ news with his father when some guy cockled his lips and lashed out at Hazel. He would be a pain in the ass as a roommate, Roarke concluded, adjusting his hoodie and moving aside in case conflict arose. Chivalry might as well have died when he was born. He sighed in relief when Hazel brushed off the guy and left him fuming in absolute stupidity and perhaps even fear. The Copycat’s power was indeed a formidable one. It was a shame Hazel never inherited such greatness, Roarke would often think. At least he was grateful the Bersker’s rage never rubbed off on him. He shuddered at the thought of being the spitting image of his father, in leather tights, wrecking havoc instead of trying to stop it.

Planting himself to Hazel, he gave her a light pat on the back, “Just a jealous simp. Glad I won’t be here long,” he let it slip mechanically, muffling the words near the end. Clearing his throat, he hurried along towards section C, or the area he thought to be section C, before he skidded into a curve and followed after two people who held onto similar keys. He cast a quick look over his shoulder to take in the sight of the now almost empty room. Oddly enough, the guy who had just scalded Hazel was trailing in their footsteps. No way, was he one of their roommates? Roarke cringed, huddling his shoulders and hiding beneath his hoodie. As they were passing through the dimly-lit hallway, he went back to typing on his phone. The message was brief and emoticon-less, ‘happy now?’ Roarke sure was not.

 

[Clio]

In strange waters

✿

Mood: Undefined
Outfit: x
Wants: A nap

✿ Hazel Baudeliere

Hazel tried her best to stop her timid steps towards section C from looking mechanical, but failed miserably at it. Her hands were tightly clenched into fists, and she could swore she felt her nails digging at muscle instead of skin, with blood pooling around them. Though it was nothing more than a sick fantasy, knowing that her pain tolerance wasn't as high and her anger wasn't as deep. Thankfully, the well-known faint sensation of electricity had vanished long ago, and with that every fear of creating yet another unwanted force-field. Control was one of the things she lacked the most, and now that she was absolutely sure this place was going to be testing not only her patience, but also her worth, she felt uneasy. The blonde guy was certainly one of many, and maybe he wasn't even only after her, but maybe Roarke, too, or any other gifted whose parents had left a mark in the world. She wanted to laugh. It was completely stupid to think that kids inherited their parent's exact ability, much less their strength. Some were even born without superpowers at all. It's not like it made her sad, seeing as the blonde guy was partially correct: Eli Baudelire had built his career by taking, taking everything he could, to everyone he met. That hardly seemed to fit the superhero way.

A light pat on her back brought her back to reality, and she blinked rapidly, turning her head to the side to look at Ro. She nodded, a faint smile painted on her face, which was quickly replaced by a frown after hearing the last part of his sentence. She opened her mouth to say something, but he was already hurrying down the hall, his back turned to her. Classic Roarke. Hazel bit her lower lip softly in concentration, and decided she would do everything she possibly could to keep him there. It was for a selfish reason, truly, but there was no way she was going to admit that: right now, she knew he was the only thing in that place keeping her sane. After a couple more minutes, when the only thing that echoed down the hall was their own breathing, the violet-eyed girl noticed the boring, white walls being replaced by marbel. What was the point of prettifying only a small section of the building? Keeping morale high? Just then, the entirety of the wall to her left disappeared, being replaced by tinted glass. Outside of it, miles and miles of green. The sight took her breath away. It couldn't be possible, the enormous building was flanked by two small family houses that had refused to give away their property documents, thus leaving no space for expansion. Was it possible this was all inside the building itself? It was certainly bigger and wider than anything she had ever seen, but it still seemed impossible, or maybe just a bit too much. She scanned her roommate's faces and found the same amazement.

A circular structure could be seen taking form in front of them. The road was coming to an end. Hazel didn't know how much time had passed, but she soon found herself standing in front of two big doors, with a heavy, golden letter between them. It simply read "C". “We're here”, the employee said. This entire time, Hazel hadn't even noticed they were being lead by them. “Inside these doors, you'll find the common section, where you're free to socialize with your roommates. This should not be confused with the common area, where all members of the community are welcomed. To your left and to your right, you'll find four doors. Three of them lead to your bedrooms, while the two others lead to the bathrooms, divided by gender, of course.” Hazel raised her hand, a question buzzing in her mind. The employee looked annoyed by that, but still nodded, giving her permission to talk. “There's six rooms and only five of us.” She stated, simply. “Good question. You were supposed to have another roommate, but she hasn't showed up just yet. Her name will remain secret until she does. If there are no further questions, I'll leave you to explore your new household. Just for today you're allowed to go back home one last night, where you can also gather all you consider essential. I'll see you soon.” If there were any more questions, Hazel didn't hear them, trapped as she was, once again, in her thoughts. The employee had been so sure the other girl would turn up, it was almost scary. Salem Cane and his little superhero academy were full of secrets.

Hazel's only other female rommate at the time, Lydia Loyd, was the first to open the doors. The common section was big enough, with a few couches and chairs that seemed expensive enough to be there. There were also some board games, six mini coolers (one for each, maybe?), three laptops and a plasma TV big enough to make her raise her eyebrows. Everything else was probably in the common area. Cane was forcing them to socialize, he wanted them to get along, probably to only make them hurt each other again and again in training. The doors that lead to their bedrooms were not as luxurious as the one leading to their section, but they were elegant enough. Hazel noticed names imprinted in each one of them. They didn't even have to chose their own rooms. 'Baudeliere, Baudeliere...', she recited inside her mind, looking for hers. She found it soon enough. The second door on the left. The first room apparently belonged to Max Marwel, a small, skinny-looking boy. She smiled at him, but he simply ignored her. Great. The third belonged to Roarke Lockridge. Hazel laughed while looking for him. When her eyes met his, she laughed some more. “Sorry, Ro, you apparently are not getting away from me. If you go knocking on my door at five in the morning I'm gonna kill you, though.” Having Roarke close really calmed her nerves down. It's not that she disliked her other roommates (except for Jake Dillon, of course, he could choke), but they didn't seem to want to talk to her more than necessary.

She struggled to get the key out of her pocket, opening her door moments after everyone had. It was simple, yet neat. A bed stood on the left side, with a small table on the center and an empty piece of furniture to the right. She was certainly supposed to put her 'essentials' there. A door towards the end surely led to her closet. Hazel sighed, then closed her eyes. The rollercoaster had just begun.

 

[Lustre]

Roarke had scarcely noticed the change in interior as he blindly followed the group towards their new, hopefully temporary, abode. His father was thrilled when he learned he would have the house for himself for a while if not longer but Lulu, his foxy girlfriend of almost six months, wasn’t thrilled in the least. Roarke hadn’t clued her in on the I-have-powers issue and he swore he never would. Not because he was concerned she would reject him or get hurt, no, that would sound nothing like Roarke. It was because he was thoroughly embarrassed. Therefore, he did what he knew best – he lied. Hence, Salem Cane’s ‘experiment’ turned into indeed just that – a case study of an experimental drug for which Roarke gladly volunteered to earn a few extra bucks. In return for covering his shifts at the café, Lulu would get a special present, Roarke promised.

For lack of attention, he clumsily brushed against one of his roommate’s shoulder when they halted in front of a door bearing the letter ‘C’ in a garish golden color. He muttered a sloppy ‘sorry’, looking down at Lydia Loyd, a tall slender girl whose smile was oddly both tender and cold. She waved Roarke off and perked her ears to listen to the employee. Roarke too tried to listen intently, taking a step back to avoid any further contact, but the employee’s monotone voice made it difficult for him to pay proper attention. Instead, he kept checking his phone for messages and rocking back and forth on his heels until Lydia opened the door to the common room. Taken aback by how posh the room appeared, Roarke whistled at the sight of a big screen TV and other expensive technological gadgets. Needless to say, Salem Cane had put in quite the effort, and by effort Roarke’d say money.

He walked over to the door which bore his name but he hesitated to open it. What if he liked it? The thought came over him and at once it became difficult to breathe. Not just the room, but the general atmosphere and the treatment or worse, the people. He shook his head in denial almost instantly, inwardly reprimanding himself. He could never stay, even if he wanted to. He wasn’t cut out to be a superhero. He relaxed and drew a long breath, at ease once again.

“Worry not, that TV would make better company. ‘sides that was like years ago. I’m a man now,” he replied in a proud tone of voice, as though he knew exactly what constituted being a man. When they were young, Roarke would often sneak in and wreck havoc in other people’s bedrooms at the crack of dawn. He often had trouble sleeping. It was the monsters, young Roarke used to say. They made him do it. Alas, he had grown out of it, although he still had trouble sleeping for sometimes it felt like he would never wake up again if he drifted off too far.

Lydia Loyd, who had been assigned the room adjacent to Roarke’s, glanced suspiciously at him, arching a brow before disappearing behind closed doors. Roarke too at long last entered his room and the first thing to catch his eye was a bulky travel bag resting casually on the bed. With lips compressed and clouded brow, he strode over to the bed and picked up a piece of paper strapped to the bag. ‘You forgot these. You’re going to need your undies. Love, dad.’ A laugher burst from his chest. The Berserker was as sly as a fox. Always one step ahead.

The room was quite spacious and the view from the balcony rather impressive. He thought of turning in early but he felt too agitated at the thought of what would come tomorrow. Instead, he had a change of clothes – sweatpants and a sweatshirt – and took to browsing the bookshelf for a read but the choice was rather poor. He wasn’t a fan of books on meditation or yoga and even more so he disliked romantic novels. Soon enough, he began feeling a bit peckish so he stepped outside. In the common area, he only found whom he thought to be Max, casually lolling on the sofa in front of the big-screen TV and munching on some chips. The boy was small and frail-looking but the gleam in his eyes was stern and unnerving. They exchanged a few cautious looks before Max offered Roarke some snacks. Roarke helped himself to some and sat next to Max and the two stared blankly at the news channel which was broadcasting a robbery gone wrong.

A few moments later, Max broke the silence. “I’m Max.”

“Roarke.”

“That yer superhero name?”

“Nope.”

“Mine’s still in the works. How about a costume?”

“Don’t need one.”

“I got a few.” Both Roarke and Max never broke eye contact with the flashy screen and they both indulged into their salty treats like they hadn’t eaten in weeks. “What can ye do?” Max carried on with the questioning.

“Not much.” Roarke kept his answers short and his tone of voice crisp and clear. “You?”

“I can fly, among other things.”

“Cool.”

“One day I’ll be on TV too.” Max drawled on, keeping the small talk alive and kicking. The story broadcast on the news had become much more intense, and several superheroes were in hard pursuit of the masked robbers. Roarke thought nothing special of it; he was just glad he had satiated his hunger. Max, on the other hand, could barely contain his excitement.

 

[Clio]

In strange waters

✿

Mood: Expectant
Outfit: x
Wants: Popcorn

✿ Hazel Baudeliere

Laughing at Roarke's comment, Hazel closed the door behind her, collapsing into the bed, the facade falling along with her. To be quite honest, she wasn't sure she could pull of something as big as what Salem Cane was offering her. She knew her power could be useful: she had met only two other force-field makers, both already in old age, but the strength and determination she had seen in their eyes did not match hers. Hazel was nothing but a sketch, lines drawn clumsily and careslessly, not existing to be filled. She was good at lying and manipulating — hell, even her own father believed she felt nothing for him, when in reality there was a deep hatred burning in her heart and stuck on her throat, like a scream that could never resonate within her reality. However, Salem Cane was not his father, and there was not a way she could manipulate her way through his little superhero academy. Dropping out was never an option for the Baudeliere, and so she realized her destiny was decided long before she had walked through those huge doors, mere hours ago. She bit her lower lip until she drew blood, and then sighed. Hazel would just have to survive the rollercoaster. At least with Roarke and their new-found teammates by her side, she knew she would not be alone.

Getting up, she got her scarf off, forgetting it on the little table that adorned the center of her room. It was hot inside, almost too hot, and definitely enough to make her forget winter was in full bloom. Licking the blood out of her lower lip, she fixed her long hair up on a ponytail and decided to socialize with the rest of the group. Although she knew Ro as well as the back of her hand, she still couldn't and wouldn't trust the rest, not after the open signs of hostility that had been shown to both of them back in the conference room. Such was her surprise when she opened her bedroom door again only to find Roarke and Max sitting together on the sofa, two pairs of eyes glued to the TV and only one bag of chips to share. Hazel couldn't help but laugh. They looked adorable. "Is it already movie night here?" She said, a playful smile on her lips, while walking towards them and sitting down on a small chair, next to the sofa. "What are you watching?" She turned her head around and answered her own questions. "The news?! That is extremely boring, even for you, Ro." She focused her gaze on the smaller boy, mesmerized by his stern manner. "You're Max, aren't you? My name is Hazel. It's very nice to meet you, and I look forward to training with you in the future." Max did nothing but stare at her. Hazel gave up on waiting for a reply and just sat there, in awkward silence with both of them.

It was then when a third door opened and Lydia came out of her room, cheeks painted a soft shade of pink and eyes shining bright. She looked flustered. "Uhm.." She trailed, getting everyone's attention. "Does anybody here have a towel? Forgot mine, and I kinda want to take a shower" Hazel pointed to the bathroom. "I'm sure there should be one for each in the bathroom. I didn't bring one, either. Figured they would have it all set up for us." She shrugged, and Lydia seemed content with her answer, nodding at her before flashing the faintest shadow of a smile on her way. "You must be right. Thank you. You're Hazel, aren't you? Hazel Baudeliere? I'm Lydia." Although Hazel expected something more out of her sentence, Lydia simply turned around and disappeared behind the bathroom door. Silence enveloped the room once again.

 

[Lustre]

Slowly and cautiously, Roarke’s murky eyes wandered back and forth between Hazel and Max. The latter spoke not a word, having pealed his eyes off the screen to stare at Hazel quite relentlessly and with a glimmer of curiosity. To what end, Roarke could not feign to guess and he would seldom bother at interpreting the cognitive processes of peculiar people. He began crunching on the chips loudly to break the awkward silence and ultimately divert Max’s attention back to the screen. The camera angle had shifted and was now broadcasting a full-out brawl: superheroes in leather tights against villains in colorful ski masks in a ring of debris. The last time Roarke witnessed such a scene was when the Berserker trashed half the city in pursuit of a common mugger with a quick pair of legs and surprising agility. It was the most embarrassed Roarke had felt in years. Whilst the public showered the Berserker with praise even though they were standing upon the rubble of their demolished homes, the authorities handcuffed him for excessive use of force. The old man never could control himself properly but these superheroes on the screen were boasting for entertainment points. Their judgment was not clouded by rage. It was resentment he felt towards them, albeit it passed as quickly as it came.

Lydia seemed to have interrupted the outstare for Max was now facing the screen and munching on the snacks. “They’re taking too long,” Roarke wheeled through a comment but before he could further his dissatisfaction, Max added his own,

“How would you do it?” Roarke stiffened up a bit at the question for which he knew he had no answer. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck fumbling for an idea but it was futile. The villains bore guns and menacing stares: Roarke and his weak telekinetic powers would prove beyond useless.

“Haze… Hazel’s better at this, I’m sure. She’d-“

“How would a copycat do anything against guns?” Max was swift to interrupt him, flashing a glance at Hazel. It was hard to tell whether he was judging her or showing genuine interest and no irony. Roarke fixed his eyes upon Hazel as well, expecting her to answer. Everyone seemed convinced she possessed her father’s power. Roarke wondered if they thought so as well about him. God, he wished not. Being identified as the Berserker’s son was bad enough. Roarke wanted nothing to do with his powers. Suddenly, a weak-ass telekinetic ability did not sound half as bad.

“She’d steal yer power and claim it as ‘er own. That’s how that lot does it. They work best in teams,” the voice of Jake Dillon boomed in the background as he emerged from his room, plain annoyance plastered on his unhandsome face. He stood by the doorframe at a safe distance from Hazel and the rest for fear of inciting backlash. The air around him was tough and study but in reality he was nothing more than scared of having his power copied by the likes of a girl such as Hazel. He folded his arms on his chest, shooting darts out of his eyes.

At the same time a singing voice could be heard from the bathroom. It was sonorous and soothing but as it was trying to reach greater vocal heights, it became high-pitched. It was Lydia’s voice no doubt and it resonated with more intensity and volume as she went higher. Roarke started up to, for the first time in his life, stand up for somebody. It was difficult to say why, he himself knew not but it was better to clear all doubts before somebody, and by that he surely thought himself, gets hurt. When he stretched out a hand towards Jake and barely opened his mouth to speak, a plethora of books from a nearby shelf came charging Jake’s way, slapping the bare skin of his arms and legs and hitting his face harder and harder as Lydia’s voice rose higher. The boy yelped and slouched for cover as Roarke stood agape in both shock and wonder. Did he just do that? Could he have done it? Usually it took more than a swish of a hand to move a feather let alone a bunch of books. He stared at his hand, his shallow breaths scarcely passed for breathing. How much shit was he in exactly? And what was Jake’s power? God forbid it be lethal.

When Lydia stopped singing, the books ceased to attack Jake.

“That… couldn’t have been me…” Roarke took a step back, waving his hands in front of him, refusing to believe that he was capable of anything extraordinary.