My name is Roberto Da Costa. I am 15, a star soccer player, a linguist of sorts, and I am a mutant. First Generation Mutant, I suppose, since as far as my parents know they don't have any mutant traits. Mutant. It's such a small word. But words can sometimes be misleading. Like the word 'abbreviation.' Such a long word, but it means to shorten something…
Sorry, went off subject. What was the subject? Ah, Eu recordo…I am a mutant. Well, if I am going to tell you about me being a mutant, I should explain a little about myself.
I grew up like any menino pequeno. Born in Rio de Janeiro, (that's Portuguese, not Spanish, thank you) in Brazil, and I learned to speak 5 languages. Portuguese, of course, is my língua nativa; but also English (obviously), Chinese, a little Spanish, and Classical Latin. What can I say? Some parents teach their kids how to catch a baseball, mine taught me basic linguistic necessities to run my pai's business someday.
See, my father was a driven homem, who grew up poor and hit it rich. He didn't let the millions get to his head though, he makes time for his dear family, and finds time to make me into a strong, well-educated individual. He's more like my best friend, not my dad most the time. Well, except when he's drilling Latin pronouns (or the equivalents thereof) into my head.
My mãe was an archaeologist in her day, and claims she still is. She's a typical, fussy mom. Roberto, clean your room, Roberto, don't leave the window open.
I also love soccer. I know, I know, any teenage boy with a drop of anything resembling Spanish blood in him is automatically a soccer player, as is the stereotype, but I do love the game. Typical that it was a game of soccer that brought me to the Xavier Institute ultimately.
Let me start at the beginning.
A little bit before my fourteenth birthday, our team was against our rivals, the Dynamos. Now, to picture the Dynamos, you have to think of the most nada para um cérebro person you know, and then subtract about fifty IQ points from that. They play a good game, sometimes, otherwise they wouldn't be our rivals, but they are really racist indiviuals, to put it nicely. (to put it meanly, they are just all filhos dos cães.)
They waited until the ref wasn't looking and then all of them jumped me. Frankly, I was supremely pissed off. So I retaliated. Then I turned into a pure black heat-monster-freak thing. I switched abruptly from pissed to scared. Needless to say, the soccer game kind of unofficially ended since everyone ran afastado, screaming from the field. That did coisas maravilhosas for my self-esteem.
Professor Xavier found me with his computer later, and he did a good sales pitch, but I gotta tell you, I was fourteen, and didn't care about a word he said. I honestly think that the only reason I came with him was because he'd brought another pickup first. Her name was Amara Aquilla. She was a princess or something off the shores of Nova Roma. She was a pouca coisa, coming about to my shoulder. With her attitude she might as well have been 10 feet tall. She acted like the queen of the world, which I realize now she might very well have been…
But it didn't stop me from trying to push her buttons. And it helped me make my decision, though my mãe wasn't too happy. She set her lips tight and started to speak with my pai in Spanish. Not fair. I couldn't follow all of it, and half of it I knew I mistranslated. Since when did a llama come into the story?
The gist of it was, my pai was willing to let me try it, and saying they had limited options, and my mãe was having none of it.
"Miliampère, por favor," I interrupted. Then, being mindful of the others in the room, I switched to English, hoping they'd do the same. "I want to go. The Professor said he'd help me learn to control my powers."
"Roberto, nous ne savons pas s'il parle la vérité," my father hissed. I hadn't heard this language before.
"Um, Pai--," I started, only to be interrupted.
"Je vous assure que, M. Da Costa, je parle sincèrement."
It was the Professor.
Even Princess Snooty had the grace to look impressed. "Professor, you know French?"
My father was staring him down, and I was somewhat surprised that this weak man in the wheelchair emanated such power.
My pai told me a little later, when I was packing my things, that he'd been inside his head, having a conversation, trying to convince him to let me go.
I was kind of surprised. I didn't know the man had that kind of power. I concentrated on what I was packing, never really saying much. When push came to shove, I just didn't know what I wanted to do. I was going along with Professor Xavier's ride because I knew I wouldn't be able to do much around my home any more. Rio de Janeiro officially knew I was one of those…things. Mutants.
Ah, again with the word. Mutant. I met that guy the older kids talk about. Magneto? Or Magnus as the Professor called him. He told the new mutants once that he classified us as 'homo superior.' Homem evoluído, as the Portuguese would say. I can't remember tenses for Latin right now, but I'd give you that too.
I didn't feel superior as we got into that enorme jet. Or as the scary man in the cowboy hat welcomed us aboard. (I'd learn later that his name was Logan, and that's about as friendly as he got.) I didn't feel superior as Princesa Tequila or whoever she was demanded I give up the window seat. I felt alone. And afraid.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that everyone thinks mutants are just these insane, horrible creatures…but I'm just a kid who was born with different DNA; one gene different than other people. Sure, I'm a little insecure at night. But if you were used to feeling protegido, and then it was taken away, would you feel a little vulnerable? Those few hours of the day that have no sunlight scare me to death. To the point I get sick.
You know when women are pregnant? And they get doença da manhã at first? Morning sicness? Well, I get that at night sometimes. Doença da noite. It helps to stay in my solar-powered form at night, but my sheets aren't resistant to the heat I put off in that state (neither are my roommates) and I feel really fatigued in the morning.
I was saying something though, wasn't I? I'm not like Bobby, even if we do share the variation of the same name. Bobby Drake and Bobby Da Costa are two different people The homem do gelo loves attention. Sure I brag sometimes about being stronger than the others. I normally say that to push buttons though. It's my nature. I enjoy seeing the reaction of Ray being told he's not the strongest, or the most powerful. And the stream of palavras más that come from his mouth when he gets upset. I'm actually more introverted. That's why Sam and I get along so well. And, by default, Rahne. Sam is this gentle giant. He wears his heart on his sleeve, like an open invitation. 'Take me or Leave me, I am what I am.' I think it comes from him being a well-mannered country bum, and I love to tell him so. He just smiles and says he listens to his mama.
Rahne is just confused about everything, being raised so religiously. She didn't like me at first, said I looked like a Solar helion. A demon do sol. A sun demon. In fact, Kurt told me once she didn't like him either. She's just at odds with herself about her mutation, but she's coming around.
She is the most fun person to be with when relaxa; excitable as a Yorkshire terrier. She smiles easily, her accent is clear and proud, and she tells us stories about her homeland. Kinda like Sam when he's excited about something and his rural Kentucky accent comes out really strong.
It's something I notice. Rogue is in her element all the time. Typical Southern Belle, Sam calls it. Severe case of vara acima de seu burro, I call it, though not to her face. Kitty used to suffer from valley-girl speak, so I'm told, but it calmed down after she spent long enough out here. Professor McCoy suffers from terminal Shakespearian. Has to translate everything he says.
What tangent am I off on now? Oh, I remember. I was talking about not liking the dark. Well, I soon discovered I wasn't the only one. After Rogue absorbs a new personality, sometimes she gets residual nightmares. Scott, it turns out, draws his optic blasts from the sun as well, so he's up sometimes for much the same reason I am. I'm only grateful I can turn my 'powered up form' off and on. It makes me feel bad for the guy.
I know Tabitha would stay up sometimes, though I never really talked to her for long. She up and moved out after a little bit, and I think the only person she confided in was Princesa Amara herself. Amara, it turns out, finally mellowed, but still suffered from extreme homesickness. When we actually talked one day, she told me Tabby's father mistreated her. When she was 13, she boomed his lasagna or something and got punched out for it.
I was surprised when I'd find Jamie in the nightly meetings I fashioned for myself. I think I'm awake the most, but Scott is right up there with me, and sometimes Rogue, but Jamie was a surprise. He doesn't like to talk about stuff, since he's the youngest and all, and I think he wants to prove he can be as strong as the rest of us, but we know he doesn't like high winds. Kind of ironic, that way, since he's found his safety in falta Munroe.
Jamie is her favorite, and everyone knows it. Sometimes we think he milks it for all it's worth, and he does get away with a lot of stuff. Even Mr. Logan is nicer to him. But being his roommate, I know that he really doesn't mean to do it. I catch him sometimes talking to himself. Literally. He makes duplicatas of himself to talk to when he's lonely. It makes me feel kind of bad. That's when I'll try to do stuff for him. Who's it gonna hurt if I lend him my suit? No matter what Kitty says.
It was hard not to notice that on stormy, windy nights, when falta Munroe would sleep like the dead, Jamie would creep into the kitchen for a cup of water, and end up staying and talking with us. He'd immediately droop tiredly when the winds calmed down.
I guess I'm supposed to have a point. And I don't think I've been making it. I guess…we're just povos normais, that's all. Amara says I launch into Portuguese too much. No one suggests soccer as the sport anymore, powers or not, when we're having free time. I guess that's another thing about Scott. No one plays pool with him anymore. Mr. Logan challenges him every once in a while, but Jean told us that he's never beat Scott once.
Underneath the labels, and the insults, and the powers, we're just kids. I happen to be good at soccer. Kurt can fence. Jubilation can work the uneven bars like no one I've seen. falta Munroe likes to tend to her little garden, but her thing is writing. She loves the written word. She had a thing for Mr. McCoy once, I know that.
Jamie? He's just a kid. But he's the most well-read person, except Mr. McCoy, that I've met in my life. I haven't even read as many books as him. And they're not easy ones. He's read Gulliver's Travels, The Three Musketeers, and Nicholas Nickelby.
Aside from our mutations sometimes giving us help with our abilites, we're just truly gifted youngsters, like the Professor always says. And when someone tries to prove otherwise, we can take them out.
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A U T H O R S N O T E
Bleah. More for the randomness. I'm obsessed, aren't I? We need more stories for the forgotten ones. Like Roberto. Or Hank. Or even Freddy Dukes! No one remembers these people, it seems, when I search for character-centric stories to read.
Any suggestions?
As always, feedback appreciated, I own no x-men characters, blah blah blah. Yay for Roberto!!
Ayaia of the Moon