Aqueous
By Great-Xscape
Disclaimer: I own nothing nor do I make any money from the ideas I write.
Chapter I
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She stepped out of the taxi and arrested every eye. frail, pale and beyond beautiful, she took away the breaths of the residents fortunate enough to lay eyes on her. No one noticed the man and woman, both tall and attractive Hispanics, step out behind her, the man reaching a hand out to steady the woman. The gesture was comforting, bragging of peace and love shared between them greater than the pitiful comparisons poets dream of.
She had great long hair, thick and flowing to her waist. Her skin was as pale as the white moth's wings and twice as soft. She hid her face, bowing head prompting her long bangs to cover pale blue eyes from view.
Like an angel.
The shock wore off and the residence shook their head admiringly but went back to life, reality rearing its ugly presence again.
The three paid with a large tip and the man ushered the two ladies down the street where they eventually made a stop before the large vacancy sign. Its red tone blared compared to the sun's yellow streams. The three shuffled their bags, one a piece, and made their way into the hotel's door.
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He smirked at the move, dodging the punch with a tilt of his head. It was pitiful, really. Deciding to end the fight, he moved in, quick and fast. A punch to the belly, man's soft spot just below the rib cage. His opponent choked, body twitching onto his fist. He stretched out his fingers, bringing the digits around his opponents clothing and skin like claws and ripping his hand back. His nails weren't long or sharp but his hands clenched around the other's vulnerable skin like a clamp, tearing open a light but painful wound. His opponent fell like the dead, gasping and withering on the concrete floor.
With an unconcerned roll of the eyes, he walked away, sure to give the opponent a final kick to the head. Assurance that the battle truly was over. Flicking blond hair that had begun to grow long enough to be a problem, he strolled out of the hidden back streets, leaving behind one unconscious body. Soon to be dead, if that body's friends didn't take the time to drag it out of danger. Not that it concerned him. The person dared to entreat on his turf- the person would pay the consequences.
Stalkers appeared like flies, legal and not. Cops trying to keep a low profile, acting like they really did belong in this part of the city. Obvious to the locals, of course. And then there were the regulars- assassins and challengers, trying to move him out of his power. Those were the ones he had to watch out for.
Especially the assassins.
Rumor had it that a new clan was moving in. As powerful as New Orleans finest, the LeBeau Clan. This was Chicago and here, his father was the guild leader with enough power to stand against even Jean-Luc. If the rumors were true, his father's leadership was about to be put to the test.
Flicking a smug look at the cops and completely ignoring the others, he made his way through the city like a snake. Every door was shut but would open to him. every street was his home. Dozens of loyal members waited for his call while many others slept with the knowledge that they, too, were subject to him.
But it wasn't as important to him as it was to the family. He had heard rumors that Jean-Luc's son had disappeared. Perhaps it was time he should, too.
He passed by his refuge and gave it a momentary look. The school where they promised the sands of the sea if he but passed his classes. He could remember the frightened teachers as he walked into the room, their faces relaxing into disbelief as he proved himself the best. School had promised to get him out but it seemed that those promises were lies. He was still here.
His father was as good as dead to him. Just like the rest of the family.
The thought struck him as he continued walking. It stayed with him as another building came into view. Eyes strayed to make sure his stalkers had temporarily lost his trail and he slid into the building. It was time to leave. The dirty old building known as the Orphanage stood forlornly as cops and thieves alike, in the streetlights and in the shadows crept in, looking for the boy they had been following. They waited awhile longer before moving on, noting that the prey had been lost.
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She blinked large silver eyes.
They had brought her here, of all places. A capital of smiling, happy, cheerful children. A golden city of hope, love, and peace.
Already she could feel sickness clawing at her belly.
When the doctors recommended a move, she knew this was not what he had in mind.
Bayville.
The name made her nose wrinkle up and she threw her face into the seat's cushioned back. The van didn't stop, however, and her parents in the front seat didn't notice her discomfort. They continued their mindless chatter, occasionally throwing back a comment but not really expecting any reply from her. She was like that and in time the two adults had learned to deal with it. Her mother finally accepted the fact that her daughter wasn't interested in shopping, the latest fads, teen idols, and the like. Her father shook his head but admitted defeat in trying to get her interested in his life and hobbies. Both had backed away to a comfortable distance, trying to creep in slowly to their daughter's life but moving with the intention to help, not harm.
It was a nice situation, considering how terrible the father/mother/daughter relationship had been before.
She absently tucked her blue-black hair behind her ear, ignoring the way the chin-length strands evaded her purpose and fell back into their previous positions. Careful not to smear heavy makeup, she rubbed the soft skin below her silver eyes and tried again to see the good in this place.
Ever since the accident, her vision had become…blurred, for lack of a better word. Most of the time, she could see just fine. Colorful visions of life that everyone else saw. But there were times, especially when she was extremely stressed, that the colors burned away to leave shade of black and gray. Nothing felt worse then seeing life through color-blind eyes.
"I can't wait to see your new school!" her mother babbled, face pinched with excitement. "Imagine: this is a whole new chance for you. New friends, new image, new reputation. You can be whoever you want or whatever you want to be. Isn't that exciting!"
Her father smiled but even she could see the weary expression beneath the mask, could hear the slightly strained tone of her mothers voice. The fights were getting more frequent now, more obvious. To an outsider, theirs was a happy family. But she could see the cracks, could hear the arguments yelled almost every night.
Not wanting to think about that, she closed her eyes again.
Bayville.
Her hand clenched into a fist. Such a happy name. For unhappy people.
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"Class, we have three new students! This is…Alicia Devora." The slight, pale blond smiled shyly as her name was called. She wore white pants and a long sleeved blue shirt. Her baby-blue eyes peered at the class intently, curious and unafraid. The teacher beamed, immediately enchanted with the girl as was half the class. "Why don't you sit next to Jean Grey?"
Said girl smiled, raising her hand. "I'm Jean. Where are you from?"
Alicia brushed back rebel strands sticking from the braid her hair had been pulled into. "Originally Batangos."
Jean's mind drew a blank. Alicia smiled. "It's in the Philippines."
"Oh." She noticed, now, the slit tilt of Alicia's eyes, the high cheek bones, the kiss of Asia on Alicia's face. "You came all the way from Asia?"
"No," Alicia shook her head minutely. "I was born there. But I was adopted and brought here, to America. We use to live in California but have been traveling since I was ten."
"How old are you now?"
"16."
"You are Jessica Thomas, right?" Mrs. Michals smiled widely at the next student but the smile wilted as the girl nodded, face blank. "Why don't you sit in the third row, that empty chair right there."
The girl, moving silently to her seat, lay her books down and transferred her startling silver eyes to the desk. Jean looked at her, an odd expression on her face. "Do you know her?"
Alicia shook her head a second time. "No. I tried to talk with her when we were walking to this class but she…didn't seem into conversation."
"And that would leave you as Jordan Owens." Mrs. Michals gave the boy a look-over and, deeming him whatever her personal scale judged, she pointed to the back of the room. "I think there's an empty seat back there, Mr. Owens."
"Jordan's fine, miss," the boy replied lazily, stretching his legs muscles out to the back of the class. He was sure to give each of the girls he passed a winning grin before dropping his stuff onto the floor and slouching into his desk as though his bones naturally bent the way he wanted them to. Jean watched his progress with a critical eye, mentally sizing him up to all the cute guys of her life. Duncan for one. Scott, too.
The teacher waited for each of the new students to relax before giving her routine welcome speech. "As you know, my name is Mrs. Michals…"
"California?" Jean moved her head so she could whisper a conversation to Alicia without being seen. "I've never been there."
Alicia nodded, leaning forward to write one of the paper notes passed to her by curious students. "I was really nice. Hot during the summer. Great to swim, with the ocean so close. I lived close to the water, away from the bigger cities." She scribbled a reply and passed the note back, continuing onto the next one.
"You live with your family, right?" Jean asked.
Alicia started, looking up to Jean with startled eyes. "My mother and father, adoptive parents."
"No brother or sister?" Jean prompted, surprised at Alicia's reaction.
Alicia let out a deep breath and stole a sheet of paper from her notebooks.
~Promise you won't tell?~
Jean glanced questioningly at Alicia who gazed back at her with blue eyes. ~Of course.~
~My brother- That's why we moved. He ran away and we're looking for him.~
~You have a brother?~
~Yes, he's my twin.~
~Why'd he run away?~
Alicia paused in her writing and gave Jean a critical look. Jean snatched the paper back and hastily wrote in sloppy letter ~I promised I wouldn't tell if you don't want me to.~
The words reassured Alicia and she replied almost instantly. ~He's a mutant.~
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It was midnight. And the target still hadn't been found.
The plan was simple: because the local guild was too powerful to take on head-to-head, all that needed to be done was kidnap the son of the clan leader. The kidnapping would force the leader to give in, collapse the guild, and give room for their clan to move in. So simple especially when the son presented himself in such a manner that it was easy to scoop him off the streets.
So why hadn't he been found?
Jonathon narrowed his eyes at the report in his hands, an expression that went largely unseen by the others in the dimly-lit room. But the few who saw the anger expressed cringed mentally.
He looked up. "Where was the target last seen?" His voice was steady despite the rage coursing through his blood.
The others in the rooms mumbled and muttered as a whole, none wanting to step forward to take the blame. Jonathon's face clouded. "Answer me!" This time, his voice was not so steady.
"S-sir." A single man stepped forward and, like the parting of the Red Sea, the rest stepped back and let him take the punishment. "W-we almost had him W-w think t-the cops got him."
Jonathon scrapped at his face, noting the course hairs beginning to grow. He needed to shave. "I will give you one week—one week—to get the boy. If you don't have him…" His words trailed off into an ominous threat.
"V-very good—th-thank you, sir!" The man slid back, sweating profusely. They piled out, pushing and shoving.
High above, hidden in the ceiling woods and listening to every word, a single body waited until the room rang silent and then slid out, careful not to fall through the rotting wood. The person moved silently through the ceiling's maze-like construction, dodging broken splints and rusty nails. He crawled out a narrow space, hardly large enough to fit his body. And he was out, onto the old warehouse roof, watching the would-be guild members scatter in the night. Their moves were stuffy and awkward to his eyes, nothing like that of his people's.
There he waited until his target, the would-be guild leader, slipped into the night. Pausing, the man- Jonathon- turned to look around, as though he sensed his hunter. Dismissing it with a gesture that would cost him his life, the man moved on. His attempts to blend in with the shadows were as bad as his followers.
He followed, stalking through Jonathon's clumsy attempts to throw off anyone following his trail. He watched until he found Jonathon's personal address, personal apartment, and took off.
Jonathon couldn't shake the feeling that he had been followed. The sixth sense every thief screamed at him, calling him an idiot, a fool for turning so confidently into the night.
The body traveled fast into the night, leaving the buffoon Jonathon- who, for all his plans, would never gain the city's power- and skipping as eloquently as the jaguar to his place.
To all eyes, the drain looked like that. A sewage drain. He froze as he saw the sign, reading the way the screw on the drain had been turned. The screw had been chipped away until a single edge stuck out like an arrow. In the lines of the drain head, images were stamped as messages for members. And tonight, the screw pointed to the northern edge of town.
He ran. North was awhile from where he was at and there was a deadline to keep.
"You found them?"
He nodded, silent as always. The shadows held him in their embrace, trailing kissing up and down his body and covering his face. His contact, standing just beyond the street lamp's light. All he could see of the contact was a long black trenchcoat and the faint glow of a cigarette butt on the street. The smell of smoke was all around, covering up anything else.
"Their plans?"
"I have them." His voice was cold, dead, to his own ears.
The contact nodded, beginning to turn away. "Leave them at the 28th post. The boss' kid ran. You need to get him."
He nodded.
The contact took the time to step on his discarded cigarette, twisting his foot to smear the glow. Then he walked.
He waited again until the footsteps drowned in the city's sleep and walked to his destination.
The 28th post was nothing more than a drug store at the corner of two main streets but the store's owner was under clan payroll. She was no more then 30 but knew enough to keep her mouth shut, a vaulable talent.
He dropped into her hands a small disk containing the recording for the meeting he spied on and walked away, knowing the package would get to the right hands.
Brushing shoulder-length black hair back from his black eyes, he walked down the streets and stole the car across the street.
For this hunt, he needed a partner.
Only the Raptor would do.
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