Trigger Warnings: torture, suicidal thoughts and perceivable actions, and gore. If you wish to avoid scenes that involve such topics, they will be marked with an asterisk (*). Read at your own risk. As always, my inbox is always open for anybody that may wish to talk.
* Blackgate Prison
September 10, 2017
11:08
Oliver frowned dubiously at his father's inquisitive question, the man's words sad and regretful as he asked his son, "How is your mom doing?"
If it hadn't been for his fraction of a second frown, or even the slight twitch in Oliver's lower lip, his father might have believed the technician's short retort. Oliver had always been a graceful liar after all, especially when it pertained to his own wellbeing or even family-oriented situations, and his mother's mental disorder was perhaps the largest "family-orientated" problem he had. Despite this though, the younger man smiled and replied with a cheeky, "She's doing better."
"Oliver," Deadshot's timbre was deep and urgent as he spoke, his eyes hard on the teen's outline. Oliver's grip had tightened around the length of the old-fashioned telephone in response, his scarred knuckles baring an abrasive white as he did so. His next question was just as heart-stopping as his first, "Has she stopped taking her medication again?"
Once again, Oliver's smile faltered, and his usually vibrant expression dulled. He always hated lying to his dad, but he hated the guilt he would always see in the marksman's eyes after he would tell the truth more.
The pressure surrounding the pad's of his fingertips gained the attention of the world's famous assassin then, much to the displeasure of the young teen. His father was probably the only person who knew Oliver well enough to determine when he was lying—and in this case, Oliver might as well rename himself Pinocchio's foretelling nose.
"I can convince her to take her meds, she isn't a problem," Oliver's small grin returned, but his eyes still radiated his true opinion: defeat.
"Mom?" the technician called out into the darkness cautiously, his eyes squinted in order to find his mother's body shape among the neverending abyss.
The lights in her small bedroom had been turned off for days, and even the curtains that were usually forced open had been drawn shut to keep out the sun's protruding rays. When Oliver's gaze had finally settled onto the still figure of his mother's frame laying in bed, he sighed in relief. Despite the fact that the woman was clearly struggling through one of her depressive cycles, the boy could not help but be calmed that she was not currently manic.
He would never tell either of his parents, but during her more manic episodes, the woman was prone to excessive violence. Even at the unfortunate thought, Oliver subconsciously brought his fingers up towards his crooked nose, the memory of its happening flashing in his mind. He would never forget about her bone-chilling rage or all the blood that stained his face that night.
"Mom," Oliver repeated more confident this time around, his question soft, "When was the last time you ate?" The technician's legs bent at the knee in attempts to lower himself to her level, his hand slowly inching towards the small of her back.
She did not respond.
"Mom, please," Oliver begged, his voice turning watery with unshed tears. He refused to cry however, knowing that he was the only one with the ability to keep positive in occurrences such as this. He was always the only one positive. "Mom, I really need you to talk to me. I have to know if I need to call your doctor. Please," throughout his pleading, his positivity wavered toward defeatism, and his hand left his mother's back. This was the second time in three months she had retreated into the comfort of her own room, all the while abandoning her duties of raising her child.
She still did not respond though, even as her only son begun to sob by her side. The thought of her worsening condition struck fear through him, making positivity seem like an impossible reach.
Just like in his memory, Oliver's hand reached up towards his face, his pointer and middle finger pressing up against the slight scar tissue covering the bridge of his nose. Despite the fact that the scar was thinning and white, it stood out to Oliver brighter than any star ever could—it meant more to him than any star ever could. None of his other lacerations could measure up to the one brought to him by his mother, mostly because it was the emotional pain that had traumatized him.
The teen sighed as he then placed his hand upon the clear divider ahead of him, his eyes becoming glossy with unshed tears. "Its been hard dad, but its okay. I'm remaining positive," Oliver whispered, his lips barely parting to speak. He feared that if he did, he would never stop talking about his mother and her deteriorating health.
I have to remain positive. I'm the only one who can remain positive. After all, I'm not the one in federal prison or the one suffering through a bipolar disorder... and with a faint smile, Oliver watched as his dad was forced back in confinement. You have to remain positive Lawton...twenty-five more years until dad is up for probation.
Despite the forced positivity that circulated through the boy's head, he could not help it when his tears fell onto his cheeks in rapid dashes. It was going to be another twenty-five agonizing years, and Oliver knew that his mother would not make it that long.
Mount Justice
September 10, 2017
12:14
"Please let me in McKenzie," Victoria pleaded with the backside of the serpent girl's bedroom door, her voice strained and wavering as she spoke out to the younger girl. The archer's shoulder pressed into the thick barrier suddenly, before her spine leveled out to rest against the door flatly. With a quivering sigh, Victoria descended towards the tiled floor, her eyes tightly closed. "We can talk about this," she added solemnly. Victoria waited a hesitant moment for any sign of McKenzie, before eventually drawing her knees into her chest with a deep-rooted sigh.
Yessenia stared down at her best friend sorrowfully. Leave it to Tori to put the weight of the world on her shoulders, she internalized. The Amazonian felt incredibly guilty, but she wasn't sure what the main cause of the emotion was. She was torn between either feeling worse for McKenzie's onslaught of shock or for Victoria's hammering culpability for it. After all, it was my death in her simulation that caused all of this.
For another thirty seconds, Yessenia stood, her ears trained to listen in on whatever was happening inside the demigod's room; however, besides the occasional hiccup, the only other sounds escaping out into the hallway, at least to the Amazon, was McKenzie's saddened heartbeat. It caused her own chest to tighten, which fueled her next action.
The younger princess sat down next to her best friend then, her body brushing up against Victoria's side reassuringly. "She will make it through this. After all, she did manage to get better after the actual simulation itself," Yessenia reasoned as she wrapped her arm around the archer's waist, her head falling into the crook of the other girl's neck. She had hoped that McKenzie had heard her too.
Just when Mac was getting over this too. This sucks for everyone, Yessenia thought grimly. She was extremely grateful that Victoria was unable to hear the start of McKenzie's sobbing then, the quiet sniffles barely discernable even to her.
"You didn't see how happy she was though Tori," Victoria whispered, "For the first time in weeks she was actually smiling and laughing. I haven't seen her that happy in-"
"-forever?" Yessenia cut her off sadly, her head pivoting to look up at the archer through her eyelashes.
With another long sigh, Victoria nodded in agreement. She had always known McKenzie to be disinclined and trepidatious, even when she did present herself as cheerful to the others. For the first time since their original meeting, McKenzie had been genuinely happy and outgoing.
Dammit, she deserves to be genuinely happy! The demigod's mental shift only intensified Victoria's anger at Sam, and the urge to pummel him into the ground returned for the millionth time that night. If I hadn't been dragged off of his body, what would I have done to Sam? Would I have stopped hitting him on my own?
Yessenia watched the Italian's eyes gloss over with unshed tears, both from frustration and from desperation.
"It'll be okay Vicky. You don't have to be alone. I'll wait here with you until McKenzie is ready to open up," Yessenia's words were kind as her grip tightened ever so slightly on Victoria's hip, "We'll be here together." The older girl nodded slowly at Yessenia's statement, her hair falling over her face as she did so.
The grip only grew tighter though as a small and broken hiccup escaped from the inside of McKenzie's room, this time audible enough that Victoria could make it out herself.
Sam remained silent as Raja applied pressure to his bloodied forehead, the cotton pad situated on the wound nearly drenched in blood. With steady and gloved hands, Raja removed the napkin, before quickly replacing it with another in order to staunch the area once more.
The two sat in utter reticence as Raja's attention transferred from Sam's injuries to the first aid kit resting by his side repeatedly, neither wanting to bring up the McKenzie, or rather Victoria, debacle. With a monotoned voice, the forensic psychologist broke the silence, a tranquil, "Thank you for helping me," escaping his bruised, downturned lips.
"Don't mention it," Raja retorted quickly, his eyes resting to observe Sam's face once more. For the most part, Raja was content with his handiwork, his brief stitching on the older man's face straight and even; however, the tattooed individual was worrisome over the ginger's concussion test—Sam had passed, and Raja knew that he should not have.
With a small glare, which was surprisingly not directed at the cave's current enemy, Raja turned away from the older man in pursuit of the disposal bin. The abundant amount of bloody tissues and used materials were then placed inside of a plastic bag, before eventually being tossed inside of the larger garbage can. The only sound that behooved the men after the softened drop was that of their breathing, the silence from earlier returning with an incredibly angry vengeance.
"Do you need an ice pack or some painkillers?" Raja asked Sam kindly, his eyes studying Sam's gravely face.
The doctor glanced up from his hands then, the discolored bulge on his left cheekbone appearing prominent as he spoke, "No thank you."
Always polite, Raja noted, a nod following his nonverbal thought. It wasn't until the boy began disregarding the dirty gloves that Sam continued to speak to him, this time far quieter than the last.
"Raja...," when the Indian man's attention had been regained, Sam took a steady breath and continued what Raja was sure of to be a lengthy explanation. "I told McKenzie about what had happened to help her, not to hurt her," his voice was calm, but Raja could tell it was laced with desperation. His words were small, and they lacked the intelligence they normally contained, which caused Raja to worry about Sam's current condition.
Raja could tell that Sam needed him, or rather anybody really, to understand why he did what he did. It was unfortunate though, because Raja had agreed with the decision that the forensic psychologist had made. No one else seemed to, but he did.
The ginger's head fell again so that he could stare back at his hands, his fingers rhythmically tapping away at his nearly colorless skin. Raja huffed out a breath he previously did not know he had been holding, his face turning away from his activity. "No I get that part," there was a pause of speech as Sam's head rose, "What I don't understand though is why you were mean to Victoria about it."
Raja did not want to admit it, but he had grown a soft spot for the team's resident archer. He felt as if he needed to protect her, especially since he knew she would not protect herself, despite being more than capable.
Sam frowned slightly, before sliding off the seat he had been sitting upon in favor of standing. "Everyone is different, Mr. Saif, including Victoria. Her anger has only been growing, and if I had been kind to her when I explained my reasoning, she only would have attacked the next person who frustrated her. I feared that the person might have been McKenzie—"
"She would never hurt—" Raja interrupted Sam's claim in protest, his eyebrows furrowing as did his gaze.
The doctor held up his right hand in order to demonstrate his own face as an example, "You still don't think she would ever hurt one of you?" His tone was not accusing, but he certainly didn't pardon the Italian for her heinous actions. "You know Raja, one day the punching bag won't be Victoria's outlet anymore. Be wary," and with that said the man sauntered off in the direction of the exit, the echoes of his footsteps muddled.
Raja's eyes lingered where Sam's body had only recently left and sighed deeply.
Maybe Sam is right. Could Victoria be a liability to the team? His thoughts ran wild as he recalled all of her actions of late, such as the fact that she had been shot, and spent days on end in the infirmary after countless missions, as well as forced to play leader for an obviously damaged team. And then there was the Sam situation. Victoria really needs to talk to somebody. Obviously, it can't be Sam at the moment, and I'm- his thoughts paused as he collected his own emotions, -I am not emotionally preferable for someone who needs help.
Alyn, with a sullen expression spread across her elegant features, played with the cream bandaging encompassing her wounded hand. She had learned early on that her fidgeting was a sign of stress, but she didn't need the compulsory action to let her know this time around.
After all, I haven't been home to tuck my Mihrimah into bed because I have been dealing with the team. At the thought of her rambunctious toddler, Ayn's fidgeting soon turned into her fortelling thigh rubbing, the action brisk and haunting. All she wanted to do was to return back to her and her mother's shared apartment to care for her sick child, but she was worried that without her immediate presence the hall would turn into another giant brawl.
"Are you okay?" Noah's voice interrupted Alyn's provoking thoughts, his face twisted into that of concern. His bright violet eyes had been focused on Alyn's hands for the entire duration of his question, his eyebrows furrowed in thought. "You've been acting—different..." His words had been carefully chosen, although lacked a common questionable stutter that most people had when they were unsure of themselves.
With a polite grin, Alyn responded, "I'm fine, thank you for your concern though. You're incredibly sweet." Her grin diminished greatly the second Noah's hand outstretched to grab a hold of her own, the appendage still rubbing at her thigh subconsciously. Carefully, his palm rested on the back of her hand, his fingers wrapping around hers in means of stopping her repetitive action. "Oh, sorry, I—" Alyn began to speak as she rapidly retreated her hand out from under the boy's.
"You don't have to say you're fine again," Noah interrupted her quietly, his voice hushed in order to not attract the other room's occupants. His eyes shifted curiously to them then, his eyes lingering on his girlfriend momentarily. He sighed, contemplating the words she had reiterated to him thousands of times before, "Someone once told me that being vulnerable isn't a weakness and its true. You don't seem okay."
Alyn met the boy's eyes then, taking note of the seriousness laced within them. His stare even suggested that he had the ability to read her inner thoughts, even the ones she neglected to properly address herself, but Alyn only continued her faint smile. "I really am fine. My bandages are just itchy is all," her lie had been flawless, and in the efforts to provide emphasis she showcased her hand to the necromancer.
It isn't a complete lie though, Alyn thought to herself as she stared down at the limb herself. Seemingly satisfied with her answer, Noah nodded in response; however, his eyes continued to linger down onto her thighs for another hesitant second. When his stare finally unrooted itself from her, Alyn's smile faltered. She knew that Noah had read her file some time ago, but she grew worrisome of everything he had learned about her, especially after his reaction towards her thighs.
She glanced up briefly to look at the younger teens: Noah, who had previously been seated near her on the aging couch, now stood a good distance away with his girlfriend by his side, his arm curled around her waist sweetly. For the most part, Charlotte had been talking to Angel and Dani politely, the attention of her arrival forgotten due to the earlier day's disaster.
Alyn met Noah's eyes once again, his gaze shifting back onto her for a minute. With a reassuring look, he quietly beckoned her near the group, and Alyn figured that she looked particularly lonely then since his absence. Giving in to his silent demands, Alyn stood up from the couch and walked over to the small circle.
"Hi!" Charlotte welcomed the Turkish woman happily, her smile meeting her eyes as she spoke, "You must be Alyn, I have heard so many great things about you!"
"I hope I can live up to your expectations then," Alyn retorted, returning the younger girl's pleasantries with a genuine smile.
Angel, with a smile that could rival Charlotte's 'gala-ready' grin, added, "Alyn will exceed all of your expectations, I promise. You'll love her."
It wasn't often that the Turkish woman smiled genuinely, but at her friend's kind words she found it hard not to be rejoiced. The feeling of acceptance and love swam within Alyn's chest then, replacing the anxiety that was once there. This sentiment only grew as Angel squeezed Alyn's good mitt encouragingly.
* New York City's 24-Hour Pharmaceuticals
September 11, 2017
18:06
Don't forget McKenzie's toothbrush. Don't forget McKenzie's toothbrush. Don't forget McKenzie's toothbrush. The mantra repeated itself rapidly in Logan's mind, his eyes making swift dashes to and from the hygiene display thirty feet away from him. Despite his sleepless shift and wavering caffeine supply, the boy was energetic with his tasks, his leg bobbing up and down just as quick as his thoughts. Don't forget McKenzie's toothbrush. She doesn't like red... so maybe get a green toothbrush. His fingers fidgeted with the hours-old coffee cup in his hands as his brain reiterated this information for what seemed like the hundredth time since his arrival.
The boy would be lying though if he claimed that the only thing occupying his thoughts right now happened to be the dental product. For the most part, he was focused on the team's esteemed archer, who, after a mildly worrisome conversation that Raja had berated him in, appeared to be struggling with current events.
And it's my fault. This, and everything, is all my fault. If I didn't set up that stupid fucking simulation none of this would be happening. Victoria would be happy, Raja would be focused on his own wellbeing, and McKenzie wouldn't be passively suicidal during missions. His spiraling thoughts continued down the list of his teammates and their states of being, before finding its direct focus of and if it weren't for me, everyone would be happy. Everyone would be better off...
These negative thoughts replaced the obsessive toothbrush ones angrily, I guess my dad was right all along; I really can't do anything right, can I? His head fell towards the earth then in hopes that he could focus on something else, anything else, even if it was just the dusty floor.
He sucked in a shaky breath when he observed the blood staining his shoe from earlier that day.
"McKenzie's toothbrush," Logan had hoped that by saying something aloud his occupied contemplations would return to a far less dangerous path.
"Excuse me, Mr. Zimnakov, your prescriptions are ready for pick up," the pharmacist's voice interrupted the Russian's thoughts then, the sound of his government surname pulling him back into reality. With another uneven breath, Logan stood up from the bench's seating, his one hand pulling his work bag up along with him. "Alright, Mr. Zimnakov, I see that you have a pickup order for six different names, is that correct?"
With a small nod, Logan spoke up, "I have an Adderall refill for an Allura Prince, an HRT refill for a McKenzie Adder, an SSRI and codeine pickup for a Dani Mayes, a Zoloft pickup for an Alyn Sanem, and a Ritalin pickup for an Oliver Lawton." As he listed the various medications, each varying from attention deficit problems to antidepressants, the pharmacist handed the white bags to Logan. When Logan was finished speaking, the medical practitioner still held one prescription in his fist—Logan's own.
"Sorry sir, that one's mine. Should be a Lithium prescription under a Logan Zimnakov?" His words out loud were polite and kind, which was a vast difference from his own internalized swears. When the pharmacist handed the Russian the last wrapped vial, his exit was instant.
Mount Justice
September 11, 2017
15:01
Oliver entered the base's lobby quietly, his face twisted downwards to stare at the concrete flooring. His eyes, which were still somehow irritated and glossy from his crying hours ago, settled onto the main room's doorway. For a significant amount of time, that's all Oliver did. His staring was paired with contemplation, as he was unsure of whether or not he was in the mood to socialize with the others. He had figured that all ill feelings would be at rest by now, but he was not entirely sure of his thinking.
With a measly sniffle, Oliver turned towards the quartering hall. He had decided that he was not fully prepared to deal with his teammates right now, especially when he himself was struggling.
Besides, he murmured internally, everyone on this team seems to prefer having space. No one talks anything out here. His thinking, although backed up by sufficient evidence, disturbed the boy. He always seemed to be the only one who felt any sort of varying emotion, everyone else either plunged into the darkness of their minds or by childish antics—no in between.
"I'm always the weird one," Oliver muttered to himself as he used his jacket's sleeve to assuage his running nose. His excessive thinking nearly distracted the boy from Alyn's figure in the distance; the Turkish woman standing outside of her assigned bedroom with her phone pressed against her ear.
Normally, Oliver would have politely waved in the woman's direction before withdrawing into his own private quarters, but this was a special circumstance for multiple reasons. The first reason was simple: she had not been paying attention to her surroundings, therefore a greeting from Oliver would remain unnoticed; the second reason was more complex: Alyn was cooing into the phone.
"Mihrimah, please be good for grandma. I will be home soon, I promise," Alyn's words were soft as she spoke them, but hard in Oliver's ears. Grandma? Mihrimah? Alyn continued to speak, answering Oliver's unvoiced questions, "Mommy loves you, okay bye baby."
Oliver stared off at Alyn for a hesitant moment, his jaw slightly unhinged to showcase his utter surprise. He had not known that very delicate detail about the Muslim girl, but then again, he was not sure he knew anything about her. When silence had greeted the two, the technician attempted to reveal himself in a non-incriminating way; however, his intentions were not quite met as he spoke aloud to her.
"So," Oliver started his sentence, his voice low as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
"Aman Tanrım!" The woman shouted in panic, flummoxed by Oliver's company in the large hallway. Her hand had traveled to her chest halfway through her exclaim, her eyebrows shooting up closer to her hairline in addition. "You scared the shit out of me Ollie!" She continued, her voice turning sharp.
Her hand wavered back down towards her hip then, placing her cell phone in her jean's back pocket as she did so. "So... Mihrimah, huh?" Oliver questioned, causing Alyn's head to snap up speedily. Her Whiskey eyes turned wild in panic at the mention of her toddler's name before realization struck her that Oliver had overheard her private conversation.
In a rapid tempo, Alyn responded with a desperate, "Please don't tell the others!" Her plea was quickly followed up with an explanation, shame filling Alyn's face promptly as she said, "I don't want the team to know about her. It's not that I don't trust them all, I just don't trust that in our line of work Mihrimah would remain safe."
Her words, which were now much calmer than before, caused Oliver to raise his hands in faux surrender.
"Trust me, I get it. My lips are sealed," he said genuinely, a sweet grin spreading across his face sheepishly. Alyn sighed in relief then, before closing the gap between the two in order to hug him. Before she had the chance to separate herself from his grasp, he whispered, "And for what its worth, Mihrimah is lucky to have a mother like you."
Yessenia rubbed Victoria's arm reassuringly, her head still rested upon the archer's left, slumped shoulder. It had been hours since she felt as if her best friend needed the commiseration, but the Amazon refused to detangle herself away from Victoria.
After all, she has been dealing with this by herself for far too long. She's my sister, and I need to show her I will always have her back, Yessenia thought to herself, her speech doing nothing but confirming her compassion for the older girl. At one point, Victoria herself had started to reciprocate the hug, her own calloused thumb tracing small figures on Yessenia's skin. Her need for the hug was also a part of the reason why Yessenia had not moved.
"We should move," Victoria's hoarse voice interrupted Yessenia's contemplation, her shoulder shifting ever so slightly so that Yessenia's position was uncomfortable. "Obviously McKenzie's not coming out and I don't want to pressure her," the archer continued, her voice still cracking briefly.
Before Yessenia had the proper time to reposition herself on the Italian's body, Victoria begun to stand. Her joints, which had grown stiff from the lack of movement, ached as she stretched them out. With a hard hand, Victoria pulled Yessenia to her feet as well.
"Are you sure Vicky? I don't mind sitting and waiting with you," the princess asked in slight shock. She never would have figured that Victoria's stubbornness would be so easily disengaged, but she did understand the reasoning behind its rest.
"Yeah, I'm sure. There's no need to sit around waiting, especially when we have a new team member waiting to properly meet us," Victoria assured, reminding the taller girl of Charlotte's arrival, or better yet, the newest reason to tease the resident necromancer. It had been so long since either girl had viciously teased their shortest teammate, and Yessenia knew that it was long overdue.
With one last look towards the serpent's bedroom door, the two girls bounded off towards the living room with linked arms, the taller of the two practically floating in excitement.
"Feet off the coffee table," Raja grumbled as he walked past the living room, his eyes barely finding refuge on Dani's combat-boot clad feet resting upon said surface. With an eye roll, the ex-assassin complied with Raja's demands, her feet stomping at the ground below it in faux attitude. She knew that that rule had been enforced by the entirety of the base's occupants, but she only respected a handful of people enough to follow their directions, Raja being one of them.
Her piercing blue eyes peered over her fake box glasses daringly, her expression intimidating the others as she retorted, "You're not my mom, you know."
With incredible charisma that the team did not know Raja had, he snapped back from his position in the kitchen, "Oh yeah? Well, Logan isn't here right now so you're going to have to listen to dad. Feet off the damn table."
His response resulted in yet another eye roll from the team's resident rebel, her annoyance seeping through her usually stoic appearance greatly. Out of her peripheral vision, Dani spotted Logan's lithe form, a becoming smile gracing her usually apathetic features. Then, with a wickedly evil grin, Dani announced, "Hey, mom is home," as Logan entered the base's main room.
If it hadn't been for Dani's uncharacteristic joke, the boy's entrance might have gone unnoticed, the majority of the room's inhabitants still snickering at Raja's earlier snide comment. With a satisfied smirk, the ex-assassin turned to face Logan for a proper greeting, only to be met with a labeled white bag falling into her unsuspecting lap gracefully.
"Take the white one out and give me back the orange one," Logan said expertly in Dani's direction, his facial expression serious as he spoke; before the girl could question his motives though, he continued to hand out various white packages. For the second time in under five minutes, Dani listened to the wisdom of another—this time without complaint.
Whilst watching her best friend open up her own prescription, Victoria turned to Logan, "Did you remember to get McKenzie her toothbrush?"
It was as if a record scratch had gone off in Logan's mind, a sharp intake of breath following suit. In a quiet voice, he stammered, "I forgot—I forgot her toothbrush. Damn it that was the one thing I had to get and I forgot it." He turned to Victoria then, his face ashen with clouded disappointment, "Mind watching her for ten more minutes so I can go out and grab her one?"
At everyone's sudden and gravely matched expressions, the medic's eyes traveled among the group suspiciously, before he asked a daring, "What's wrong?"
"About that," Angel started sheepishly, taking charge of the situation before someone more directly-involved did.
Mount Justice
September 11, 2017
21:36
Charlotte's slightly scarred hands tampered with the filing cabinet in the medical bay, her eyes skimming past the names of all of her new-found teammates as she fingered through their informative documents. She was skeptical of many of them, the most mysterious of the bunch to her being Dani and Sam. Her mistrust of them did not stem from Noah's remarks or even their offset personalities however, but from their lack of emotions.
Any emotions, might I add...
The empath had felt various emotions when she was placed in a room with the group: Victoria's anger had been the most prominent sensation, followed closely behind by Alyn's own disappointment, and the others, for the most part, were muted mixtures of the two women. The two holes that were missing from Charlotte's palet were Sam and Dani, the former remaining surprisingly neutral despite his previous conflict. She had not known anybody to remain calm through stitches-worthy strikes.
Which is off-putting, the Gotham citizen thought to herself briefly as she remembered the aggressive injuries he had procured from Victoria only hours earlier. He didn't even feel the pain that she was putting him through... her internal monologue grew into a battled conversation between her trust and her doubtfulness, the latter clearly winning as she continued on with her search.
Although the necromancer had briefed her on the seemingly more important information of the growing group, she decided to investigate them further. As Charlotte thumbed through the files, some far too old to even be considered helpful, she came across what she assumed to be Logan's own file.
"That's not quite English," Charlotte Rein muttered to herself in slight annoyance, the tab of the manila folder she had pulled out written in neat Russian. When she opened the sleeve, she grew even more irked at the lack of a comprehensible alphabet. "Of course," she groaned, before dropping it back inside of the filing cabinet. She hadn't met the boy himself yet, but if this was any indication of his state, she did not trust him.
I guess if I really wanted to I could have Oracle translate the information for me later, the humanitarian mused, before skipping through to pull out the portfolios of her original inquiries.
In a detective-esque fashion, the girl peered upon the ex-assassin's information first, her warm eyes scanning the pages for any abnormalities. It was evident for the most part that Dani had been entangled in a villainous lifestyle beforehand, but the necromancer's girlfriend could find nothing to deem her guilty of any current crimes. Charlotte knew herself though, whether or not Dani was innocent, she would still have Oracle, or even Batman himself, check on her validity. Same applied to Sam.
She opened his file next, the harrowingly empty paper taunting her as soon as it was exposed to her. It was as if the man was dead to the world. For this, she knew that she would need additional help.
It was her boyfriend's name that stood out to her next, his name smudged from constant opens. Of course he's gotten himself into trouble since he got here, trouble might as well be Noah's middle name. She hummed to herself as she rethought of the smaller teenager.
"You can't possibly be serious Char! A gala as a fundraiser idea? Who are you, Bruce Wayne?" The teasing tone exited the older girl's upturned lips, a slight smirk tugging them towards the right as she laughed.
The high school hallway was noisy as Charlotte broke through a compact assemble, the students parting around the firey witch as if she were Moses, her shoulders gracefully avoiding theirs. With a pointed look, she glanced back at her friend. "Have you ever seen me and Bruce Wayne in the same place, honey?" Charlotte goaded as she stopped her stride, her destination finally being met. Her grin only grew as she began to dial her locker's combination, "And besides, why not? Everybody loves a good gala."
Charlotte pulled her textbooks out from its neat pile within the compartment, before replacing them with her lunch bag. "Nobody loves going to a gala, that's why we all stay home when our parents go," the senior retorted as she leaned against the metal barrier, her bag falling to the floor in a slump. "Nobody would be able to plan one before the end of the month anyways—"
Her words violently died off in a quick panic, a locker door slamming shut loudly nearby. The sounds of the hallway's rustles were immediately preceded by shouts of excitement and encouragement, the obvious telltale sign that a fight had broken out.
Charlotte's chest filled with concern and darkness, and her eyes snapped towards her peer's whilst she spoke, "I got to go, you better get a teacher."
"But—!" She did not wait to hear her friend's response; her flee had been motivated and rapid.
For the second time that day, Charlotte separated the crowd before her, her hands pushing them aside. When she finally reached the forefront of the group, her speed increased to stand between the two fighters, her favor towards the smaller boy who was knocked down on the tile. It was almost instantly then that she recognized the duo: Noah Alexander, the orphaned boy she had been assigned to chaperone around the academy, and Chad Peterson, an ill-tempered hockey player who had a history of bullying.
"Really Peterson?" Charlotte chastised vehemently, her hands finding refuge on her hips as she stood up taller. Her march brought her under his chin, her head tilted upwards to match his glared expression. "Did you take a hockey puck to the head or something? You could be removed from the team for fighting, or even expelled!"
The gigantic brood heaved air into his lungs angrily, his hands balled into fists by his side. "Move out of the way Hitler, or you're going to regret it," he threatened. With an eye roll, Charlotte turned away from him, her arm outstretched to pull Noah back up to his feet. As their hands connected, Charlotte was forced to suck in a deep breath, the feelings of intense sorrow and pain flooding into her.
She wasn't able to retreat herself from him before Chad grabbed at her own wrist painfully.
Her reaction was instant though, her grip dropping Noah's limb and flying towards the athlete's shoulder at a speed that would make the Flash himself jealous. Then, with a 180-spin, she lifted his right arm over her left shoulder and pulled him over.
"You think you'd be a better fighter, puckhead," Charlotte sassed as his body smacked the floor beneath them. The group that had encircled them called out tremendously in shock, the boy himself moaning on the ground as he struggled to breathe. The witch then turned to witness Noah's gaping expression, her hand once again reaching for his. If there was one person on the campus who needed the comfort of a companion, it had to be Noah.
As always, my inbox is completely open to you all if you need to talk things through. I understand that sometimes the material that I write can be triggering, and although I try my best to give proper warning beforehand, I am not perfect in this regard. If you feel as if something I write needs to be altered, please let me know.
In addition, please don't forget to either review or private message your thoughts, as it makes updating much easier (otherwise I have no idea if I'm going in the right direction with your character, and it may cause me to shift focus off of them so that I don't completely ruin your characters for you). That being said, I do have questions that I would like you to answer:
1. Are emotionally based chapters like this your preference, or do you prefer mission/character based chapters? If you prefer emotion, which emotion would you like to see next? If mission/character, which mission/character would you like to see next?
2. There are many undeveloped friendships in the story, which ones would you like to see more of? (Friendships like Victoria/Yessenia and Oliver/Raja do not count)
3. Any changes in favorite characters?
Sadly, over two thousand words had been deleted from this chapter by fanfiction, so I did have to remove some scenes in order for the chapter to make sense. I'll add them to the next update though, so hakuna matata.