[h1][i][color=7ea7d8]Mason Crawford[/color][/i][/h1][hr]

Mason gazed out over the blue surf, leaning on the railings of the boat's top deck. The weather was bright and warm, but the firm coastal breeze was only exaggerated by the ship's consistent speed; it was decidedly windy. He drew a long smoke-filled drag from his cigarette ([i]Marlboro White Menthol[/i]), then exhaled slowly; watching curiously as the silver fumes dissipated into a fine mist and vanished into the canvas of blue sea and sky. Mason had always been able to find beauty in the simplest of places. The past week had been a whirlwind of activity and emotion, and the young man was appreciative of this moment of serenity. He'd always felt calm around the sea, and hurtling through it towards a new future was somehow soothing. It gave him a chance to [i]reflect[/i]; he winced as that word entered his mind. He had been through enough self-discoveries and survived enough crises to not let his recent discovery defeat him... But it was still going to take some time to get used to. He had to adjust.

His phone buzzed with urgency in the pocket of his dungarees, but he took a slow and deliberate moment before checking it. Though he knew what he was going to see, it still upset him: "[i]Raja - Miscall (2)[/i]". It was the most recent installation in a week-long string of attempts to contact him by the friends - no, family - he had left behind in Berlin. As he stared blankly at the notification, another appeared over it. A message:

[indent]RAJA: [b]Wo bist du?? Wir sind besorgt! Bitte rufen. xxxx[/b][/indent]

Mason was not an outwardly emotional person, but he knew the desperate message would have stirred something in him had he not shoved the phone back into his pocket, pressing his finger tightly on the 'Off' button. He had to forget about the messages and the calls - and the people who were sending them. It was not that he didn't want to speak to them; in a situation of so much confusion as his life shifted around him, Mason would have given anything to chat with the men who threw him a lifeline when he most needed it over two years ago. It was simply not safe for them. Germany did not have the same history as America regarding metahumans, whose existence was first announced to the world from the White House. In a city like Berlin, where there was such a history of separation and judgement, Mason simply could allow himself to put his friends at risk. As an openly gay couple of drag queens, they had enough on their plate. They couldn't afford to be accused of harbouring a mutant freak.

He took another drag on his cigarette, and turned away from the water to survey the rest of the passengers. It was an eclectic group, to say the least. Mason had considered himself near enough desensitised to all the oddities the world could present to him, having spent many nights in the art discos of London and the Berlin Berghain. But this crowd was truly something else. Sure, there were more mild eccentricities: a Hispanic-looking boy eyed his cigarette longingly, wrapped up in knitwear as though he were expecting a snowstorm; a towering Amazon of a woman picked up a small boy, who clung desperately to a sunhat that didn't look quite like it belonged to him. Mason figured he had stolen it from the woman. A pair of twins bickering amongst themselves was perhaps the most normal thing on the whole boat.

For a moment, he almost forgot that these quirks were certainly not the most unusual aspects of each of the people he observed. Every single person on this boat had some kind of ability... It was an intimidating thought that Mason chose to discard with immediate effect. 

He turned his back on the crowd of misfits; not out of disgust or disapproval, he was simply drawn towards the horizon. He drew a final breath from his cigarette before flicking the short stub out into the waves. As he exhaled, flashes of bright pink flickered in his peripheral vision. He turned, and spotted a younger-looking boy, his black hair streaked with the bright colourings that had caught Mason's attention. He was looking directly at Mason with a spark of youthful curiosity in his eyes, his red shirt and shoes brightened by the sunlight. Mason smiled.

"[color=7ea7d8]Nice shoes,[/color]" he said, gesturing towards his own, slightly more battered, pair of Converse. [hr]

[center][b](The following text is a collaboration between [@Shard] as Casper and [@Tyler] as Mason)[/b][/center] 

[indent]The sudden comment pulled him from his train of thought and Casper looked down to his shoes quickly with his cheeks turning red in response. "Th-.." He was about to respond but remembered that his headphones were still on. Pulling them down, he repeat. "Th-thank you..." He managed a soft smile, looking up at Mason. "Nice hair..." The boy continued.[/indent]
Mason laughed and thanked the boy. He saw something of himself in the guy; his pink-streaked hair was quite clearly an act of defiant self-expression, a concept he was all too familiar with. Something about him told Mason that, like himself, this boy had never been one of the most popular kids in school. "[color=7ea7d8]You look a little lost, are you on your own?[/color]" he asked, his voice full of ease and laxness. 

[indent]As the young man spoke, Casper felt himself more at ease. This person was very relaxed, very calm. There was a sense of harmony surrounding him, yes...just like back home. "N-no..." Casper shook his head. "I'm just...I get lost in thought easily..." Was it this hard to talk to people? Trying to straighten himself up, Casper took a deep breathe and managed a slightly brighter smile. "I'm Casper."[/indent] 
Mason smiled as he watched the awkward young man stumble through the conversation, exactly as he had done at that age. When Casper introduced himself, Mason extended his hand. "[color=7ea7d8]Nice to meet you, Casper,[/color]" he said, sincerely. "[color=7ea7d8]I'm Mason.[/color]" he added, shaking Casper's hand firmly. "[color=7ea7d8]How are you feeling about starting a new school? Are you excited?[/color]" he added, trying his best not to sound patronising. 

[indent]It was hard not to giggle at Mason's words, but Casper didn't sound impolite as the soft laughter left his lips. "I've been here before." He replied, for once not stumbling over his words. "But uhm..." The boy looked back down, his hand dropping back to his side. "I'm not the most uh...popular guy around..." Forcing a gentle smile back to his lips, the boy looked at Mason once more. "I'm sure you'll do better."[/indent]
Mason smiled understandingly. "[color=7ea7d8]Don't worry about it, dude. People grow out of that sh-,[/color]" he stopped himself from swearing, and coughed. "[color=7ea7d8]People grow out of that crap. But you'll always be you, and when they're older they'll see you were the coolest guy they knew.[/color]" he assured Casper. It might have seemed cliche and insincere, but Mason meant every word. "[color=7ea7d8]I mean, with hair like that, you have to be pretty awesome, right?[/color]" He chuckled at Casper, smiling.

[indent]His continued words brought the blushing back to Casper's cheeks and he felt himself flare up at the words reaching his ears. "Th-thanks...Mason." Hugging himself, Casper placed his hands on his biceps, but was unable to directly meet Mason's eyes. "You're a good guy..." He really was like the man back home. It was almost scary, but soothing at the same time. Hopefully he'd get to know Mason more at the Academy.[/indent]