[hr][hr][center][h1][color=Purple]Waverley Watts - Feedback[/color][/h1][img]https://fathersonholygore.files.wordpress.com/2019/06/father-son-holy-gore-nos4a2-jahkara-smith-2.png?w=721&h=355[/img][hr]
[color=Purple][b]Location:[/b][/color] Mutant Underground, Washington D.C. Station (First Floor)
[color=Purple][b]Skills:[/b][/color][/center][hr][hr]
Waverley Watts stared down at the morning light reflecting off her third cup of shitty coffee. The night had been rough for her. After her panic attack the previous evening, her mind had been racing with the news of those dead police. It had kept her up for hours after the others had gone to bed, staring up at the night sky as the moon slowly waltzed through the field of stars. Eventually, probably around one or two in the morning, Waverley had convinced herself that the odds of her mother being in one of those cop cars were low enough to be able to get some sleep, though she found herself somewhat tired when she awoke. The coffee, shitty as it was, did seem to help.

The girl took a small bite out of her bruised apple as Veil spoke, listening to it without processing it, using it as an excuse to get out of her own head. Thoughts came to her mind, like 'is it really smart to go to a bar where a mutant went missing without doing some research on the place first,' and 'how can you address the deaths of multiple people and talk about how it affects the image of the mutants,' but she shoved all of them to the basement of her mind. Instead, she kept silently sipping her coffee. That is, until she felt a vibrating sensation in her pants pocket. She lightly placed her coffee and apple on the ground beside her, taking her phone out of her pocket and looking down at the number calling her. It wasn't listed in her phone, but she knew it looked familiar. She could feel the pain back in her chest. She rose to her knees, and shuffled a few feet farther away from the group having their meeting.

[color=purple]"Um...Hello?"[/color] She said into the receiver, her voice choking out the words. Her face was turned away from the group, staring at a wall across the complex.

"Is this Miss Waverley Watts?" the voice on the other end said, quiet and morose. It was authoritative, yet vaguely familiar to Waverley. It made her heart beat quicken, as if her body was reacting to a puzzle she'd yet to finish.

[color=purple]“Um...yes...”[/color] she choked out. 

"I'm sorry to tell you this, but your mother was killed in the line of duty last night."

The statement caused Waverley's heart to cave in on itself. She felt like a glass coffee table, with a heavy weight placed at the center of it. She could feel the cracks beginning to run through her, but she despite how the world spun around her, she didn't fall apart.

[color=purple]“...The nail...” [/color]Waverley’s mind could produce no more words, only those two, and even those were unsteady. Her mind replayed the scene in her mind, except this time it wasn't on a little phone screen, but rather happening all around her. She stared at her mother being crushed over and over again.

".... Miss Watts, if you know the identity of the mutie who killed your mother...." she heard the man say. Her head turned to look at Max, swallowing down the anguish that had risen up her throat. 

[color=purple]“I...I don’t know his name...” [/color]she said. The words didn’t feel like her own. Or rather, they did, and it scared her enough that she could feel herself dissociating. Her eyes dampened, partially from grief and partially from guilt of what she felt she was about to do. [color=purple]“...B-but...I have reason to believe he works under a man named Sebastian Shaw...”[/color] She felt the pain in her chest stab like a knife as she said that. She lied about her mother's killer in attempt to help a group that talked about her death in a five-sentence newsflash. And to make matters worse, the killer was only a few meters away. The cracks of the coffee table were getting worse, and she could feel herself getting ready to break.

"....Alright," the voice, who she now recognized as the chief of police, said softly. "Are you alone, Ms. Watts?"

[color=purple]“N-no. I’m with a few friends...I...I should go. I need to go home. I need to tell Riley. I have to tell Riley.”[/color]

“Riley is here at the station,” he explained.

[color=purple]"H-how is she?"[/color]

”...She’s grieving.”

[color=purple]“Th-thank you. I...”[/color] Waverley felt like she was drowning, her lungs filling with some imaginary liquid. She couldn’t take the weight much longer. She could feel herself beginning to crumble. [color=purple]“I think I have to go...”[/color] she said short of breath, feeling something other than words and panic crawling up her throat.

"....Alright, take care Ms. Watts."

As soon as Waverley pulled the phone away from her face and hung up, she shattered. She let the phone drop to the ground, and she lurched forward, head dropped to face the concrete she sat on. Her mouth fell open, and all the coffee she’d just drank gushed from her mouth, decorating the gray floor with brown goo. It pooled around her legs soaking her jeans. It didn’t take long to empty her stomach of what little was in it, but even once it was empty, Waverley remained there, arms tightly hugging herself, dry heaving as she sat in her own vomit, occasionally making a sobbing noise when she managed to inhale enough air to do so. Her eyes were red, some of her tears clinging to her cheeks, and some of them dropping to mix in with the puke. She felt like she could feel the world rotating, the earth orbiting the sun, the solar system flying through the galaxy, and the galaxy speeding through the abyss of space. It was dizzying. Nauseating. Painful.