[hr][hr][center][h1][color=Purple]Waverley Watts - Feedback[/color][/h1][img]https://66.media.tumblr.com/bf145d0a6666d89ccd906998d5485178/tumblr_pzgkamIH7y1y6r9a6o1_540.gifv[/img][hr]
[color=Purple][b]Location:[/b][/color] Mutant Underground HQ
[color=Purple][b]Skills: [/b][/color]Radio Wave Manipulation (Music)[/center][hr][hr]

The frantic events of the day, the excitement, the fear, the panic, the running, even the anxiety of the mission had all been welcome guests to Waverley, having filled her head just enough to keep out the one thing she didn't want to feel: a surplus of unbearable sorrow. But there, in the quiet, sprawling subterranean complex, it didn't take long for those unwanted feelings to sink into her mind. After all that had happened, the silence was all that it took for the reality of what had happened to hit her. Since the Underground's arrival underground, and the subsequent deciding of who'd be sleeping where, Waverley had been lying in one of the two old beds that inhabited her room. Her shaking frame curled into a question mark, arms hugging the radio she'd looted from Vulcan to her chest. Out of its small speaker, a song played -- [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V7aY2G7FvOM]Sweet Child O'Mine[/url], and it had been playing for the forty five minutes she'd been there. Tears trickled down Waverley's cheeks.

It was the first song she ever remembered hearing, when she was a little girl in her red Power Ranger pajamas. Her mother used to sing it to her in place of more traditional lullabies she could have sung. After all, Mrs. Watts had not been a traditional woman. Waverley remembered looking up at the woman looming protectively over her, singing the song in what Waverley had at the time thought to be the most beautiful singing voice that could possibly exist. She, of course, thought this purely because it was the only singing voice she'd been exposed to. In actuality, Mrs. Watts was not a singer, not even close. Her voice was choppy and often out of tune, and she didn't particularly care enough to put in the work to get better. But despite its imperfections, Waverley loved it with all her heart. The singing was a promise, a promise that her mother would always be right there with her, even on the nights when the night light didn't work or the wind caused eerie rustling outside. It was a promise of protection. A promise that her mother would always be there when she was needed. 

And there, in the abandoned bunker, Waverley needed her. But she was nowhere to be found. Waverley was alone, with no one to protect her. Her only company was her grief, and an array of strangers she barely knew. 

Max leaving had helped. It guilted her to admit it, but she felt relief when the group from the bar came without him in tow. Before, it had been so confusing. He'd been a member of the Underground, and what he'd done might've been an accident. But his defecting changed that. It gave her the justification to hate him, and that guiltless hate set fire to the flammable sense of loss that consumed her, starting within her a blaze of fury for the boy. And as strange as it might seem, it helped. One can only stew in sorrow. Rage is more easily directed elsewhere. 

It took less than an hour for Waverley to run out of tangible tears. By the end of it, she was left with tear stained cheeks and damp, bitter eyes. Once she reached this point, she tossed her legs off the bed, standing up as she placed the radio, still playing, in her jacket pocket. As she walked out of the room, her hand reached down, grabbing her rebar from its place leaning against the wall, leaving behind the backpack that was propped up next to it. She told herself it was out of caution that she took the weapon, but in actuality, she just needed something to hold onto that wouldn't break no matter how tightly she grasped it. She walked through the bunker, until she reached the top of the stairs. She walked down a single step, before taking a seat behind her peers. She didn't feel ready to be among them, instead watching over the Underground as if she was an outsider looking in. As if she were just watching another one of her movies. Maybe if she sat watching them like she was for long enough, she reasoned, [i]just maybe[/i] she'd forget that she existed at all.