[INDENT][COLOR=SLATEGRAY][CENTER][sup][sup][h1][center][img] https://media.architecturaldigest.com/photos/672d4a5b823a46b3d7f713e1/16:9/w_2560%2Cc_limit/GettyImages-1867432941.jpg[/img][/center][b][center][color=black] S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E[/color] [color=lightgray]S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E[/color][/center] [/b][/h1][/sup][/sup] [sup][sup][h1][b][center][color=black] F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S[/color] [color=lightgray]F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S[/color][/center] [/b][/h1][/sup][/sup] [color=silver][sup][i]Joanie[/i][/sup][/color][/CENTER][/color][/INDENT] Joanie crossed the street toward St Dymphna’s as the wind tugged strands of her dark hair loose from her hood. The townhouse stood alone at the end of the street, its brickwork weathered by years of salt air and city grime. Four narrow floors rose above the pavement, the windows tall and thin with cream paint peeling at the corners. Warm light glowed behind the glass, softening the edges of the place and making it look like the sanctuary it was to Joanie. A small wooden sign hung beside the door, the lettering hand painted in soft blue: St Dymphna’s Home for Wayward Youths. Joanie hurried up the tiled steps to the front door, nodding to one of the younger boys who sat on the top step speaking rapid Spanish into his phone. He was the first of many she would encounter, as she stepped inside. The hallway wrapped around her with its familiar mix of old carpet, warm air, and the faint scent of cheesy Doritos that never seemed to go away. Noise blared from the living room through the first doorway on the left, and she leaned in to see who was around. Franklin Wójcik spotted her immediately. He sat cross legged on the rug with a blanket around his shoulders, his soft green tinted skin catching the glow of the television. His wide, reflective eyes brightened the moment she appeared, and his limbs folded beneath him with an easy, amphibian looseness. “Joanie, look,” he said, scrambling to his feet with his phone held high. A paused video showed two costumed figures mid fight, one of them swinging a blade made of pure light. “He made a sword out of it. Like actual light. Is that not the coolest thing ever.” Before she could answer, two kids burst out of the room and tore past her, pushing her back . One shrieked with laughter while the other chased him, waving a finger that trailed bright sparks like a sparkler. “[color=plum]Slow down, Maxxie,[/color]” Joanie called after him in annoyance as she recovered herself, shooting the blonde boy in the rear a look. The boy skidded to a stop and puffed out his chest. “It’s not Maxxie no more. It’s Matchstick.” He declared, waving his finger menacingly, a toothy grin on his face. She simply scoffed, waving him away towards the kitchen where his victim had run off to. Shaking her head, she turned back to Franklin and the video. “[color=plum]Later, Frankie,[/color]” she said, brushing past him with a tired smile. His face fell for a moment before he masked it with a nod. Guilt tugged at her chest, but she kept moving. Franklin was a great kid. Probably one of the sweetest here, but his obsession with super heroics had skyrocketed in recent weeks. Joanie didn’t have the heart to tell him how people would react if he went out there looking like he did, no matter how well intentioned he was. Despite the influencers and the commonplace of abilities nowadays, the world could still be a cruel place for Greys. Even crueler for those with physical mutations. She hurried on towards the stairs, eager to escape to her room. She’d barely made it up a step before Mrs Qadir’s office door creaked open behind her. [i]Shit.[/i] The director poked her head out as Joanie approached, then stepped into the hall with a warm, eager expression. She was probably a good foot shorter than her, with soft brown skin and dark hair streaked with silver. Her tired eyes seemed to be filled with hope right now, which was a shame as Joanie was about to squash that feeling. “How did the interview go?” she asked, looking up at her. Joanie shifted her bag on her shoulder. “[color=plum]It went well. But the place is still waiting on insurance money after the fight last week. Half the restaurant is rubble. I do not know if they will even reopen.[/color]” It was true. The interview had actually been a cakewalk for a change and if someone hadn’t decided to punch another someone through several buildings, there’s a good chance she’d be sending her next weekends forcing a smile behind the fast food restaurant’s counter. In a way Joanie was somewhat relieved, but she did need the money. “Aw, that is a shame,” Mrs Qadir said, her voice softening. “We’ll keep looking.” Joanie nodded. She was eighteen now and sadly it didn’t look like college was on the horizon given her lack of funding. Mrs Qadir had been encouraging her to get a job instead. It made sense, it was just a shame that actually getting a job felt like a gauntlet. After promising she’d send off a few more applications that night, she headed up the stairs, the wooden steps creaking under her weight. Halfway down the second floor corridor, two kids were in the middle of a screaming match behind a closed door. Joanie rapped her knuckles against it. “[color=plum]Enough,[/color]” she said, and the shouting dropped to a mutter. Farther along, Mr Brannock stood by an open window, tightening a loose hinge. He always looked like he belonged more to the house than to the people in it, steady and quiet. Joanie had never decided whether he made her feel safe or unsettled. Maybe both. He gave her a silent nod as she passed. She returned it and continued on. She climbed the final set of stairs. Her room sat at the end of the top floor hallway. The doorframe was marked by faint cracks that spread outward like pale branches, reminders of nights when her power had slipped through her control. She pushed the door open. Mina lay sprawled across her bed, her warm brown skin catching the soft light from the window. Her long brown hair was tied up in a messy bun that had half fallen apart, and she scrolled through her phone lazily. Trey sat cross legged on the floor beside her, leaning against the wall with a half solved metal puzzle in his hands. He had a tapered afro that framed his face neatly, and the slit through his left eyebrow gave him a sharp, expressive look whenever he raised it as he moved the puzzle about in his hands. They looked comfortable together in a way that made Joanie think, not for the first time, that they liked each other more than they let on. It warmed her heart a bit, yet she dared not say anything. She knew how awkward Mina could be when it came to guys, and Trey default was to tell an awful joke whenever he was nervous. Standing there in the doorway, she felt that familiar warmth in her chest, the quiet certainty that these two were the closest thing she had to a home. “You’re back,” Mina exclaimed, giving her roommate a smile.. “Finally,” Trey added. “We were about to send a search party.” Joanie dropped her bag onto her bed. Mina sat up a little. “How was the interview.” Joanie blew a raspberry and gave a thumbs down. Trey winced theatrically. “Womp womp.” “Sorry, that sucks.” Mina reached out and squeezed Joanie’s arm. “Yeah that’s shit, J” Trey continued. Joanie let out a long breath before giving them a smile. “[color=plum]It’s chill, honestly.[/color]” She replied, unsure whether it was them she was reassuring or herself. “[color=plum]I just need to blow off some steam.[/color]” Trey’s grin spread slowly, as if he had been waiting for that exact response. He reached into his jacket and pulled out three glossy tickets. “Good. Because I got these.” Joanie blinked. For a moment she did not understand what she was looking at. Then the name hit her. Harborlight. A place they had only ever heard rumours about. A place where Greys could party safely without worrying about phones or police or someone deciding they were dangerous. A place so exclusive that the only proof it existed was a shaky TikTok from an influencer who had somehow slipped inside before security dragged her out. Joanie had no idea how Trey could have gotten tickets. People joked that you needed a miracle or a felony to get in. Mina’s eyes widened as she realised herself, before groaning softly. “We’re going to get in trouble.” Joanie smirked. “[color=plum]Only if we get caught.[/color]” “Exactly!” Trey wiggled the tickets. “Come on. It will be fun.” “[color=plum]And our fakes never fail us[/color]” She added, referencing the trio of fake IDs they’d purchased the other month. Sure they’d cost 2 months allowance and a handjob, but they were worth it. Mina hesitated, then sighed and sat up fully. “Fine. But if Qadir catches us and kills us, I’m haunting both of you.”