Was thinking that maybe a St Dymphna’s kid could go missing if you wanted to do a collab at one point
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I think I’m benching Tracer for a bit, but full steam ahead with Ben!
|| Somewhere on the road to Bellwood, Earth
The Rustbucket rolled into the gas station forecourt with a tired groan, as if the engine itself was complaining about the long drive. Max climbed out with a grunt, stretching his back before grabbing the fuel nozzle.
Ben and Gwen followed him out of the RV, both wanting fresh air.
“You would think with all the Plumber tech in this thing, it would run on something other than unleaded.”
He waited for a reaction before frowning when neither of them said a word. Not even an eye roll from Gwen.
The tension hanging between them had been growing since New Orleans. The last few hours everyone had been sat in silence. Years ago he would have said something blunt to break it. Now he simply gave Ben a pointed look, the kind that clearly meant: you made this mess, you fix it.
Ben swallowed and tried.
“Look, I was not trying to ruin your whole magic school thing.”
Gwen did not turn.
“You did not ruin it.” She finally spoke, inspecting one of her nails as she did so. ”You just made it very clear you did not want to be there.”
Ben shifted, uncomfortable. He wanted to say he did want to be there. He wanted to say he just did not want her leaving. The words refused to come out.
“I was not trying to be a jerk. I just…”
A scream cut through the air from across the street. Then another. Then the sound of shattering glass.
Ben exhaled sharply.
“Perfect timing.” he breathed, his hand moving to his watch by instinct.
After a quick spin of the dial, his body shifted. He grew leaner and darker, as XLR8 crouched down before them all. As he flexed his spindly legs and wheeled the balls of his feet, the visor snapped down over his eyes.
Gwen glared at him.
“We are not done talking about this.” She informed him as she too began to prepare herself. Her hands moving towards the spellbook pouch on her hip.
Ben did not answer, trying to distract himself with whatever it was he was about to face. He did not want to argue with Gwen. He did not want to make things worse. And he definitely did not want to admit why he had acted the way he had.
He ran, a streak of blue and black shooting across the road.
XLR8 skidded to a stop outside a small auto garage. The front shutter had been peeled upward like a tin lid. Sparks flickered inside. Tool racks lay overturned. A car on a lift hung half dismantled, its wiring torn out in long, sparking strands.
Something big was inside.
A humanoid shape hunched over an engine block, tearing out components with jerky, unnatural movements. Its body was a patchwork of mismatched metal plates. One arm was bulkier than the other, built for lifting. Exposed wiring pulsed with blue light. A single glowing eye flickered as it scanned the room.
Ben barely had a moment to take it all in before the robot’s head snapped toward him. Its eye brightened.
XLR8 darted sideways, circling it in a blur and landing rapid swipes across its flank. Sparks flew where his claws scraped the metal plating.
The android barely reacted. Instead all he heard was a loud whirring as the robots eye continued to look in on him.
Then it finally moved.
It was faster than it had been previously, it’s servos moving quicker than Ben ever believed they could. One second it was the centre of the auto garage, the next it was next to him, knocking him back with its arm. He was launched backward into a stack of tires. They toppled over him in an avalanche of rubber as pain rippled through his body.
He groaned and pushed himself up. Clearly XLR8 was not the right call. He slapped the insignia on his chest, engulfing himself in green.
Heatblast rose from the light, flames rolling across his shoulders as the temperature in the garage spiked. He planted his feet and hurled a fireball that burst against the android’s torso in a shower of molten sparks.
The machine staggered backwards from the blast, finally beginning to look worse for wear. Yet it didn’t faulted. Instead its eye flickered and once more that low whirring began inside its chest. A rising mechanical trill like a scanner locking onto a target.
He frowned.
“Huh?”
The android’s plating shifted as vents opened along its spine. An orange glow began to build within them. Then fire erupted across its body, wild and unstable, licking up its arms in jagged bursts.
Heatblast stared.
“What the flark?!”
It had copied him.
The robot lunged through the flames. Heatblast tried to block with a wall of fire, but the machine merely punched through it. The android’s burning fist slammed into his chest, threatening to break the jagged rocks that made up his abdomen. Heatblast flew backward, crashed through a workbench, and rolled across the floor, flames sputtering.
Ben hissed through his teeth. That had hurt. A lot.
“Alright. Smaller. Faster.” He nodded to himself, before slapping his core again.
Buzzshock burst into existence like a firework. A tiny, jittering gremlin of power, shaped like a small angular battery. His eyes glowed white and his limbs twitched with static electricity as sparks danced across his teeth every time he grinned.
He zipped forward in a zigzag of lightning, leaving thin trails of crackle in the air. The plan was simple; short circuit it before it could copy him again.
Buzzshock shot under the android’s arm, scrambled up its back, and unleashed a rapid series of electrical jabs into exposed wiring. Each strike popped with bright yellow sparks. The machine jerked violently, servos stuttering.
For a moment, it looked like Ben’s plan might work.
Then the sound began. A sharp, insect like buzz that vibrated the air and made Buzzshock’s own electricity flicker.
“No no no. Not now.” Ben begged as he tried moving faster but it was too late.
The android’s plating split along its arms. Blue electricity crawled across its frame. Its eye brightened to a blinding white point. The buzz peaked into a shrill electronic screech.
Then the copied energy erupted outward.
The blast hit Buzzshock full force. His tiny body spasmed, overloaded, and the form collapsed in a burst of sparks.
Ben hit the Omnitrix mid fall.
A man made of rubble rose, towering and broad. Chunks of rough grey rock locked into place across his body. His shoulders sagged slightly, the rapid transformations finally catching up to him. Dust rolled off him with each breath.
He lifted one heavy hand in a slow, tired wave.
“Hi there.” The New Zealand accent was a big contract to the bulky nature of the form. He exhaled, a gravelly rumble.
The android charged, electricity still dancing across its limbs.
Cobblestone met it head on.
His punch connected with the machine’s head, sending a shockwave through the floor. The copied electricity sputtered and the machine reeled back. Cobblestone followed with a heavy swing to the torso, denting the plating and sending sparks flying.
The android recalibrated, eye flickering rapidly. The whirring began again, but thankfully it was interrupted as a violet blast struck it from behind.
The robot lurched forward, electricity guttering out. Gwen sprinted into view, magical energy glowing around her hands. Max followed close behind, weapon raised.
The robot turned, saw all three of them together, and froze.
The whirring cut off.
It bolted toward the back of the garage, smashed through the rear wall, and vanished into the drainage ditch beyond. Cobblestone lumbered after it, ducking through the hole. Behind him, Gwen exhaled sharply.
“What the heck was that?”
|| Strange Academy, New Orleans
The Cloak of Levitation swept dust from the floorboards as Doctor Strange drifted a few inches above the stone tiles of the Grand Foyer. Ben followed behind him, sneakers thudding loudly in a place that felt like it should not echo at all. The whole building hummed with a kind of quiet pressure he couldn’t name. Magic, he guessed. It made the Omnitrix feel heavier on his wrist, like the device was reacting to the place or the place was reacting to it. Either way, it set his nerves on edge.
Strange didn’t look back when he spoke. “You’ll find the geography of the Academy is flexible.” He gestured toward a staircase that was currently rearranging itself into a spiral. “I suggest you memorize the feeling of the hallways rather than the layout. The bricks have a habit of wandering when they get bored.”
Gwen walked a little ahead of him, taking everything in with wide eyes. Ben had never really believed Gwen’s whole magic thing at first. Even after Hex. Even after Charmcaster. Science made more sense. Aliens made more sense. Magic felt like someone had forgotten to explain the rules. But the more he watched her with that book she carried everywhere, the more he saw the way the pages reacted to her touch, the more he started to think there was something real there.
She was clearly talented. She fit here in a way Ben didn’t. The air around her practically buzzed with excitement. Strange seemed to notice it too. Ben could tell by the way the man’s attention lingered on her, like he was already imagining her in one of those long robes the students wore.
Ben tried not to think about that.
After the mess in New York with the Questing Beast, Grandpa Max had practically floored the Rustbucket getting them out of the city. Ben suspected it was because he didn’t want another lecture from Agent Brand. Whatever the reason, Ben didn’t complain. He liked the quiet the road gave him. It was easier to breathe when the world wasn’t collapsing around him.
With Gwen’s early admission prospects becoming real, Grandpa had apparently reached out to an old Plumber contact who arranged a tour of Strange Academy. Ben still wasn’t sure how he felt about that. The place was impressive, sure, but it wasn’t for him. It was for Gwen. She belonged in a school like this. She deserved it.
The thought of her leaving though caused a tightness in his chest. He’d just gotten her back. He couldn’t lose his best friend again.
He just hoped he could make it through the rest of the tour without saying something.
The foyer opened into a wide chamber lined with floating lanterns and shifting murals that moved when Ben wasn’t looking directly at them. Strange slowed, and Ben thought they were about to head deeper into the building when someone stepped out from a side corridor.
A young woman stepped forward, dark hair loose over her shoulders. She looked a few years older than them and was pretty in a way that made Ben straighten up without meaning to. She greeted them with a warm, easy smile that immediately softened the strange, shifting foyer around them.
Strange gestured toward her. “This is Zatanna. One of our more capable students. She will continue your tour from here. I am needed elsewhere. A meeting with a demon.”
Ben still couldn’t tell if he was joking.
Zatanna’s smile widened just a little. “Welcome to the Academy. The east wing is open right now, so we’ll start there.”
Gwen practically vibrated beside him. “This place is incredible. The architecture alone is unreal. And the way the hallways shift, and the murals—”
Ben grumbled something that was supposed to be agreement but came out more like a noise. Gwen shot him a look over her shoulder. He gulped. It was clear she had noticed him acting off and it was clear she wasn’t happy about it.
Zatanna glanced at him then, catching the awkward half sound he’d made.She was already moving toward the east corridor before the echo of Strange's footsteps had fully faded.
She took the stairs at a pace that assumed they'd follow, stepping over the gap between the second and fourth steps without comment. Ben caught it just in time. Gwen didn't need to, she'd already clocked the way Zatanna's foot had moved and adjusted before she reached it. The continuous movement of the structure of the building had left a vacant space that could, quite clearly, be a tripping hazard. The step simply wasn't there when Ben reached it, a gap of ordinary air between the second and the fourth, and she heard the brief scramble of him catching himself on the banister.
The east wing corridor ran long and cool, lit by lanterns that burned without flame. Gwen had slowed almost immediately, drawn to the alcoves lining the walls. Each held a shimmering image, a foundational form of magic captured in a combination of sculpture and arcane signature designed to call to those with the gift itself.
She turned into a doorway without slowing. The classroom inside was mid-chaos, not dangerous chaos, just the kind of chaos eight students attempting the same thing with eight different ideas about how. One student had a reasonable column of water rotating about a foot off the desk. Another had coaxed a small but genuine flame into something approaching a stable shape. A third was apparently attempting both simultaneously, which had produced a quantity of steam that was making everyone in the back row squint.
The instructor, a compact woman with her sleeves rolled to the elbows, had stopped talking and was simply watching one student in the corner with an expression past patience and into something more like professional curiosity.
“Hm.” She watched for another moment, then stepped back into the corridor. “First year elemental cohort,” she said, to Gwen and Ben.
“Four elements in simultaneous balance. It’s a little on the direct side for most magic we do here, but it certainly helps teach the importance of careful practice.” A brief cry of alarm following a sudden ‘whoosh’ of flame as someone introduced a little too much air to the equation interrupted her train of thought.
“Well, it is supposed to.” Zatanna extracted themselves from the room with measured haste, shutting the door as she did so.
“I’ve heard you have some existing experience already, Gwen, what magic has called to you before?” She asked with a smile as they carried on, each doorway a window into a new foundational class of the building blocks of the arcane arts.
Ben watched Gwen’s hand go to her bag before she even answered. That familiar weight settled in his chest as she pulled out the spellbook, the one she guarded like it was a living thing. The cover caught the shifting lantern‑light, the sigils along the spine pulsing faintly as if recognising her touch. She held it with the same ease someone else might hold a favourite novel, but Ben knew better. That book had teeth. That book had history.
Gwen smiled at Zatanna, confident in a way that made Ben’s breath hitch.
“I got this years ago,” she said, brushing her thumb over the edge of the pages. “Charmcaster dropped it during a fight. I… may have grabbed it before she could get it back.” Her tone was light, but Ben remembered the moment. The panic. The adrenaline. The way she had clutched it like it was a lifeline. “It felt like it wanted me to take it. Like it recognised me.”
Ben swallowed. It really had been a lifetime since Hex and Charmcaster.
Gwen opened the book, and the pages fluttered on their own, stopping at a section marked by a ribbon that hadn’t been there the last time Ben looked.
“Most of what I know started here. Basic constructs, energy shaping, binding glyphs. The book teaches in layers. It shows you more when you’re ready.” She glanced at Zatanna with a small, almost shy smile. “I’ve been practising the core spells for years. And… experimenting a little. Variants. Tweaks. Some things I found online that actually worked.”
She lifted her hand, and a soft sphere of violet energy formed above her palm. Not a shaky spark like when she first started. This was clean. Precise. Controlled. It shifted shape at her will, folding into a shield, then a blade, then a lattice of geometric patterns that hovered in the air like stained glass.
Ben felt his jaw loosen. She made it look easy.
“I can do beams, barriers, constructs. Raw energy stuff mostly.” Gwen let the magic fade, the last motes drifting away like dust caught in sunlight. “But there’s so much I don’t know. The book only goes so far. And magic is… bigger than I realised.”
Ben watched as the two of then gushed over the book together, pouring over the pages. He watched the way she carried herself now. Steady. Sure. Growing into something powerful and bright.
She didn’t need him. Not really. Not anymore. And for the first time, he felt the truth of it settle in his chest.
The excitement of Gwen and Zatanna and Ben’s internal crisis of thought were both interrupted by a burst of noise. Akin to the sound of ripping paper and nails along a chalkboard, the tip, and then full form, of a blade seemed to punch through the air itself a few meters away, before gradually tracing an oval pattern in the air. It was not a smooth motion, clearly meeting some resistance, but it was not long before it was completed and what could best be described as a portal fully formed into reality.
The smell of ozone flooded out of the baleful shape, as a blonde woman first poked her head through from the other side, before stepping forwards, cursing under her breath. She examined the edges of the portal herself with the air of someone judging her own work harshly, before pulling the blade free of where it seemingly remained ‘stuck’ in mid air. The portal remained as she lent the soulsword over her shoulders. While many might consider her just as captivating as the raven-haired Zatanna, it was clear this was a harsher beauty, her attentions barely flickering across the two younger occupants of the hallway before settling on Zatanna.
“Ilyana, you know the wards are going to-” Zatanna began with a huff before Magik cut her off.
“Theatre’s haunted.”
“What?”
“Saenger Theatre, ghosts, bad news.” The Russian woman offered a few further words that didn’t really grant the full picture of the situation, even as she put one leg back through the portal, leaning slightly to the right to dodge what appeared to be a theatre seat travelling at some pace through the air, crashing back through the other side of the portal.
“Come on, before Khalid is accusing me of being lazy.”
“Ah…I’m on a tour, new potential students.” Zatanna offered, a little meekly, as she gestured towards Gwen and Ben.
Ilyana seemed to re-notice the pair, as if she had already forgotten their existence from the prior moment, before she shrugged.
“Bring them, field trip!” Before she dived back through the portal she had so errantly sliced through the air.
Zatanna smiled, a little awkwardly, to the pair, before pointing to the portal.
“If she’s being that polite it probably is really important…. If you don’t tell the Doctor this was part of the tour, I’m sure we could use your help.”
A smile crept across Ben’s lips as the newfound crisis snapped him out of his woes. Sounds like it was hero time.
S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E
S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E
S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E
F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S
F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S
F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S
Joanie
Curfew had settled over St Dymphna’s, plunging the building into darkness. The house was quiet aside from the echoes of snoring and the normal groans that old houses made. The three of them learnt years ago how to slip out into the night. They had done this enough times to move almost automatically.
Joanie eased her window open and climbed out first, her dark hair falling forward as she stepped onto the fire escape. She wore a sheer black top under her denim jacket, a lace bralette underneath protecting her modesty. Mina followed, her maroon dress peeking out beneath a cropped leather jacket, a pushup bra helping her fill out the top. Trey came last, bomber jacket zipped up, breath fogging in the cold.
They moved down the metal steps in hushed whispers, avoiding the squeaking step they always avoided. It was a perfected art.
Until it wasn’t.
A sudden voice above them made all three jolt.
“Where are you going?”
Franklin had shoved his bedroom window open, his wide reflective eyes blinking down at them. His green tinted skin caught the light, giving him an almost luminous look. He leaned out eagerly, as if eying a prize.
The group flinched in unison. Mina gasped, her elbow clipping a plant pot on the landing.
It tipped.
Joanie reached for it, swearing under her breath as fingers flailed just out of reach.
Trey flicked his fingers. A bubble appeared. Then another. Then three more. The pot bounced between them in a chaotic slow tumble before finally settling into one bubble that hovered safely above the metal.
Relief flooded over them.
Trey exhaled. “I meant to do that.”
Mina whispered, “You absolutely did not.”
Joanie’s eyes were on them though. Instead she was holding her breath and looking up toward their onlooker. Franklin pushed the window open wider.
“Can I come. I will stay close. I promise.” He asked, his voice almost pleading.
Joanie’s chest tightened. Given how she’d brushed him off earlier, she almost felt she had to say yes. It was only fair. Yet as she looked up as his pleading face, her previous anxieties about his safety came back to her. What if Harborlight wasn’t the safe haven it was made out to be? What if someone saw him on the way?
Her heart waned.
“Frankie… you can’t. Not tonight.”
His face fell. “But—”
“I’m sorry” she said softly. “You just can’t.”
He nodded, small and hurt, and closed the window. The guilt followed her rest of the way down.
The journey took them across the city and down toward the docks. The air had grown colder the closer they got, the smell of salt and rust drifting in from the water. Joanie tucked her hands deeper into her jacket pockets. The name Harborlight made sense now, though she kept the thought to herself.
They were in a small queue outside what looked like a derelict warehouse. Cracked brick. Boarded windows. A rusted metal door. Only the faint thump of bass leaking through the walls hinted att anything alive inside.
Mina snorted. “I still can’t believe that still works.”
Trey held up his fake ID as he stifled a laugh. “I just have the aura of a cowboy.” He stated, feigning his worst southern accent.
Joanie groaned. “Please stop.”
Trey passed the vape to Mina who took a drag. Joanie took one too, the warmth spreading through her chest. The cold bit at her fingers and for a moment she almost asked Mina to flare her powers for heat. Just a little. Just enough to warm their hands.
But she swallowed the thought. Mina hated being asked.
Trey suddenly straightened, his eyes looking towards the metal door ahead. “Hey. I know that guy.”
A massive bouncer glanced over, recognition sparking. He jerked his head.
“Come on.” Trey said, waving the two to follow.
They slipped past the queue and into the warehouse, where Harborlight opened up before them like another world.
The ceiling stretched high above them, lost in shadows. Blue neon traced the edges of the room, pulsing with the beat from the DJ booth perched on a raised platform. The air smelled of sweat, alcohol, and ozone. A wide circular stage sat in the centre, still being prepared by staff as people danced, drank, and shouted over the music.
Amongst the crowd, Greys filled the space. Probably 1 in 3. Some subtle. Some not. A woman with antennae and sharp mandibles brushed past Joanie, her movements insect smooth. A man with stone like skin leaned against the bar. Someone with glowing eyes laughed near the dance floor.
No one paid them much attention. The guilt from before pulled at her. Maybe a Franklin would’ve been fine after all.
At a booth near the wall, a shirtless man in a sports jacket tossed small explosive spheres into the air. Each one popped with a bright flash, sending the women around him into delighted shrieks.
“Detonator Dane.” Trey explained, leaning in toward her.
Joanie blinked. “Who?”
“Don’t wanna know .”
The beat rose and the neon lights flared upwards. Her eyes followed the light up to the upper level, where a large glass window separated the rest of the club from what looked like some kind of VIP lounge. Her eyes passed over the small crowd up there partying away.
She wondered who they all were. Given all the films she’d seen, all she could imagine was a bunch of gangsters, crooked lawyers, and dirty politicians. The thought that they were dancing away in view of all the people they had probably impoverished to get to where they were now made her smirk to herself a bit.
That was when she realised one of them was looking back at her.
A man stood against the glasses, looking down directly towards. He had dark Curley hair, a short cropped beard, and ice blue eyes that seemed to pierce right through her. There was a stillness to him, as if he were simply a corpse.
Yet she couldn’t bare to look away from those eyes else something dreadful might happen as a result.
Thankfully she found herself snapping out this trance as a voice called out to her.
“Joanie.”
She turned and found herself completely distracted from whatever bizarre staring contest she had just been having.
Caleb Rourke moved through the crowd of people towards her, giving a short wave to her little group. He looked the same as the day she’d last seen him. The last night they’d spent together. With his rugged blonde buzzcut and nose that had clearly been broken once and never set right. His sleeveless hoodie showing the definition of his perfect muscles.
Her stomach flipped.
He had been her first… Well her first everything. The first person she had trusted enough to let close. The first person who made her feel seen. The first person she had slept with. They’d grown up together in the home and had given everything to each other. Then he had left.
Memories flickered through her mind. Flashes of warmth. Flashes of skin on skin.
She shook away the thought. The guy was a dick. Plain and simple.
Trey grinned and dabbed him up when he got close enough. “Good to see you, man.”
“Glad you got the tickets!” Caleb said, revealing the mystery of where Trey’s tickets came from. He then nodded to her and Mina. “You look good.”
Mina raised a brow towards the hoodie he was wearing, which Joanie now realised was the same as some of the security and bar staff dotted around the place. “Do you work here or something?”
Caleb nodded. “Part of the entertainment later.”
“Heard they call you Breaker.” Trey smirked.
Joanie scoffed before she could stop herself.
Caleb shrugged. You couldn’t really tell with the lighting but she knew he was going red. “People like nicknames.”
A beat passed. Trey and Mina shared a look.
“We are getting drinks,” Mina said finally, tugging Trey away and leaving Joanie and Caleb alone in the shifting neon.
She cussed her out in her head. Mina knew how she felt about Caleb. She’d cried to her over him for fucks sake.
Awkward tension sat between them. Caleb looked away, his eyes following where the others had left. Joanie took this moment to take all of him in. The crooked line of Caleb’s nose was more obvious up close. He had always carried himself like someone bracing for impact, shoulders tight, jaw set, eyes scanning for something he never explained.
She decided to break the silence.
“You gave Trey those tickets just so I would come” Joanie said.
Caleb didn’t deny it, giving another shrug.
“I missed you.”
Her jaw tightened. “You left.”
He looked away, the muscles in his cheek twitching. “You weren’t exactly happy with me the last time we spoke.”
Her brow furrowed.
“Nah, don’t give me that shit.” she said, clenching one fist whilst the other hand point at Caleb accusingly. “You were disappearing long you decided to dip. Sneaking out. Vanishing for hours. Pretending nothing was wrong. Of course I was going to be annoyed at you.”
He flinched. Just barely. But she saw it.
“You wouldn’t tell me anything” she continue. “You wouldn’t tell anyone anything. Then one morning you were just gone. No note. No text. Nothing.”
Caleb’s voice dropped. “I didn’t want to drag anyone into it.”
“Into what?” she snapped.
He didn’t answer.
The floor trembled beneath her feet.
Glasses rattled on nearby tables.
A few people looked over.
Joanie sucked in a breath, forcing the quake down. Shame burned hot in her chest.
“I need a drink” she said, turning away. She didn’t want him to see her upset.
She moved away without another word, squeezing through the crowd as he called after her.
She glanced up once more as she moved, and almost wished she hadn’t.
The man by the window was still watching her. A fraction of a smile had formed on his lips.
I am certain Harborlight will be FINE and nothing will happen there :D
S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E
S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E
S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E
F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S
F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S
F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S
Joanie
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.
“Slow down, Maxxie,” 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.
“Later, Frankie,” 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.
Shit.
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. “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.”
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. “Enough,” 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.
“It’s chill, honestly.” She replied, unsure whether it was them she was reassuring or herself. “I just need to blow off some steam.”
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. “Only if we get caught.”
“Exactly!” Trey wiggled the tickets. “Come on. It will be fun.”
“And our fakes never fail us” 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.”
S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E
S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E
S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E
F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S
F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S
F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S
"No child left behind."
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T  (FC: Beabadoobee; Dialogue: Plum) _________________________________________________________ S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________S U M M A R Y Joanie Porter _________________________________________________________ May 24th | 18 _________________________________________________________ Single | Female | Bisexual S T A T S S T A T S Height | 5”4 _________________________________________________________ Hair Color | Brown _________________________________________________________ Eye Color | Brown _________________________________________________________ Hometown | Cader City S U P P O R T I N G C A S T S U P P O R T I N G C A S T - | H I S T O R Y H I S T O R Y St. Dymphna’s Home for Wayward Youths began as a parish refuge in the early nineteen tens. It was a simple townhouse run by a small congregation that offered beds and meals to children who had nowhere else to go. When the Gray Death struck a decade later, Calder City was overwhelmed by the number of young survivors who had lost their families. Many of these children were healthy, but the city was still reeling from the pandemic and needed any available space to house them. St. Dymphna’s was one of the few buildings that could be repurposed quickly, so the city took over its operation and folded it into the early social care system. As the decades passed and hereditary alterations became a normal part of life, St. Dymphna’s continued to receive children who had slipped through the cracks. Some had minor abilities that made their home lives complicated. Others simply had nowhere else to go in a city that was growing faster than its support systems. The townhouse aged, the funding fluctuated, and the neighbourhood changed around it, but St. Dymphna’s remained a constant presence. It became known as a place that could handle complicated cases without ever being formally designated for superhuman youth. It was a home that shaped by a century of societal change, carrying that history quietly in its walls. Today St. Dymphna’s is an old building with peeling paint and mismatched windows, but it still serves the same purpose it did a hundred years ago. It shelters the young people who have nowhere else to go, whether their challenges come from the legacy of the Gray Death or from the ordinary struggles of growing up in Calder City. Joanie Porter grew up in a cramped apartment with a mother who worked too many hours and a stepfather who drank too much. Arguments were a daily occurrence. Her stepfather shouted, slammed doors, and blamed Joanie for everything that went wrong in his life. She was ten when her seismic ability first reacted to her fear and anger. The floor buckled. The walls shook. A section of the apartment collapsed and the entire building had to be evacuated. No one was killed, but the damage was severe enough that social services intervened immediately. Joanie never went back. St Dymphna’s has been her home ever since. A B I L I T I E S A B I L I T I E S Seismic Projection. Joanie has the ability to release controlled or uncontrolled bursts of kinetic force that behave like small, localised earthquakes. The energy originates from her body and radiates outward through the ground, walls, or any surface she is in contact with. Joanie’s greatest challenge is control. Her power is tied to her emotional state, and strong feelings can cause the ground to tremble even when she does not intend it. She has developed coping strategies at St Dymphna’s, including breathing exercises and grounding techniques taught by Mrs Qadir. P E R S O N A L I T Y P E R S O N A L I T Y Joanie’s time at St. Dymphna’s has shaped her into someone sharp and quick to defend others. She has a rebellious streak and a fierce instinct to protect anyone who reminds her of the frightened child she used to be. She wants to help people, especially kids who feel trapped or powerless, but she knows that staying safe means hiding her ability and keeping her emotions under control. She’s quick to anger though, and struggles to hold her tongue and not act rashly. M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S Joanie has no grand plans about becoming a superhero or donning spandex. For now her primary goal is to keep those around her safe and to survive into adulthood. She’s already decided that college isn’t for her and that she’ll need to find herself a job now she’s turned 18, a prospect she’s not too thrilled about. But sadly, fate may have other plans that the ordinary life she wishes to live. Joanie and her fellow wayward youths will soon find themselves gaining the attention of Calder City’s underworld, as the mysterious Icelander, and his club Harborlight, sets their sights on them. |
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————————————-My sheet is finished!
Very happy to make any changes to anything I have established.
Also happy to also tie Icelander to Eve like we’ve briefly discussed previously.
Given the nature of St. Dymphna’s, obviously fine if people want to use that within their backstories or even play as another character living there currently
Very happy to make any changes to anything I have established.
Also happy to also tie Icelander to Eve like we’ve briefly discussed previously.
Given the nature of St. Dymphna’s, obviously fine if people want to use that within their backstories or even play as another character living there currently
S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E
S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E
S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E
F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S
F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S
F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S
"No child left behind."
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T (FC: Beabadoobee; Dialogue: Plum) _________________________________________________________ S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________S U M M A R Y Joanie Porter _________________________________________________________ May 24th | 18 _________________________________________________________ Single | Female | Bisexual S T A T S S T A T S Height | 5”4 _________________________________________________________ Hair Color | Brown _________________________________________________________ Eye Color | Brown _________________________________________________________ Hometown | Cader City S U P P O R T I N G C A S T S U P P O R T I N G C A S T - | H I S T O R Y H I S T O R Y St. Dymphna’s Home for Wayward Youths began as a parish refuge in the early nineteen tens. It was a simple townhouse run by a small congregation that offered beds and meals to children who had nowhere else to go. When the Gray Death struck a decade later, Calder City was overwhelmed by the number of young survivors who had lost their families. Many of these children were healthy, but the city was still reeling from the pandemic and needed any available space to house them. St. Dymphna’s was one of the few buildings that could be repurposed quickly, so the city took over its operation and folded it into the early social care system. As the decades passed and hereditary alterations became a normal part of life, St. Dymphna’s continued to receive children who had slipped through the cracks. Some had minor abilities that made their home lives complicated. Others simply had nowhere else to go in a city that was growing faster than its support systems. The townhouse aged, the funding fluctuated, and the neighbourhood changed around it, but St. Dymphna’s remained a constant presence. It became known as a place that could handle complicated cases without ever being formally designated for superhuman youth. It was a home that shaped by a century of societal change, carrying that history quietly in its walls. Today St. Dymphna’s is an old building with peeling paint and mismatched windows, but it still serves the same purpose it did a hundred years ago. It shelters the young people who have nowhere else to go, whether their challenges come from the legacy of the Gray Death or from the ordinary struggles of growing up in Calder City. Joanie Porter grew up in a cramped apartment with a mother who worked too many hours and a stepfather who drank too much. Arguments were a daily occurrence. Her stepfather shouted, slammed doors, and blamed Joanie for everything that went wrong in his life. She was ten when her seismic ability first reacted to her fear and anger. The floor buckled. The walls shook. A section of the apartment collapsed and the entire building had to be evacuated. No one was killed, but the damage was severe enough that social services intervened immediately. Joanie never went back. St Dymphna’s has been her home ever since. A B I L I T I E S A B I L I T I E S Seismic Projection. Joanie has the ability to release controlled or uncontrolled bursts of kinetic force that behave like small, localised earthquakes. The energy originates from her body and radiates outward through the ground, walls, or any surface she is in contact with. Joanie’s greatest challenge is control. Her power is tied to her emotional state, and strong feelings can cause the ground to tremble even when she does not intend it. She has developed coping strategies at St Dymphna’s, including breathing exercises and grounding techniques taught by Mrs Qadir. P E R S O N A L I T Y P E R S O N A L I T Y Joanie’s time at St. Dymphna’s has shaped her into someone sharp and quick to defend others. She has a rebellious streak and a fierce instinct to protect anyone who reminds her of the frightened child she used to be. She wants to help people, especially kids who feel trapped or powerless, but she knows that staying safe means hiding her ability and keeping her emotions under control. She’s quick to anger though, and struggles to hold her tongue and not act rashly. M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S Joanie has no grand plans about becoming a superhero or donning spandex. For now her primary goal is to keep those around her safe and to survive into adulthood. She’s already decided that college isn’t for her and that she’ll need to find herself a job now she’s turned 18, a prospect she’s not too thrilled about. But sadly, fate may have other plans that the ordinary life she wishes to live. Joanie and her fellow wayward youths will soon find themselves gaining the attention of Calder City’s underworld, as the mysterious Icelander, and his club Harborlight, sets their sights on them. |
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