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Character Quote: PUT ON YOUR RED SHOES AND DANCE THE BLUES
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May 9 2018, 11:35 PM
Casie Evans wasn’t the kind of girl you’d expect to be sleeping on a subway grate in a mess of tarps and blankets. She was a good student, played club soccer, and stayed well away from the rough crowds and burnouts at her high school in Manhattan’s lower east side. But a little after her fifteenth birthday, her rosy upbringing took a sharp turn for the worse. Manifesting first as what could be written off as the effects of sleep deprivation and fever dreams, her mutation of telepathy and premonition soon became something she nor her family could no longer ignore.

It didn’t take long for them to commit her, seemingly their only choice given how much her mental state had deteriorated. Casie couldn’t keep the voices out, couldn’t keep from seeing every morbid detail of someone’s impending demise as they passed her on the street. Schizophrenia was the best guess any of the doctors at the mental hospital could give her, and while they couldn’t provide an accurate explanation they could provide drugs. Lots of them, coupled with heavy sessions of electroshock therapy. At first, there was relief, her brains so scattered by the current made to course through them that she could finally enjoy silence. The pills were working too, numbing her into a stupor that made her disturbing fits of truth much more intermittent than when she’d first arrived.

But for all their progress, they couldn’t cure Casie. And when her support ran out and she was finally released, she had nowhere to go. Home held no welcome for her anymore, her family unable to cope with how irreparably changed their daughter was. With no high school diploma, skills, or money, Casie took to the streets, making money where she could through a myriad of unsavory means and using whatever she had left for drugs to numb out the voices.

Anything to keep from seeing the fates that passerby’s were so blissfully unaware of.

Charlie had come across the young woman when she first arrived in New York, a fixture in Mutant Town if you’d traversed the area for long enough to notice. Always keen on building useful relationships, Charlie began slowly with the teen to establish trust. She’d learned long ago that street-folks saw and knew a great deal more than people often gave them credit for. Buying her a meal wrapped in foil here or there, or just taking the time to talk to the disheveled and dirty outcast, the Israeli had begun to make an impression. More infrequently, Charlie would provide Casie with relief from her drug cravings with a dose of her own personal chemical concoction. Her pheromones provided a high without fear of overdose, dependence, or discomfort. Of course, Charlie expected something in return. Well, two things really. The first being the understanding that Casie wasn’t to share any premonitions she had about Charlie’s fate. And the second, that Casie would tell her of anything of particular importance going on in Mutant Town.

Most of the time, these conversations led to nothing useful. But given how many mutants had gone missing by now, she figured it would be worth a visit to the young girl to ask her a few questions. She’d picked up Casie at one of the usual spots she was posted up, leading her to a nearby diner where Charlie was sure to order more food than the skinny teen could possibly eat. By the time the food arrived, they’d already gotten through the pleasantries and were onto the meat of what Charlie really wanted to know.

”I know you see a lot of what goes on around here. A lot of our kind have gone missing… I’m looking for any information you might have on who we’ve lost, and anyone that might involved,” she laid out her intention clearly to the shaky woman in front of her. It was clear that Casie hadn’t had a fix in some time, and given how eager she was to sit with Charlie it was clear she expected a high sooner or later. Perhaps, the sooner she was dosed, the sooner she’d be willing and able to share. Reaching an arm across the table, she rested her hand palm up on its surface for Casie to hold.

Shadowcat
May 8 2018, 02:15 PM
Charlie in a garden nursery was very much like a kid in a candy store. She had schlepped all the way to Red Hook on this weekend afternoon in order to spend her precious free time wandering through aisles of green. The small Brooklyn apartment she’d been laying low in since leaving the Brotherhood and engaging in an array of precarious activities was hardly spacious enough to accommodate the type of garden that Charlie was used to growing. Now that she’d procured an apartment in Manhattan with ample space in its rooftop greenhouse for her to experiment with, she had the green light to go on a botanical shopping spree.

Some of Charlie’s fondest memories of her late mother revolved around cultivating a myriad of plants. She’d learned to grow much of her own food, to work what the dry desert offered her into sustenance. Gardening was Charlie’s connection to Sapir, and she was excited to finally get her hands dirty in the soil again. Chelsea Garden Center was the most sprawling and diverse option that she’d found in the five boroughs to satisfy her needs for seeds, starters, irrigation, and more. Hence why she opted to borrow a large van from Frost Intl. instead of using her Mustang when it came to transporting her bounty home.

Crouching down to examine the undersides of the leaves of a few heirloom tomato plants, Charlie scrutinized their condition and potential before adding them to her nearly full cart. A contented smile played on her lips, her mind already busy planning the layout and logistics of her greenhouse. There was a great deal that growing outdoors in New York’s natural climate limited her to, but having her own climate controlled space to work with in the greenhouse eliminated many of those hurdles.

Look out, date palms. She has plans for you.

Rising to her feet again, Charlie placed her hands on her hips and surveyed the aisles within view before a helpful nursery attendant noticed her looking at a bit of a loss. “Hello miss. Can I help you find something?” The bright eyed twenty-something offered, her long blonde hair braided and tossed over the shoulder of her soil stained apron. “Yes, thanks. I’m looking for a drip irrigation setup,” Charlie replied, the last on her to do list doubling as one of her favorite parts of garden setup. There was a great deal of merit in putting a lot of legwork in the setup, just to sit back later on and let it take care of itself.

The blonde was kind enough to walk her a few isles down, where a dizzying array of different lengths and widths of hoses, adapters, valves, and nozzles was stocked on shelves twice as high as Charlie was tall. “Perfect. I appreciate the help. I think I’ve got it from here,” Charlie managed distractedly, her eyes and thoughts pouring over the possibilities ahead of her.

Thistle
Apr 3 2018, 12:33 AM
Charlie slipped the blade neatly between his third and fourth ribs, just to the right of his sternum, and twisted. Once, for Calvin. Again, for Reece. The third time was purely selfish, merely for her own enjoyment. A fourth and final rotation of the slender, razor sharp blade was for her mother, the one whose life this sinister man had corrupted well before Charlie’s own birth. The one who had fallen apart and rebuilt herself after his leaving, but even in her strength couldn’t ever seem to move past what he’d done. And as the last bit of life ebbed from his lifeless eyes, Charlie felt no pity, or shame, or remorse.

She felt relief.

Rising to her feet, Charlie gave the still corpse of her father one last glance before turning from his singed, blood pooled remains. Goliath was finally dead, and she could at long last find rest knowing that maniac wasn’t after her. What they’d done that night was too cruel to feel good about, but the necessary evil had seen itself through and had satisfied the part of her that hungered for some sort of justice. But just as Charlie stepped forward, that feeling was pulled downward to the pit of her stomach, her heart taking a similar dive from she felt a hand clamp tightly on her shoulder. Charlie could smell the burned flesh and iron tang of fresh blood upon her, no question on her mind who it belonged to.

“You’ll never be rid of me, Charlie. I’m always here, I always have been. Forever a part of you,” David’s voice hissed in her ear, slick as oil and cooly confident. She didn’t feel the knife that he’d slid into her back at first, the sensation just pressure before the actual searing hot pain of it hit. But once he gave it a twist of her own, there was no mistaking what had happened. The shock of the pain alone took her breath away, leaving no room for her to shout. He was dead… She had watched him bleed out. Yet here the girl was, dying, with the sound of her own blood pouring from veins falling in rhythmic drops on the hardwood floor.

“And if I’m going to hell, you’re coming with me,” he demanded through gritted teeth, his once smooth tone now gravely and bubbling over with anger. With that definitive determination, he ripped the knife from Charlie’s back and brought it to her neck, dragging it in one smooth motion across her neck. She always knew this day would come, that she would be the one being stabbed, shot, or strangled. But this… this was all wrong.

Which made perfect sense when she finally woke up.

In a mess of cold sweat and sheets long since tossed and turned from their designated alignment, Charlie gasped awake, clutching at her throat. A few moments ago she was sending arterial spray all over a swanky D.C. apartment, but in a breath or two the reality of the present was upon her. The time was now, Goliath was still dead, and her brain really needed to stop creating alternate endings for her life (and sex life, come to think of it). Shaken from the dream that was still too fresh and vivid for her to really process properly, Charlie reached clumsily for the string on her bedside lamp, giving it a pull before sitting up in her bed. Unsteady hands ran through her hair, rubbing at the back of her head as she considered everything she’d just dreamt. Charlie had a similar dream a few times since the night of the actual operation, but each iteration was always a bit different from what really happened. But whether an accurate recount or a fictitious one, it did a number on her to relive any of it.

Letting out another breath slowly through puffed cheeks, Charlie reached for her phone and called the only person she talked to about the sleeping trouble she’d been having lately. And though he was on another hemisphere, it didn’t take too long for Mimic to answer. “Cal? I’m sorry to call you this late, I just…” she hesitated, not wanting to burden her friend but being too reluctant to dream at the moment to find any peace in sleep. “I had the dream again.”

Blink for mention!
Mar 18 2018, 09:25 AM
Glancing at the clock high on the kitchen wall, Charlie discerned that it was just about time for the arrival of her special guest. There was an ease to being with her best friend that went beyond their relationship together. Calvin’s immunity to her pheromones meant that Charlie could be 100%, genuinely her in his presence. That meant hanging out in close quarters, even in her own home where most couldn’t last more than a few moments within her dwelling. And what more, it meant that she could actually cook for him. Like, really cook. Cross contamination with Charlie’s pheromones and food meant she often didn’t get to share her love of food with others. Calvin was the exception, and tonight’s meal was especially in his honor.

She hadn’t given him a lot of information regarding exactly what the plan for the night was, just that he could dress casually and to meet her at an address in the art district in SOHO. And that they would be celebrating his birthday, of course. Calvin’s actual birthday was the day before, but given that they had only just returned from the Savage Land, it was safe to say everyone deserved some time to themselves. That being said, the first day that Cal gave her the option to make something happen, Chuck was all over it. She’d rented a gorgeous industrial loft in Manhattan with floor to ceiling windows and a spacious kitchen with the intention of celebrating her bestie’s birthday in a relaxing way she knew they both needed right now.

The space was awash with delicious smells, their aromas permeating out side the door of the loft and down the hallway. Charlie had been up since the wee hours of the morning preparing, both for her dear friend and for herself. Since returning to the mainland, Charlie was rebuilding her relationship with food. In today’s context, that meant waking up early to bake fresh bread and get a rustic tomato sauce started, and floating through the kitchen to the dulcet tones of Billie Holiday. The spread she was preparing for Calvin might have been deemed excessive… if you weren’t privy to what they’d just been through and didn’t understand the nature of Calvin’s superhumanly voracious appetite. But in celebrating this man, extra seemed appropriate. It was only once a year that she got to spoil her best friend in this way, and she was pulling out all the stops.

With plenty of moving parts as far as things in the oven, on the stove, and currently being plated, Charlie was in a flurry of carefully timed movements. Currently she was preparing the charcuterie plate, an assortment of meats and cheeses with guanciale, bresaola, sopressata, buffalo mozzarella, pecorino, fig preserves, olives, and more arranged in swirls and swipes on the large cutting board. After putting the final touches on it, she cocked her head to the side to examine the handiwork before turning back to the stove and giving the sauce another stir.

Right on time, the intercom buzzed behind her. Charlie giddily made her way over to the callbox, which conveniently for her had a camera allowing her to preview that loveable Cal mug before pressing the button that allowed him entry. Wasting no time making it to the door, speedy Cal only had to knock his knuckles against the door once before it was pulled open by an eager Charlie. “Birthday boy!” She gushed, wrapping an arm around him and placing a very Israeli kiss on each cheek. “Yom huladet sameach, ‘bibi,” she wished him with a broad grin before draping and arm around him and walking him into the space. “I hope you’re hungry,” she added with a warm smile as she looked up at her much taller friend and led him into the beautiful apartment.

“Check it out! You like?” Charlie asked, holding her arms out and twirling in the much larger space than her tiny Brooklyn diggs. “It’s an Air BnB. I figured it’d be nice to splurge a little for this special occasion,” she confessed with a grin. After a knowing brow was raised in her direction, she found it important to mention a key fact, “I paid for it, scout’s honor.” She shot him a smirk and an eye roll, as well as a light jab in the arm, unable not to chuckle at the expense of her old ways. Making her way around the island and back to the driver’s seat in the kitchen, Charlie was quick to assume the role of model host now that her guest of honor was here.

“Water, tea, negroni?” She inquired as Cal got settled, taking a moment to peer into the oven but not opening it wide enough for Cal to see what was inside. “We’ve got about 30 minutes until the main event but please, get started,” she determined, nodding to the large cutting board adorned with all sorts of comestibles. Charlie leaned against the counter, a perma-smile plastered to her face as it typically was when she and Cal had time like this together. Seeing how sharply it contrasted to their times in the Savage Land, these moments were particularly sweet.

“So, tell me Cal, are you feeling older? Any wiser?”
she inquired with a sly smirk as she took a sip of sparking water from her nearby wine glass. Charlie’s goal for tonight was to bring a taste of home back to Calvin. And though she wasn’t sure exactly where his Italian roots and his American upbringing intersected, he was going to have a myriad of choices provided to him.

Mimic
Mar 15 2018, 02:20 PM
In the nights since returning from the Savage Land, sleep had often evaded Charlie. Weeks of curling up beneath the stars, exposed to everything the harsh jungle had to throw her way, had made it difficult to melt into deep slumber. And no matter how secure her apartment was or how comfortable her bed might be, Charlie had been subject to ample amounts of tossing and turning and the occasional night terror even though she was safely back home. When she finally did get to rest, she often slipped into sleep without realizing she was out, waking up still fully clothed at odd hours of the night to frustratedly shed her street clothes and again attempt some sort of relief.

Tonights dream had her wading through swaths of people, their hands reaching out hungrily for her, not unlike those of the zombies she and the others had cut through a few days prior. But these people’s eyes were alive, each pair glued to Charlie as she did her best to push through them. Their touch was gentle at first, just wanting to reach out for contact, but as their number increased so did their intensity. Before long they were clawing at Charlie, tearing at her clothing, pulling her backward. Every muscle in her body, every fiber of her being strained against them, but regardless of how hard she fought or how strong she might have been, she was simply too greatly outnumbered. Crushed under the weight of dozens, the light around her went dark now blocked out by bodies. And with each inch of space she lost to the horde she lost a bit more room to inspire. In another moment’s span, Charlie was left choking and gasping for air, unable to draw any more into her lungs.

Then, finally, relief. Honey brown eyes opened wide to stare at the ceiling of her apartment, pulling her from the suffocating nightmare, but a sensation from underneath the covers immediately had her full attention. Ava’s sleep overs were few and far between, but Charlie couldn’t really complain about this kind of wake up call. “Ava…” she managed groggily, shifting under the sheets before moving the covers to get a glimpse of the woman underneath them. But where Charlie expected to see Raptor’s brunette tresses, she instead saw bright platinum blonde. And just as the realization of who was blessing her with an intimate wake up call dawned on Charlie, her eyes locked with the icy blues of Emma Frost. Incredulity twisted the Israeli’s features into a shocked and alarmed expression, her mind unable to wrap around an understanding of what was happening before she actually woke up in her bed. This time, definitely alone.

What… the fuck…” Charlie couldn’t help but muse aloud to the empty room as she sat upright, rubbing her eyes and brushing brunette locks from out of her face. The brain was a fickle thing, as was the pineal gland it seemed, because for whatever reason Charlie’s was majorly fucking with her. What could be a manifestation of her work stresses with Emma, or a lingering residual effect of the woman’s manipulations of Charlie’s own memories, had her feeling quite awkward in this moment. Sure, she was often caught in the perilous enigma of whether she wanted to be Emma or to be on Emma, but it wasn’t her first time considering such things with beautiful people Chuck knew she couldn’t have.

Laying back in the bed, Charlie let out a long sight from her puffed cheeks, eyes settling on the ceiling. Between the choices of freaky awkward nightmares and sleeplessness, she was struggling to find which of the two evils was lesser. Her gaze moved to her phone on the table beside her bed, where the time blinked a properly antagonizing 4 am. As good a time as any to start the day, Charlie determined. Because she sure as hell wasn’t going to attempt sleep if it meant delving through that hot mess again.
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