Better To Give Part 1

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This is Whateley Universe fanfiction story. None of this is canon, I'm only using their sandbox.
***

I walked along a line of weary and wounded men. But they weren't men, at least not normal ones, their eyes were too big, the ears were pointed like an elf, they're skin was flawless except where dirt and wounds marred the almost angelic appearance. I'd have said they were the most beautiful people I'd ever seen except for their eyes, their eyes were hard, I'd seen similar eyes before, but those were pretty few and far between. Every single one of the men who were wearing what looked like fantasy armour, with real weapons that had seen hard use were staring at me as if they were thinking about the easiest and quickest way to kill me if I became a threat.

My hand moved, reaching into a sack and pulling something out. A big, strong hand, my hand I realized, gave a sword to a man who had been trying in vain to bend his own back into shape. The hand that was mine, but wasn't, disappeared into the sack again, pulling out a bottle of something that glowed, giving it a man who had a deep cut on his face that was a brilliant red.

Reaching into the bag for a third time, there was a cry from up ahead. Everyone grabbed their weapons and got back to their feet. Looking across the battlefield I saw something that I could only call pure evil. What it looked like, I don't know because thankfully I woke up.

**

I groaned and rolled out of bed as the alarm clock blared, almost tripping thanks to my too small nightgown trapping my legs. The three other girls I shared a room with in the group home also got wearily to their feet. We didn't talk as we went to our large bathroom, there was another one for the other four girls who stayed at the group home, and three half baths so we usually didn't have to wait too long for a bathroom. But in the morning when we had to get washed up, do our makeup and hair it was a serious pain.

Through unspoken agreement I got first crack at the sink, brushing my teeth, and doing a very quick washing up, then I was out and back to our room. I couldn't afford any makeup, since I'd only just started to get an allowance, most of which had gone to buying some clothes. Combine that with my extremely short hair, along with a beanpole body, and I was often mistaken for a boy. The fact that my formerly cute button nose was mashed flat from being broken didn't help matters much. That was all thanks to my Mom. I was the newest girl to the group home, after calling the police on Mom when she decided I was evil, cut off all my hair burned most of my clothes, beat me up and said she'd get rid of the evil in me once and for all when she got back home.

So the morning routine was pretty easy for me.

It was my turn to help Joyce, one of two house mothers in charge of use, with breakfast. I headed downstairs in an old t-shirt and shorts ready to get my chores out of the way, and heard Joyce singing to herself, some old song from the 80's about a love shack.

“Morning Mary,” Joyce said, being careful not to make any quick movements in my direction and shifting her body so I couldn't see the knife she was using to cut up some green onions. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah,” I said simply, trying not to cringe. I have a bit of a problem around older women from living with Mom over the last two years, I keep expecting them to slug me for being prettier than they are, or for looking at their man. I'm getting over it, but I'm definitely what my social worker calls a work in progress.

“Can you scramble up some eggs?”

“Sure.” I went to the extra large fridge and grabbed the eggs, getting a bowl and whisk as I went to counter as far from Joyce as possible. I worked quietly while Joyce sang to herself. At first she had stopped singing when I was working with her, afraid it would upset me, I'd taken a few days to work up my courage and told her I liked hearing her sing. she was a good singer, and since she wasn't directing it at me I didn't mind. I didn't tell her that it also let me judge what type of mood she was in, and could subconsciously reassure myself that nothing bad was happening or about to happen to me.

By the time all the girls were downstairs, we had breakfast on the table. Gabby, the other house mother was busy talking with the girls reminding them of their chores and talking about the plan to go to the beach in the afternoon.

I listened quietly, not sure how I felt about going to the beach. When going shopping at the thrift store with Gabby and Claire, one of my roommates, they'd convinced me to get a pretty baby blue bikini that miraculously fit. But with my smashed nose, hair that was little better than a brush cut, and visible ribs thanks to eating only at school for the last year, I was very self conscious of my looks.

Still everyone wanted to go, so I had to. At least I could wear a baggy shirt while I was there.

After breakfast, I loaded up the dishwasher and then had some free time while the others vacuumed, dusted, mopped, did laundry and the dozens of other chores that needed to be done everyday to keep the big house reasonably clean.

Sitting in the rec room, I had some music playing but wasn't paying attention to it, I was thinking about things. Because of Mom being a paranoid, narcissistic, hell bitch, I'd never been allowed to wear makeup, and if I tried to make myself look pretty it just resulted in a beating. I knew lots of girls at my ripe old age of thirteen wore a bit of makeup and jewelry, but the one time I borrowed a friends and put it on, well lets just say the broken nose proved that it was a mistake.

Now that I was away from her, I was curious what I could do to try to salvage my looks. None of the girls here were willing to share their makeup, not that I could blame them. They were nice about a lot of things but we each had so little to call our own, giving things away to anyone but a close friend was really damn hard. So I just had to think of what might look good on me, until I managed to scrape up enough money to get some of my own. I thought that a dark red lipstick might go well with my pale skin, or would it be better to get something that would make my pasty skin look more vibrant. Maybe I could get a tan at the beach and that problem would fix itself.

Getting up I put my hands in my pockets and paced quietly thinking about makeup and being pretty and other things. It took a few minutes to realize there was something in my right pocket. Pulling it out I found a tube of dark red lipstick, it looked brand new. How had it gotten there?

Not wanting to be accused of stealing, I immediately went to find Gabby. The housemother is only twenty two and looks a bit like a teenager, so I felt more comfortable talking to her. I found her washing windows with Elizabeth, the oldest girl here at seventeen.

“Um, Gabby. I found something in my pocket just now. I don't know how it got there, but it's not mine,” I said staring at my feet, and holding out the lipstick.

She took it and whistled. “This is pretty expensive stuff. Elizabeth, do you know if this belongs to any of the girls?”

“I haven't seen it around. And I don't think any of us could afford Estee Lauder,” the girl said. “Where did you get this?”

“I don't know,” I insisted. “It was in my pocket, and I just found it.”

Gabby took the lipstick back and thought for a few moments. “I'll go around to all the girls and ask if they're missing any lipstick. If they know the colour and brand, I'll just return it and say it was found in the bathroom. If they don't, well it must have been left there by the previous shorts owner and you'll get it back.”

“Thanks, Gabby,” I said. I knew there was no way it had been in the shorts when I got them, they'd been washed twice and the lipstick was brand new. But I wasn't getting accused of theft and I might be able to get it back which would be really sweet. Scurrying back to the rec room I thought about how it would look on me.

**

“I need a drink,” Claire said. She was the same as I was, so we'd become friends over the last two weeks.

“I think I drank my water, but let me check,” I told her reaching into my bag. At first I didn't feel anything, but just as I was about to give up my long fingers brushed against a bottle. That was odd, but I just chalked it up to forgetfulness and passed the bottle over.

We were sunbathing and watching everyone's things as the rest of the group played beach volleyball or were swimming in the cool lake. I'd pulled off my tank top after going for a swim, and was hoping my ghostly white skin would darken without burning. I hadn't been able to work up the courage to talk to talk to any of the other teenagers who were there, and none of them had really noticed me. With my beat up face, and the fact I was one of the foster kids, from the big bad city that was foisted on their town made me unnoticeable, except for a few sneers and one or two pitying looks.

I kind of liked it that way, being unseen had been a way of life for me for half of my life. While I was willing to fantasize about being in the spotlight, and was willing to start moving to the edges of the crowd, I was shy.

“Where did you get this water?” Claire asked.

“It was in my bag. Why?”

“I've never heard of this brand before.” My friend handed me back the bottle, and I was suddenly as confused as she was.

The bottle was small, and it had writing on it that looked like they were Japanese or Chinese, the only English on it said 'Tibetan Spring Water'. “Ok, this is getting weird,” I said.

“First the lipstick and now this. Where are you finding all of this stuff?” she demanded.

“I don't know. I'm just pulling it out of my pocket or bag, I don't even know where I could get any of this stuff in town,” I insisted.

“Oh, maybe you're a big scary mutant,” Claire teased. “Try to pull out some money.”

I rolled my eyes, Claire was a big cape watcher, always going on about Champion, or Super Hawk, or Spectrum or whoever had made a big splashy display of saving the day. “Fine let's find out. I want a hundred dollars,” I said reaching into the bag.

My jaw dropped. At the bottom of my bag was some paper, pulling it out I saw five twenty dollar bills. Claire looked just as surprised as I was.

Shoving the money back into my bag, we looked around nervously hoping that no one had seen the display. “Don't tell anyone about this, please,” I begged.

“Yeah, it'll be our secret,” Claire agreed, staring at me in astonishment.

**

I was in a camp of some kind. Smokeless fires that didn't need wood were lit up as far as the eye could see, surrounded by soldiers who were sharpening knives and swords, drawing strange symbols on their armour and weapons, drinking something that smelled like alcohol, eating, telling stories, singing or dozens of other things. I was walking past them, patting a few who looked like they needed the support on the shoulders, whispering encouraging words in a deep voice, reaching into my pockets to hand out little things like sharpening stones, a snack, a bottle of something to drink, some needle and thread, whatever someone might need.

The clothes I was wearing felt oddly stiff. The edges scratched against my skin, my beard caught on buttons and hooks on my coat. I hadn't realized I had a beard, it should have shocked me, but I realized that for my dream self it was perfectly natural.

I reached a small tent and stepped inside. I should have had to duck but the ceiling rose high above me, and I couldn't see the far end. Inside were thousands of items, enough to equip an army. Rows of weapons ready to be used, armour piled high in many different sizes and types, mountains of food, bottles that shone in every possible colour, and so much more. Tiny people only three or four feet high, obviously not human but close enough to pass as one in dim light ran between the aisles and stacks, counting items, preparing others to go out on sleds that hovered above the ground pulled by gold and silver deer, and bringing order to chaos.

“How is everything going? Are the supplies for the refugees complete?” I asked, a tiny person who was overseeing everything.

“Ready when you are, sir,” he said. “But why don't you let one of us do this? You've been at the front lines you should take a break.”

I patted his arm. “And not do the one part of the job I actually enjoy. Do you want me to become just as bad as the war leaders or the queen? All work and no pleasure.”

He sighed. “Fine, but I'm going to insist you get to bed as soon as you get back, and we're not waking you up tomorrow morning. We've got everything well in hand here, you need the sleep.”

“Fine, fine. Let's get going, it's a cold night and they need the blankets and food. Everyone mount up, we're heading out!” I bellowed, going to the largest sled that was loaded down with supplies.

**

I woke up, rubbing my head in confusion, what was with these weird dreams?

The clock said I was up an hour early. I didn't think I could go back to sleep so I carefully climbed out of bed and headed to the bathroom, I could have a nice long shower without worrying about a line up. Getting in, I let the water soothe my sore muscles from all the swimming I'd done the day before. My skin had a bit more colour than it had before the beach, it was redder than I thought it should be, but that wasn't too bad, it was better than being pasty faced.

I started running a hand through my hair, I stopped dead. Jumping out of the shower I looked in the mirror, my hair was an inch longer than the day before. But it wasn't the usual dishwater blonde, it was pure white. The original colour was still their around the tips, but nowhere else.

What was going on?

Getting back in the shower, I finished washing, trying to calm down. I had to tell someone. Should I tell them everything? That I could make things appear in my pockets and bag? They'd say I was a mutant, and who knows what would happen. I knew that H1 was around and they'd get on my case. I'd seen one girl in my old apartment forced to leave in the middle of the night because they said she was a mutant and people had started breaking her family's stuff and refusing to talk to her or anyone in her family.

I was just getting comfortable here, would they make me leave?

Pulling on my hair, I realized I had to say something. I'd just tell them about my hair, they didn't need to know about the other stuff. Maybe it was a medical problem.

Getting out of the shower I dried off and got dressed. Slowly I made my way down to the kitchen where Joyce was drinking her morning coffee. “Mary, what are you doing up so early?” she asked, then did a double take. “What happened to your hair?”

“I don't know. I was just having a shower when I noticed it,” I said, hunching down and hating the way I cringed.

“Has anything else happened?”

“No,” I lied, staring at my feet.

“Ok, just relax. I'll call the doctor today and see if we can get you in. I'm sure there's a perfectly normal reason for this. Do you want something to eat since you're up already?” she asked.

“Yes please,” I muttered, wishing I could just be normal.

**

The doctor I visited later that day was clueless. He didn't know anything that could have done it, so he took some blood samples and sent them away for testing and life went on almost normally for a whole week. The 'almost' was entirely my body's fault. Every night I had dreams of being a big guy, wandering around battlefields and camps, giving out things to soldiers and people, real humans sometimes. These ranged from weapons to food and everything in between. Along with the dreams came changes, I couldn't see my ribs anymore, my entire body seemed to be thickening, not with fat but muscle. Things that would leave me struggling, like carrying the big vacuum cleaner upstairs were easy, I could carry it one handed by the fourth day. I wasn't getting any taller, still just shy of five feet tall, and while my breasts were finally starting to come in, so was a belly.

I was eating twice as much as the other girls, and I was still hungry. To keep from using up the food budget just to feed me, I was finding private time to reach into my pocket and pull out energy bars, snack foods and candy. Claire kept giving me odd looks, but kept her word and didn't tell anyone what I could do, she also didn't bring it up again, which I appreciated.

And then it all fell apart.

“Mary, can you come down here?” Gabby called from the stairs.

Getting off of my bed where I'd been reading a book, I headed downstairs wondering what was going on.

Gabby met me halfway, dry washing her hands and sucking in her bottom lip. “We have some good news for you,” she said.

“What?”

“Just wait, there's some people waiting to talk to you, but we know what's wrong with your hair and body.” She guided me downstairs, and I realized that I didn't hear anyone else. In a house with eight girls, there is always some noise, but it was as quiet as a tomb.

“Where is everyone?” I asked, hunching down, letting my now long white bangs cover my eyes, trying to hide as best I could.

“They've gone out for a walk. It's ok,” Gabby said, putting her hand on my shoulder.

We reached the living room where three people in suits were waiting. Two of them were men and they stood with their hands behind their backs, shifting to hide whatever they were obviously holding. The woman was my case worker, Mrs. Mitchell.

“Mary, how have you been?” Mrs. Mitchell asked.

“I'm doing ok. I really, really like it here,” I said, sitting on the couch, scrunching myself up as tightly as possible like I used to do when I lived with my Mom.

Mrs. Mitchell leaned forward, a big smile on her pudgy face. “I'm so glad, you are looking so much better than when I first saw you. But, I have some good news and bad news for you.”

I waited for her to tell me more. An irrational thought told me that Mom had gotten off on her charges of child abuse, assault and battery, neglect and attempted murder, they were going to make me go back to live with her because family is sacred, even if it would get me killed.

“You are perfectly healthy,” the social worker said. “Your fast growing hair is from something called a Bit. You're a mutant, even if you haven't shown any powers, an exemplar I'm told.”

“Ok,” I said, hoping that was the bad news.

“Now for the bad news. Things can go wrong with mutants, and you need special care, so we'll be sending to another foster home where they can help you adjust to your coming changes.” There was a moment of silence as all eyes focused on me.

“I want to stay here,” I whispered.

“I'm sorry,” Gabby said, patting my hand. “It's the rules, mutants can't be kept in a general group home. But you can phone me whenever you want, and I'll give you my email.”

I couldn't say anything without bursting into tears.

Gabby took my hand and stood up. “Let's go up and get your things, Mary.”

“Actually she'll be leaving now. You can pack her things and we'll have someone pick them up tonight,” one of the men said.

“But-” Gabby fell silent nodding in resignation. “Come on Mary, I'll take you to the car.”

Numbly I followed her, the two men followed several feet behind me. I was led to an SUV that looked like it was made for prisoners, with a metal grate covering the tinted windows, metal blocking the back where I was sitting, from the front. There were metal rings along the seat and the roof.

I think Gabby gave me a hug and told me to phone her as soon as I could. I know she slipped her phone number and email address into my pocket. One of the men lifted me up and put me in the seat. I did up my seatbelt and the door was slammed shut, with the sound of a big, heavy lock being put in place.

A minute later the SUV started up and we were driving away. I couldn't even give Gabby one last wave, the tinted windows were pitch black inside. The only illumination came from a small reading light above my seat. Looking at it closely it seemed like it had a camera beside it.

Hugging myself, I finally let myself cry.

**

After driving for hours, and having to hold in my pee, while my stomach was growling, we finally stopped. The moment the door opened I rushed out, not just to use the bathroom but also to get out of the claustrophobic interior.

“Bathroom!” I squeaked, when the uniformed men stopped me.

“Wait we need to make sure you aren't bringing in any contraband,” the one who'd done all the speaking so far told me.

“I can't wait. I didn't have time to get anything!”

A stern faced woman came out of a brick house. I didn't see any houses nearby, and only a small gravel road led to the house. “Spread your legs and arms, lean up against the vehicle.”

Clenching my teeth, I did as I was told, the woman patted me down everywhere, even though I was wearing tight short shorts and a t-shirt with a flimsy bra underneath, I honestly don't what they thought I could hide on me, a post it note might fit under my bra.

“She's clean,” the woman said, “where do I sign?”

I had to wait several agonizing minutes as they filled out the forms. When they were finally done, the talkative man turned to me, “Mary Annabeth Chisholm, you are now in the custody of Anastasia McCloud. You are to obey her instructions, obey the law, as well as following the guidelines regarding being a mutant foster child in the state of California. If you are found in violation of any of these, you can be arrested by the MCO and brought up on charges of public endangerment, as well as whatever crimes you have committed.”

“YES! Fine! Can I please go to the bathroom!” I practically cried.

“Sign here,” he said, holding a form out for me.

I signed it and ran to the house, only to find the door was locked. My foster mother followed along much more slowly, and unlocked the door for me. “Take your shoes off, and no running in the house,” she said.

My shoes were off in record time. She pointed out the bathroom and I managed to not quite run to it. A few minutes later, much relieved I came back out to see what my new home would be like.

“Come into the living room, please,” the woman said.

I walked in, keeping my head down, trying to keep from gasping in fear. Ms. McCloud was seated on a beautiful white couch, I went sit in a matching armchair.

“Don't sit until you're given permission,” Ms. McCloud said.

I jerked, and stood their dumbly waiting for her to speak.

“Good, you have some hope,” she said grudgingly. “In this house I am in charge, you will not back talk to me, and you will call me Ms. McCloud, or ma'am at all times. I will give you a list of chores to do in the morning and they must be finished on time. You will be home schooled, most of your lessons will be online, every month you will take tests, if you do not pass them you will be found to be in violation of a mutant foster child. You will be given one day a week to go outside for shopping, or some other type of outing, provided you have successfully completed your chores, acted appropriately and completed your lessons. You will keep your room clean, ensure you have a tidy appearance, and wash your clothes. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma'am,” I whispered, wishing with all my heart that I was back in the small but comfortable room with the other girls.

“I didn't hear you, speak up.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I said louder, still staring at the floor.

“Good. I'll show you you're room, supper is in three hours. You can begin your lessons while you wait,” Ms. McCloud said in her no nonsense voice.

I followed meekly, memories of my Mom running through my head at breakneck speed. When we got to the large closet that could hold a bed, a smaller closet, with a low dresser inside of it, and finally a desk with an old PC and used the bed as a chair. There was a small window with security bars on it to let me get some sunlight.

“Load up the computer, your lessons are bookmarked on the browser. I have a parental control program so that is the only thing you can access,” she said, turning to leave.

“Can I send emails?” I asked, thinking about emailing Gabby and Claire.

“Once a week. I'll be reading your correspondence to make sure they're appropriate.”

“But- but the rules say I can get mail and emails privately,” I said.

“For baselines, certainly. You aren't a baseline, the rules have to change to meet your new situation. I'll show you the rules and guidelines tonight after supper, so that you don't make any mistakes.” With that she left, closing and locking the door behind her.

Reaching into my pocket, that was more decorative than useful, I pulled out an energy bar. Turning on the computer, I fought back tears as I ate. Did I have to go five more years like this? If Mom hadn't decided to try to kill me or at least cripple me, it would have been better staying at home. At least there I could escape to school and friends houses, the less I was at home the more Mom liked it.

Looking at my new home, my new life, I started to cry.

**

Supper that night was not enjoyable.

The door was unlocked by Ms. McCloud, and I was allowed to wash my hands in the bathroom and was then led to the depressingly drab dining room. I waited until the meal of fried pork, microwaved mixed vegetables, and baked potatoes, with a glass of water was on the table and was given permission to sit before sitting down. Not sure about anything, I didn't touch anything until my foster parent filled my plate with a single pork chop, half a baked potato and two spoonfuls of the vegetables, and only ate after she started to eat.

Eating in absolute silence except for the sound of silverware against plates and our chewing, I finished quickly. Reaching for another piece of meat, I jumped in fright when Ms. McCloud slapped the fork from my hand.

“What do you think you're doing?” she demanded.

I cringed at her harsh tone, ducking as low in the chair as I possibly could. “I-I'm s-s-still hungry. I'm sorry.”

“You ask if you can have some more, this is not a boarding house.”

“Can... can I please have some more?”

“No, you've eaten enough. You're getting fat, you should go on a diet,” she said, looking at my growing belly.

“All right,” I murmured.

I sat in silence, trying to ignore the growling of my stomach as she finished eating, taking an extra potato and pork chop for her own plate. With a contented sigh, Ms. McCloud pushed her chair away from the table. “You can clean up. Save the potatoes and meat they go in the fridge in a plastic container, wash the dishes and then you can go back to your room to continue your lessons. You'll go to sleep at nine, not a moment later or earlier, this house runs on a tight schedule.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She left and I got to work. It wasn't that bad, I did the same back when I lived at home. The hunger wasn't even too bad, especially because I reached into an oven mitt a few times and pulled out some dried fruit to munch on.

I heard a knock at the door as I was scrubbing the pans by hand, not wanting to get in trouble or make Ms. McCloud angry I just ducked my head and kept washing, ignoring the quiet conversation. By the time I was done washing and putting everything away whoever had visited was gone.

Hesitantly I walked to my room. My small suitcase was empty at the foot of the bed, and all of my things spread out on the bed being looked over by Ms. McCloud. I didn't mind so much seeing my clothes out like that, they were mostly second hand outfits that I'd bought a month ago, but seeing her pawing through my well worn diary was too much.

“What are you doing?!” I demanded.

“According to the rules of fostering mutants, I am to ensure you are not corresponding or associating with mutant terrorists. This gives me the right to look through your correspondence, personal letters, diaries, journals, emails and record your telephone calls. If you try to stop me, it is within my rights to contact the MCO and they will begin an investigation into your actions,” the woman said, not looking away from my diary.

“But my diary, it's mine. It's- it's personal.” I didn't know how to convince her to put it down, that I'd poured my soul into it as mom had gotten worse and worse over the last two years. What I couldn't tell my friends, I had told my diary. Everything I'd done, felt, thought and imagined was in those pages. I'd actually expanded it by cutting it apart and stitching in new pages while adding cardboard to the spine, because I couldn't bear the thought of replacing it.

“Rules are rules. Do you think I enjoy reading about what boys you like or how you cried at night?” she snapped.

I jumped back in terror, than I spun around and fled the room heading for the front door. I pulled on the handle but it didn't budge, flipping the lock didn't do anything and no matter how hard I hit it nothing happened. I hid behind the couch crying, wishing I'd never called for help. If I'd just ran away to a friends house to get away from Mom, give her some time to get over things I'd have been ok. I would still be with my friends, I'd have some privacy, Mom only came into my room if she was going to yell at me, and if I locked the door in time she'd just bang on it for an hour or two.

Biting my finger until it bled, I wondered when my nightmare would be over.

**

Ms. McCloud came out a while later, throwing a thick bundle of papers on the floor in front of me. “These are the rules for being a mutant foster child, read them and learn them. And as you noticed during your temper tantrum, you're not able to leave without me or a person of my choosing.”

“What if there's a fire?”

“Find me, and I'll make sure you get out,” she said.

Kicking the papers away, I snarled at her. “I should have stayed with my Mother. She just hit me sometimes, she didn't lock me up.”

There was no sympathy in her voice or expression. “This is for your protection and the protection of everyone else. Now get to your room and read the papers. Tomorrow the MCO will pick you up for powers testing. The lights will automatically shut off at nine. If you're on your computer you'll have five minutes to save your work and shut it off, before it turns off. You will be allowed to go to the bathroom to wash up and then you will go to sleep. Now get to your room.”

Glaring at the woman I marched to my room slamming the door behind me. She locked me in and I noticed that there was no way to lock or unlock the door on my side. All of my things were put away in the drawers or hanging in the closet. Going through it all I notice that the hundred and twenty dollars I'd had with me had vanished. The twenty was from my allowance, the hundred dollars I'd been too afraid to use. I knew Gabby wouldn't take my money, so it had to be Ms. McCloud or the two men.

Grabbing the stupid papers that were all the rules I started reading much more quickly than I normally could. The very first rule stated that I'd lost all privacy, everything was to be monitored for anti-social, anti-human and anti-government behaviour. The second rule said that I couldn't have any money, any purchases would have to go through my caregiver, I didn't even warrant having a foster parent it seemed.

It went on like that. I could only leave the house under the guidance of my caregiver or someone she had vetted and was over the age of thirty who was aware that I was a mutant and had a means of contacting the MCO at all times. I could only socialize with people vetted by my caregiver and a person over thirty had to be present at all times. I couldn't go to school, it was home schooling all the way. I could not have a phone, and my computer was monitored constantly, if I was a gadgeteer or a devisor, I could only use a computer when monitored personally by the caregiver or someone vetted by them. I could not use any powers without express permission of my caregiver while monitored. And on, and on, and on, for thirty pages of small print.

If I broke any of these rules I would be investigated and possibly arrested, if it was found I had broken the rules willingly, I would be thrown in a detention center until I was at least twenty one years of age.

Murderers in prison had more rights than I did.

I reached into my bag and pulled out a chocolate bar, still hungry after my small supper. As I ate it, I glared at the locked door. If my mutant powers had let me I'd have torn the whole damn house down with my bare hands.

**

I was walking through a camp full of people. Many of them were injured, they all looked scared. We could hear the distant crashes louder than any natural thunder, hellish screams of abominations, and the shouting of tens of thousands of fighters. If the army was defeated in the field, this pitiful camp of exhausted and wounded people who had seen their homes and families destroyed would be next. There were humans, and elfen people, though there were other stranger creatures as well, mostly women and children. I knew instinctively most of the men had died trying to buy time for their families to run. The strongest and fastest men had sometimes survived, making back to their people. In other dreams I'd seen them staggering in with broken weapons fighting exhaustion and pain. I and the people under me had given them what help we could.

I still didn't know what this persons name was. I had no control in the dreams, and there weren't any mirrors so I didn't even know what I looked like except that I was a man, with a white beard. He seemed kind though, helping as much as he could, which was pitifully little.

“Sir!” the small second in command came running up. “The enemy is coming! A small band is coming this way.”

“How small?” I demanded.

“No more than twenty beasts. If we can contact the general we-”

“No help is coming,” I said, cutting him off. Hopelessness filled me, that small force would slaughter the hundreds of people here. “The army is fully engaged. How much time do we have?”

“Half an hour at most. The few scouts we have are trying to lead them away, but they smell the camp,” he told me.

This was time for decisiveness. “Get anyone who can fight, refugees and our own people, give them any weapon they can use. Load the youngest children and their mothers onto the sleds, pack them in as tight as you can, strap them on if you have to. You'll lead them as far from here as possible. Have everyone else start moving immediately, split them into groups and send them in every direction that could lead to safety.”

“What about you sir?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

I loosened my long leather robe and put on black gloves that were etched with symbols. “Someone has to buy you time. It's been an honour, my friend.”

He hugged me. “The honour has been all mine.”

Racing away he started yelling orders, bringing order to the growing panic. I started chanting, words I couldn't understand or remember filled the air. Bitterly cold air came from the north, shrouding the edge of the camp in frozen mists and blowing snow. Weary men and women marched into the mist determined to buy time. I followed behind still chanting.

**

The two men who had dragged me away from the group home came to pick me up after a small breakfast of buttered toast and apple juice. I didn't talk to them, not that they cared, they just asked Ms. McCloud some questions and ordered me into the back of the SUV. This time I made sure to go to the bathroom first, and wore a tracksuit that had pockets so I could pull something out if I had to. For some reason no matter how hard I tried I couldn't make something appear in my hand unless it was hidden.

We drove for a few hours. I tried to get away from the camera by moving to the other side of the bench seat, but the nearest reading light and the camera attached to it turned on and focused on me. So I sat back, gave them the finger and pretended to be asleep.

We finally came to a stop in a parking garage. They ordered me to get out and silently I did. They took my fingerprints, blood samples, my name, scanned my eyes and made dozens of pictures, including several of me in my underwear, focusing on distinguishing features like my birthmark, as well as a couple of scars.

Then they did powers testing. I didn't show them my trick of making things appear. With how everything was going I knew I might need it to survive, or at least to avoid malnutrition. So I did everything they asked, but when they asked me questions I replied by nodding or shaking my head. Refusing to speak. Even when I had to guess a card they were holding, I used my finger to trace out a symbol in the air.

By the time we finished they seemed ready to throw me in prison and throw away the key. They actually threatened me with it a few times. I gave them the finger and kept quiet. They frog marched me back to the SUV, under armed guard.

“This is your MID, keep it on you at all times. If you do not have it on you when requested by your caretaker, police, government official or the MCO, you will be arrested and placed in juvenile detention,” the guy in charge told me.

I took the card and got into the SUV, glaring the entire time.

When we finally got moving, I took a moment to look at the card. Apparently my codename was Ward 22, and I was an Exemplar 3. Not knowing what any of that meant I put the card in my pocket, and fell asleep. At least they'd fed me enough so I could do that comfortably.

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Comments

It's that time of year...?

So uh....... Mary Christmas?

Seems like Santa was aiding the sidhe in the atlantean war, haha.

The legends had to come from somewhere

Domoviye's picture

I thought it was amusing, and who wants a fat jolly old elf who just runs around delivering toys. A bad ass Sidhe Santa, who is willing to face down eldritch abominations to protect people, and gives out what people need, including toys and things, is so much cooler.
Also armies don't win wars just by having soldiers, someone has to keep them supplied. Where do you think he learned how to keep track of all those toys?
Thanks for commenting.

Santa

zulu mack's picture

A whately Santa Claus in time for Christmas

Yep

Domoviye's picture

I just had a really strange idea on Friday and started writing.

better to give

seems more like a she is a prisoner with a with a live in guard and when she is a adult will have some privacy then.

Like she said a murderer in

Domoviye's picture

Like she said a murderer in prison has more rights than she does. It's not a nice system for mutants.

Interesting start

I like it most interesting. The rules that are in place gives the poor lass no privacy and it seems like even a complaint by Her will lead to Her ending up being placed in detention. The rules that she will need to live by seem to create a situation where the MCO will be able to take her I very much doubt that even if she got through to 18 and leaving care She will have nothing. The situation means no interaction and nothing really about school apart from home schooling. so being made into a outcast and forced into solitary. I look forwards to see how this ends up going

Matt

Thanks.

Domoviye's picture

The child welfare office really doesn't want to deal with mutants, if they can get them passed off to another agency, such as the MCO or the police, they'll be quite happy with that. Hence her being code named Ward 22, there are only that many mutants under care of the American government. The rest ran for it, got sent to Whateley, kept themselves hidden or disappeared.
Mary is one of the ones lucky enough not to disappear, but unlucky in getting stuck in a rigged system.

Interesting start to another

Interesting start to another story. I look forward to the time Mary has her powers really 'come on line' and she can bitch slap the so-called care giver. What a total bitch she is. Sadly, I am sure there are many people just like her that even treat their own children in the same manner. It is too bad that there is not a way for someone who actually has feelings, can clean house within the MCO and get some agents in who have actual feelings when dealing with mutants. The mutants did not ask for what has happened to them, and being 99.99% children or young adults, they still need love and the help of caring adults given to them. Yes, there are some bad ones, yet the majority are decent and good.

I picked a lot of things bad

Domoviye's picture

I picked a lot of things bad parents and foster parents do already that isn't physical abuse when making the rules. So unfortunately I wasn't too out there when writing this. The next chapter gets better.
And I agree with you, the way mutants are treated in Whateley is a good way to create criminals and maladjusted adults from even the best kids.

My story "Finders Keepers" is

Brooke Erickson's picture

My story "Finders Keepers" is partially based on my life when I was younger (without the mutant powers or "fort").

Mom didn't beat us. Well, she'd wail away with a yardstick or switch, but it was more scary (terrifying sometimes because she was obviously "out of control") but that never resulted in anything worse than the occasional welt.

But she was really controlling with food. We mostly didn't "do" snacks. We could have seconds at the table. but that was pretty much it. Oh yeah, if we took it, we had to finish it.

I took to swiping small bits that hopefully wouldn't be noticed from leftovers in the fridge. I also explored the kitchen cupboards for stuff that might be edible. Learned the hard way about bakers chocolate.

Mom didn't monitor the bread closely, so I had many a ketchup & mustard or mayonnaise sandwich.

When I got big enough and realized that I could take the switch away from her, things got really odd. Instead off going after me with a switch, if she got mad at me, I'd come home from school or whatever to find the house locked. No, I and my brother were never given keys to the house.

I managed to get in after she was asleep because I knew something she didn't. Next morning she didn't say anything, but just left my half of the pot of cream of wheat on the stove. When I got home from school that day, the house wasn't locked and she never said anything about it.

First time I was alone in the house for a few hours, I grabbed the spare set of keys mom had "hidden" in the kitchen and took them to the hardware store and made copies.

From then on, when I discovered she'd locked me out again, I'd just wait till she was asleep and let myself in. Sometimes the ignoring me went on for several days before she let up. Never ever said anything about it.

Since she had *shelves* of canned food in the basement, when it went on for more than a day, I'd just grab a can of something I could eat cold and use the can opener and utensils from my camping gear. And dispose of the empties where she wouldn't find them.

This went on for years until I got into some legal trouble at 17 and wound up in a foster home for my last year of high school.

Sad thing is, years later I realized that she *didn't* have it in for me. She just didn't have a clue about raising kids that were not what she expected. So she "meant well". *sigh*

So I find the character's mother quite believable (I used to belong to an online abuse survivor's groups and have heard a lot of first hand accounts)

I got lucky with foster parents. Mary did too. Alas, the mutant fostering bit is all too likely in some places.

Mind you, I'll bet you a cookie that it's no way legal. Among other things, even if what they had her sign when she arrived was an agreement to abide by the crazy rules, she *can't* sign anything legal at her age.

BTW, we have proof that they are idiots (or malicious) because of the restricting food. Especially since the testing *should* have shown that she *needs* more food than a normal.

Brooke brooke at shadowgard dot com
http://brooke.shadowgard.com/
Girls will be boys, and boys will be girls
It's a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world
"Lola", the Kinks

such a friendly place they

such a friendly place they sent her to it sounds like the women is more of a warden to a prison

Yep

Domoviye's picture

They want mutants to know they're being watched, so they'd better be on best behaviour OR ELSE.

Interesting idea

Tas's picture

Huh, very interesting start (as usual for you). I never thought about foster care for mutants and how that would work, but it really seems to suck for Mary (again, as usual for one of your characters). Still, that's an incredibly useful power to have, being able to permanently manifest things.

Looking forward to seeing where this goes :)

-Tas

Thanks

Domoviye's picture

She isn't manifesting anything. It will be explained and exploited in the upcoming chapter. Because I had to change computers after my old one broke, and my new one is slow, the next chapter should be up by this weekend.
And this is a Christmas story dammit, so it has a happy ending.

My guess at her Power

***Gonna Cross-post to Crystalhall...

It's a Finder-style, pocket-based. Can take near-anything as long as the pocket allows it? Or pocket size may not matter, given she got a candy bar from a decorative pocket...

Can get guns, the ammo from guns that are pointed at her, other mutants' MIDs, power stones/gems, wands, near anything, as long or perhaps even if it's in one of those Warper-proof safes.

I wonder if we're gonna get violence in this, that isn't in it's past? ... I've got this image of Ms. McCloud skewered on a Found Knife... Grisly...

No, wait... That was Mary holding McCloud's heart in her hand. Heart-Rip! Eugh...

Can also grab PFGs, and other things... Like Grenades... Is there a distance limit? I guess we'll find out the limits soon... And if works with any space that she can't see or something, she could summon things in her shoes, ... Or from inside her mouth???

***

Also, remember that Jade/Generator was/is a Foster Kid, but I guess she just got the best of the best luck as a Foster Kid?

Jade got into Whateley, so

Domoviye's picture

Jade got into Whateley, so she's out of that mess and doesn't have to worry. I thought pretty carefully about it before making the rules.
And her powers will be explained this weekend, RL got in the way.

Jade was a foster kid, but

Brooke Erickson's picture

Jade was a foster kid, but not known to be a mutant. Also, the rules vary from state to state.

I'd have to re-read the first Jade story to be sure, but as I recall, she kept her powers secret until the run-in with Melodious Silvertongue. And then she managed to get tested and referred to Whateley *before* Children's Services knew she was a mutant.

At Whateley she pretty much got a new identity only loosely connected to her original one.

Brooke brooke at shadowgard dot com
http://brooke.shadowgard.com/
Girls will be boys, and boys will be girls
It's a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world
"Lola", the Kinks

Well, if worse comes to worst

Brooke Erickson's picture

Well, if worse comes to worst, she can produce a key and leave on her own.

If *I* had that power, being the sort of geek I was at that age, I think I'd reach under the bed, pull out an EMP "bomb" sized to take out all electronics within a hundred yards, then unlock the door and scoot.

Maybe pull a folding bike out from under the bed (or out of the closet) as well.

And, as I noted in another reply, I seriously doubt that what they are doing is actually legal.

Brooke brooke at shadowgard dot com
http://brooke.shadowgard.com/
Girls will be boys, and boys will be girls
It's a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world
"Lola", the Kinks

She won't be there much

Domoviye's picture

She won't be there much longer.
And what you mentioned in another part about Jade, you're right she got out of the system before revealing she was a mutant. I was careful about that.
As for legality, yeah a court would toss out the rules really quick, the problem is getting it to the courts. The rules come from half a dozen sections of the government at the federal and state level and all but a few on their own sound reasonable, but added all together and it becomes worse than a prison.
But until one of the few wards of the state actually manages to get it challenged, no one is going to care about a handful of teenage mutants with no families.