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Snippet #2091773

located in United States, a part of Angel....or Mutant?, one of the many universes on RPG.

United States

None

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Taylor Rice Character Portrait: Samuel Echtin Character Portrait: Euro Character Portrait: Matthew "Matt" Bernard Character Portrait: Marceline "Marcy" Bernard
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Matthew


My lips pursed as I dived after the girl following her at a more leisurely pace. The battle was over. The Vamps were retreating. Now all that was left were the bird freaks.

But that didn’t necessarily make us (you know, Marce and me) friends with them. Heck, it didn’t even make us acquaintances. Not yet, anyway. When you come from a place like the Ward, the first thing you learn is to trust no one (with the exception of us unbreakably close siblings). My worries for both of our new mutants had been subdued. Neither one of them seemed terribly hurt, which put them back up on the “suspect list”. Like I said, trust no one.

By the time we landed, I realized a very important thing. I hadn’t taken a good look at either one of the new additions. Shamelessly, I turned to graze my eyes over the girl.

She was pretty. She would have been prettier if she’d had a bath, but when you’re a mutant on the run from a bunch of freaky scientists, trying to survive the wilds and not get killed is your number one priority. It’s kind of hard to fit bath time into that schedule. She was short, shorter than Marce, but I supposed she was an average human female height, which would probably make her stand out much less in a crowd of normal people.

Prying my eyes away, I turned to take a good look at the boy. He was shorter than me, too. I was about 5’8, whereas Marce was about 5’6. As you can see, we either: a) Come from a family of tall freaks, or b) were messed around with to be that tall. Whatever the situation, we not exactly little people. Well anyway, back to the other guy. He had wild, uncontrollably jet black hair, tousled up in a mess on his head, and I nonchalantly wondered if I could one day rock that look. Nah, not my style.

The boy had been saying something, and by the time I zoned back in from my observations, his words had passed right through my brain. I picked up on the idea that there was relief, since the Vamps were retreating, and some amazement that there were more winged freaks in the world. Wonderful.

My lips parted, and I was in the process of asking what their names were, when my sister landed next to us with a soft thud. Boy, she looked beat up. Her sweater had a defined lined of blood running down it, no doubt soaking to her under shirt, whereas her jeans had been ripped up a bit. What’s worse was that her left wing seemed to be stiff and mutilated with a flurry of loose feathers, claw marks, and blood, and it was giving me a bit of a panic attack. She looked bad. And yet her face, bloody nose and all, had this tough-as-nails look on it. That’s Marce. She’s a survivor.

Marceline


Gosh, I hated the way my brother was looking at me. He was taking in every cut, scrape, and bruise I had, and was knowingly thinking the same thoughts that I was: I was in pain.

But we had two new editions with us. And I did not like to look weak in front of anyone but my brother.

My mouth parted for a moment, a small opening between my thin lips, as I evaluated and grouped together my thoughts. The adult mutant landed next to me. He wasn’t the tallest (standing maybe an inch above me), but he had a strong, dominant, almost too confident look to him, that I assumed came along with the whole “I’m an adult” thing. Admittedly, he was kind of handsome, but not my type. You know, you can never trust adults. Though, I had a feeling this guy was on our side.

The two other kids seemed to be acquainted with one another somehow, and they showed an easy recognition of one another. Matthew fell back from the girl’s side to flank me, scratching the back of his head as he did a casual 360 of the place. After all, it’s better to be safe than sorry. He gave me a quick, barely recognizable, thumbs up, that told me we seemed to be safe in the darkness. His eyes roved over to my left wing (as did the adult’s) and both their brow furrowed. I refused to look. I hated to show weakness, and hate to be afraid. I hated the fear of seeing just how bad I was damaged...What if
my flying


Focus Marce, focus.

First and foremost:

“What are your names?” I asked motioning to the new editions. My voice was hardened, almost demanding, and I wondered if I should have regretted the commanding tone. I wasn’t the leader (and definitely not the adult) but it felt like me, talking like this.

“Euro,” the adult replied. I nodded, waiting for the rest of their responses, and casually throwing Matthew a look. He nodded ever so slightly, telling me he was there, that he wasn’t going to leave me. If Matthew had been born first, he would have been a great older brother.