Sarah Lewinski
I found out that we had a newcomer the day after he arrived. That's odd, but I'm delighted at the fact. I'm tired of painting these same old faces over and over. I need a fresh set of eyes to color, a new profile to study. Hopefully, this newbie has some inspirational features. I heard that he's a boy, but that's about it. Maybe he's younger, like me. I'm only 15, which makes it harder to socialize with everyone else because they just see me as some little girl.
Currently, I'm painting an abstract of the scorch mark that Elektra's lightning left on a cement wall in the courtyard. I use watercolors and shades of everything but black. My hand makes graceful swoops and curves to master the shape of the scar on the wall. Taking my hand back, I observe what I've done so far. However, I do so abrasively and some of the watercolor gets on my long sleeves. Sure, it comes out, but this is my outfit for today.
The sun beats down on my back and I wonder if I should take a break and go inside, anyways. I head to the right wing of Asylum, the room complex for girls, and enter my room. Taking off my shirt, I look myself in the long mirror.
You might be wondering: why even wear long sleeves if you know you're going to be outside all day?
Well, let me paint you a picture. My skin is a collaboration of lacerations, scars, and stretch marks. I wasn't abused as a child. This wasn't from my parents. When I was taken from them by Asylum, my parents kicked and clawed to get me back but...oddly enough, I can't remember what happened to them.
People who know about my powers call me Voodoo Doll. If I focus my energy on someone in particular, I can cause them pain by hurting myself. If I wanted to give someone the effects of being stabbed, I'd pinpoint them and stab myself. A perk of my body is that it heals at a faster, superhuman rate. What might kill someone else will only make me bleed. Unlike the others here, I don't have any markings besides my self-inflicted scars.
There's so many because I was taken to Asylum when I was only nine. I was picked on a lot and physically bullied. Once I proved I could handle myself and more, everyone backed off. Eventually, I had no use for my ability. So rather than use the ruggedness of a razor or the brutality of a knife, I resorted to the elegance of a brush and the grace of a stroke.
But that doesn't mean I wear my coat of marks proudly. I cover up every inch of myself whenever I can.
Another oddity or two about my body, are my hair and eyes. My hair is thick, shoulder length, wavy, and an estranged cream color. My eyes are a shade of light lavender. The mutations coin me as dainty and delicate and easily harmed, but don't let that fool you. I can handle myself.
Once I'm dressed, I head back down to the courtyard to finish my work.
There's a crowd of people gathered around someone, but being 5'5", I can't see much. So, I sit on the tabletop by my easel and peer over everyone's shoulders and heads. I look up to see what must be the new guy.
Artistically, I study him and turn the page in my mass watercolor book. My eyes study him as my hands move. Tall...lean, but very strong...shaggy hair that curls on the ends and swoops just over his brows...tan...interesting marking and a style of clothing only he could pull off. The sun hits him just right to cast shadows over his cheekbones and the hollows of his eyes, as well as make his blood red ends glint in the sun.
I pause and look over my work. It's pretty good for the first go around, now all I need are his eyes. What do they look like?
Come on...look over here, look over here.
Sighing I grow agitated and rather impatient. Mentally, I reach out to the stranger's back and pinch myself.
"Hey!" the man yells, whirling around to the closest person behind him: Elektra. "Touch me again and you won't have any fingers to prod me with."
His eyes are wild with unchecked rage, but at least I can see them now. They're like amber lowlights. I'll have to mix a few colors to get the right shade, but that's okay.
I fill in the man's eyes and finish the details. Now what should I call this work?
"Threaten me again and I'll burn a hole through you!" Elektra responds.
"Right back at you," he responds. That particular comeback snags the entire attention of the whole courtyard. Someone's threatening Elektra? That's rare. Someone threatening to do so with lightning? Unheard of. Our powers are all unique. No two people have the same ability. That's impossible.
"You want to go, pretty boy? You might get your gloves dirty."
Startling me, a boy hops up on the table next to me and props his feet on a bench. Eagerly, his hands form into fists and he pounds them against his knees. "Fight, fight, fight, fight..."
I elbow him in the ribs. "Leo, if the guards hear you, you're toast."
"Psh," he waves me off. "Toast is crusty and unpopular. I'm fresh and in style, baby. Those guys can't do anything to me. YO ELEKTRA IS GONNA KILL YOU, SON!" Leo suddenly bursts, seemingly out of control. "Sorry, I probably startled you, I – DUDE, I KNOW YOU FARTED AND THINK NO ONE KNOWS ABOUT IT. YEAH, I SAW YOU."
Leo Hernandez: funny guy, mind reader, inhabiting the turret syndrome. He's the closest friend I have here. Really, him and Kya are the only ones I chat with. Leo's easier to talk to because we're only one year apart. He's also incredibly hard to paint or draw. His hair sticks out all over the place and overlaps confusingly in a mess of chocolate curls. Also, his skin has the Latino color that is hard to make here.
Leo looks over at the easel and frowns. "Oh, no. You've found a new and much more appealing subject. Kill me now."
"He's just new," I tell him, shrugging. "But I don't know how long he'll last if he's provoking Elektra. He's either got bad luck or he's looking for a death wish."
Leo taps his chin and hums. "You know what? He doesn't care who she is. He thinks she...pinched him? That doesn't sound like our mystery girl..."
"Yeah, well...probably because it wasn't."
Leo hisses. "The Voodoo Doll strikes again."
"Don't call me that," I grouch.
"Voodoo Doll," he teases.
"Leonardo," I retort. He hates his full name because it makes him sound scholarly, when all he is, is a giant jokester.
"Wow, bringing out the dirty laundry. So, what do you think his power is? I can't wait to find out!" Like a child, Leo leans over, vigorously rubbing his hands together in anticipation. A part of his marking peeks out of his shirt by his neck. Leo's marking is a tattoo of his spine, which makes sense considering turrets affect the brain, which is strongly connected with the nervous system located in the...
You know what? I'm just going to watch the fight.
Elektra points two fingers to the sky, summoning storm clouds with flashes of lightning. The stranger shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs.
"Big deal," he says to the crowd with exaggerated calm.
"Big deal?" Leo echoes loud enough for the newcomer to hear. He looks over at us. "You're about to get roasted by Zeus's apprentice and you're just gonna stand there?"
The man shrugs. "I guess he's right." Slowly, his gloved hands come out of his pocket and he turns his palms to the sky. "Maybe I should fight." Out of nowhere, fire generates from his palms and the man smirks.
"That's what I'm talking about," Leo says to me. "Kya hates that guy."
"You were talking about that? When?" I inquire, trying to recall that part of our conversation.
He shakes his head. "No, I just lost my train of thought. Kya over there doesn't like the newbie."
Looking over, I see her shooting icy daggers at him. "Well, geez, Leo. I could've told you that and I can't even read minds. Do you know why?"
"She thinks he -" Leo pauses short. "It's gonna cost you."
"For the last time, Leo. I am not painting you in the nude." On several occasions...too many to count, really...Leo has requested that I use my skills to "create a masterpiece of his master piece."
Grunting, he rolls his chocolate eyes and sags his lanky shoulders. "Whatever...let me take you somewhere tonight and I'll tell you right now."
"Deal."
"Okay...so Kya thinks the new guy is arrogant by the way he just shows his markings and walks around comfortably. In reality, though, he just seems levelheaded unlike the rest of us. Well, he did until just now."
"Interesting," I say as if tasting the word. Kya's the one person who never judges a book by its cover. She always says that we should learn to look at people like the ocean; too often we find beauty in the surface without knowing what lurks underneath. Kya has been the main endorser of believing that what's beneath a person's skin is hopeful and deserves a chance to shine. Pre-judgement on her part is like someone threatening Elektra: unheard of.
"Now let's watch the show. It's Zeus versus the Dragon!" Leo cheers. "My money is on Zeus."
Hmm...the Dragon. Being that this new guy has the power of fire, I'm willing to bet the thing around his arm is a marking of a dragon. And I'm sure that Leo picked up that clue with his mind reading.
Dipping my brush in black, I name the painting in the bottom right corner.
The Dragon
"Knock it off!" a guard demands, shoving the Dragon to the ground. "You too, Elektra."
Lightning springs from the sky and to the blonde girl. "How about I just singe his perfect little red ends?"
Elektra rears into bolt-throwing position as a guard calls for a special kind of backup. "Cerberus, now!"
A boy with dusty gray hair and either dark gray or light green eyes steps up to the plate. He, too, raises two fingers up to the sky and harnesses Elektra's power. She throws a bolt at him. Just as quickly, the boy named Cerberus throws one right at her. The two bolts meet in the middle and cause a minor explosion, sending both parties flying.
Cerberus's power is the ability to mimic other's. His markings mirror whoever he chooses to impersonate. Though he has multiple personality disorder (MPD), he's got a heart of gold. When he's focused on his real being – a kind kid with a sweet smile – he's a great grief counselor, which is what his job usually is when he's not on guard duty. But MPD is hard to monitor, so he carries out two jobs to be under the eyes of the wardens for most of the day.
The guards help Cerberus up and write him a slip, probably for the day off to rest. "Elektra, come with me," the guard demands. "Kya, come here."
Kya's brows furrow and she steps up to the plate. "Yes?" In the bright sun, the strands of shimmering silver in her dark brown hair are captivating. Curiously, the newbie peers down at her.
"You work as a watchtower alert, yes?"
"That's correct," Kya warily answers. She wears a gray sleeveless shirt and shorts that I wish I could sport.
"You've been switched from watchtower to watch-human duty today. Make sure this one doesn't get into any more trouble."
"Why me?" Kya inquires, putting her hands on her hips.
"You have a spotless record. Maybe you can rub off on this little deviant, huh? I'll even amp up your pay."
"Fine," Kya growls.
Turning to Leo, I ask, "What's the newbie thinking?"
"It's strange. He also takes an instant dislike to Kya."
"Why?" Kya is the first to help anyone. Why would anyone hate her?
"He doesn't like her calm and...placidity? This guy thinks of words like placidity, so maybe I should hate him, too," Leo spites. "Huh...this is strange. I'm trying to dig around and find out why he hates her calm, but it's like he blocked it off."
"Maybe you just need to get around him more," I offer.
"I don't know..." Leo starts. "Usually I can't reach through to something because there's a wall. And walls only come up with trauma. The only way to pass it is to gain his trust and get him to talk about it, but you can forget that. Also, I have to go cook lunch. I'll see you tonight. Meet me out here, okay?"
"Sure," I say, nodding.
But all I can think about is the Dragon. What trauma does he hide behind his glowing eyes and quick temper? Or is he even anything besides just that? Besides odd eyes and a bad characteristic?