The illusion called love [open to 2]

Again and again the ice sculpture would take form within his hands, each time taking on more detail than the last. Simple features at first, lips with almost imperceptible creases, noses made to size and even the shapes of eyes. Two people, one putting an arm over the other in a motion that was almost painfully familiar. Just thinking about I brought an unpleasant sensation up within his chest, as if his heart were burning and being crushed at the same time. ”What’s wrong with me?” Ryan sighed morosely, letting the ice statue remain within his hand as it let off a cold fog that affected the air around it almost, as if absorbing the very heat from it. The dull thrum of the heating system could be heard, usually on so long as he lived there, supposedly keeping the Prodigy base at an even temperature.

This was supposed to be his home, but it didn’t feel like one at all. It felt empty, and colder than the coldest ice that he could imagine, a single thing caught within his mind replaying over and over with the same gut twisting results. Ryan wondered why it felt this way, why he was so…obsessed with whatever it was he was sculpting. The statues varied few between each other, some replicating long hair, short hair and sort of in the middle. Eventually they had begun to stack upon the kitchen table, as frost gathered along the walls, on the floor and even hung on the ceiling. Without even thinking about it he had begun to freeze the room itself. His shoulder stung, the bandages itched, all in all it was misery. A pained burning sensation that would only emerge more once he removed the bandages to look upon the painfully burnt flesh.

These bandages covered the lower part of his neck, not quite disfiguring, but he would prefer to show less skin from now on. The worst of the damage was around his upper right leg, where the flesh was rather ugly, but the ice that had formed over it was enough to somehow keep the pain at bay. The cold seemed to stop the pain, and so he kept it  even in a thin layer. Ryan looked down upon his latest statue, lovingly caressing it, finishing the final detail before placing it with the rest which were all refracting the light of the ceiling light in their own way. One thing drew him from this contemplation, a small vibration that emanated from his cellphone, a dull thrum against his thigh through his pocket. Likely it was someone sending a text, something he found easier to type up as time went.

His shoulder itched, as Ryan reached into his pocket and examined the dimly lit screen of his phone. The only thing he got was a low battery sign, much to Ryan’s annoyance, growling softly as he deposited it back in his pocket. With a slight pained sound he pushed himself to his feet, stretching and causing each joint to loudly pop. It was raining heavily outside, but then again he still had semi-heroic duties to attend to, so the boy blunder would have to do that. Digging around for his jacket, Ryan would put it on and zip it up, another flare of itching rising up, ignored only through great will. Pulling the hood up over his head, Ryan stepped out from the base and into the city, whistling softly as he did so. He felt as if today would be a bad day, if only because of the heavy rain and the darkness of the clouds overhead.
--

Strangely enough it had been a slow day in the city of LA, no robberies, no attempted bus jacking’s and not even a kitten stuck in a tree. It was another slow day, and Ryan could tell it would be another boring day too. Something within him didn’t want boring, no he wanted to do something exciting, heroic and perhaps just something. A sort of shadow hung over him, a metaphorical and literal cloud constantly raining down upon him, this was one of the days that it all just got to him. He couldn’t bring himself to smile, and whoever looked at him could see an almost despairing air about him. Perhaps more than anything the rain reflected that. His hands were buried into his pockets as he walked the streets, eyebrows furrowed and lips curled into a sort of frown.

One of those high priced cars drove past him, sleek even in the dark rainy day. Its windows were too dark to see beyond and all Ryan saw within them as they drove past was a brief glimpse of his own reflection. Not enough time for deep reflection, only enough time to think. Not that Ryan was ever one to think too deeply upon his own actions, things had always felt so simple before. Complications abound now, and with them he couldn’t quite tell what was what anymore. Nothing was truly constant, all things changed and he didn’t like that. Cold rain streamed down his face, soaking into his hood, but not the bandages, them getting wet would’ve done no good. More of the damn itching, his teeth grinding together in irritation. The itching and that damn vehicle, whatever it’s reason was.

All changed within a second as a flash of light shot through the air, striking the vehicle and sending it hurtling forward with a loud boom. Nothing had exploded, but he couldn’t quite tell what had just happened. Within seconds there was nothing but panic, people running about in absolute terror and Ryan standing there with mouth half agape as if he couldn’t believe it. His luck or the coincidence would make this day much less boring that before. Without even needing to think, he would rush into the street, car now on it’s top with the front bent inwards at an extreme degree. It didn't look like lightning had struck the car but perhaps something with incredible force, but he saw nothing. So Ryan would attempt to help however it was inside.

Fiona watched the road absently roll past. Lavender, she reminded herself. Think of yourself as Lavender, that's who you're going to need to be.

'You can't go home again,' Thomas Wolfe had said, and she was proving him wrong. All ready she had endured the endlessly redundant flat and desolated land that was I-10 running through Texas. At least Los Angeles was California, at least to the extent that the southern half of the state actually counted. There was about another day's drive up I-5 yet to come, but at least she would see family and old friends again after far too long. Of course, she considered, I'll need to be more the old me. I'm not sure... What the...

A flash of light. A violent crash. And a very stereotypical businessy-looking man turned his grey Lotus Esprit suddenly into an alley. She stepped out of the car, slipped the keys into the pocket her green dress didn't have and moved away from the dumpster sitting where the car had been.

Think later. Act now. This is thinking. Gah. Fiona closed the distance quickly to the alley entrance, sufficiently distracted that she showed no signs of getting wet. That's not how cars react to lightning, she told herself, scanning the skies for some sort of Meta menace.

Crowds moving the wrong way were momentarily problematic, but as they began to see phantom obstacles, their paths shifted appropriately. And there was the car. There was a man there. Beneath a hood, his face a study in... Don't study faces, save victims. She allowed herself a moment's nod at what she hoped was a fellow-good samaritan. What if he's the one who actually caused the... whatever this is? The car was that of someone with more dollars than sence, though now worth quite a few less dollars. The front twisted the windows... I can't possibly see a thing through those windows. I need to see. Shatter the window or... no. No, shattered glass could hurt whoever's... she hesitated just a moment before wincing in pain as the nail on her pointer-finger grew, sharpened. She lowered herself, reaching out to cut away the mirrored-glass of the window.

"As you humans say; shit shit SHIT!"

"DUDE!! WHAT THE HELL!? Why didn't you warn me?!" A tall figure yelled argumentatively with himself. If anyone else looked up into the rainy sky that moment, they'd see one of the most gaudy costumes in history, with a turquoise blue and yellow bolt pattern, a stark contrast to the grey of the storm clouds around him. Not to mention the odd, glowing yellow eyes and dreadlocks that seemed to filter the rain. This particular figure had his hands over his mouth in shock, wide eyed and sort of panicked. Jackson Mace a.k.a Thunder Struck was his name... super powers is kind of a new game. He had hoped no one saw him... PLEASE let that be the case!

"I attempted to do so, but SOMEBODY was too eager to grasp lightning in their fleshy palms!"

"And who wouldn'- Ya' know what? No. We'll sort this out later, gotta save whoever the hell YOU struck!"

"Me!?"

"Yes YOU! This is YOUR thing ain't it?! Freaky alien genotype!" At this point, Jackson had already flown down to the scene where the lightning had struck an oncoming vehicle, with everyone else running away, save for two others. A girl wearing a green dress, and a very depressed looking teen. MAYBE they weren't cops? Maybe they would take the time to talk this out?

"Alright, THINK. How is this NOT going to have you involved with the authorities?"

"Will you shut up for ONE second?!" Jackson took a deep breath of the ionized air, and spoke, "THIS..." he said, motioning to the wrecked car with his hands, "... is NOT what it looks like."