Another cool night, perfect for escaping the apartment and cabin fever. Pulling on a pair of black skinny pants and a Queen T-shirt that had the back cut out of it, so that her tendrils could move freely, Malice wrapped them around her torso and slipped her father's old Army jacket over top of them. The jacket was thicker and a little large on her, so it hid them better than most of the others she owned. Also, it was probably the warmest article of clothing she owned and, having grown up in the south, she never had never fully gotten used to the cold weather of New York. Not yet, at least. She put on her favorite necklace, which had the semblance of a crazy looking lion's head on the pendant, grabbed her shoulder-bag, slipped on her shoes, and walked out, shutting and locking the door behind her. There was not much of worth in her apartment, but what little she owned was important enough to her to at least have a barrier between the things and possible thieves.

Her breath could be seen puffing a little in front of her face as she walked. It was a bit dangerous to be out at night, but the young woman preferred it to the more-busy day-time where a lot of people would be about. She did not like being seen, pestered, bumped into, or having to deal with people getting in her way. She never meant any ill will toward anyone, but disliking other people came easier than anything. Any person could be a dog inside. A mean, rude, horrible being. They would have to prove it to her before she could believe they were anything more. Without her voice, she had become a lot more defensive the last few years. But she refused to show fear. Strolling alone with her head held high most nights seemed like a way to proclaim to herself that past traumas and fears would not stop her from being a free person.

Probably may have been a mistake. Maybe.

Normally, there were no problems. Nothing to worry about. But she felt like something was up tonight. God, she hated feeling like she was being followed. Malice was paranoid enough, she always was aware of her surroundings and alert to anything that could be amiss. So, with that paranoia she got frustrated with her own thoughts, here and there. Tonight, though, it seemed different. Almost annoying. She wanted it gone from her system, over with.

Crossing her arms across her chest, she kept her pace calm and thought about everything that had happened the past few days. She finished an infant blanket and had added another few rows to a large blanket she had been making for herself. Had attempted to draw some things she had seen in her dreams, but only succeeded in angering herself by drawing badly. People were hard to draw. She wanted realistic pictures, but she could only make them look like childish cartoon characters. The women in the red robes, next to the fires. They deserve life-like pictures, whatever they are. Sometimes her dreams were easy to figure out, their meanings and why she is having them. But that one in particular had been confusing. It had been dreamed years ago and yet it was burned onto her brain. And what about the fallen angel and the three that guarded you? Sometimes she had religious dreams. Religion annoyed her, as well. She did not like to think about it. It just complicated things.

The noise behind her was quick as the tug on her bag. It surprised her a little, but she had enough sense to keep a tight hold around the straps of her bag. Turning, she jerked her body back and faced the fool who attempted to steal her purse with a look of Really, genius? That was a mistake a lot of people made. They saw a shorter woman and assumed she could just be pushed around. Well, maybe she could, a little. But she pushed back, at least. The guy was still hanging onto the straps of her bag, pulling one way, but only moving her with him. He was young-looking, maybe in his early twenties. He had dark hair, the color a little difficult to figure out but it looked brown under the beanie he wore to keep his head warm. "Give me the purse and you don't get hurt," he said.

She kept her left arm where it was, through the straps, holding it to her body, trying to get the jacket off of her right, but with the shaking this idiot was giving her over her bag was causing it to be difficult. Her only defense, the tendrils, were unwrapping from her torso but still stuffed under the jacket. Mal did not keep money in her purse, just her bank card in her wallet and cosmetics case. But it also held her notebook and all her colored pens that she used to communicate when it was necessary. Replaceable items, but she was not about to let them go. I wish I could tell you how stupid you look shaking me, you frigging d-ck.

Jeremy kept tugging at the purse, but the girl kept holding on. Didn’t scream, didn’t say anything, just sorta held onto her purse and gave him the stink eye. Honestly, the chick was starting to creep him out.

A masked man walked out of the alleyway behind him. The mask was plain, white. It had holes for the wearer’s eyes, a nose, and a closed mouth. To say it looked like a person’s face would be an overstatement. The masked man saw the struggle, stopped, and tilted his head to the side.

Time for Plan B. Keeping one hand on the purse, he reached into his coat and pulled out a 9mm.

The man in the mask knelt down, going through the motions of picking something up. As he approached the two, he acted like he was brandishing some sort of weapon in his hands, but it was clear to see that he wasn’t holding anything.

“I wasn’t kidding. Give me. The purse.”

The masked man swung his invisible weapon at the man’s head. With a loud, metallic PING, Jeremy fell, unconscious. Masked man nudged the would-be thief with his foot a few times, just to be sure.

With the threat eliminated, he bowed to the girl. This was a dramatic motion which included removing an invisible hat from his head.

The fact that the guy who was trying to steal her bag seemed to think he would need a gun for the job brought up a smart remark in the back of her head, but that did not stop her from getting wide-eyed and startled. Strangely, though, her life did not flash before her eyes like people claimed it would when a life-or-death situation happened. She was just void of thought for a good few seconds.

Grey eyes flicked to a masked man she, for a moment, thought she was hallucinating. Sometimes she thought she saw things that were only part of her imagination. His hands looked empty as he swung his arms, but a nasty metallic sound could be heard as her previous assailant let his grip fall from both her person and the gun he had been holding, his body collapsing onto the ground. Malice finally was able to slip the jacket off of her left arm and hold everything in the opposite hand, though finishing the act was not necessarily needed at this point, letting her tendrils breathe with no sure purpose. She backed away from the man's body and watched for a moment while her odd rescuer made sure he was unconscious.

Up until now, Malice had never really come into contact with any other mutants. She knew that they were around and had read some news articles, but when she thought about mutants she assumed that the others would be more frightening. If she had to have extra body parts sprouting from her back, surely the others would have some sort of physical deformity, as well? But the man in front of her, the one who had not tried to touch her, instead he tipped an invisible hat and bowed like a gentleman, did not seem to have anything wrong with him. She was confused as to how he had disabled the other with seemingly nothing.

The tendrils spread behind her, free to reassure herself she did not have to worry about being defenseless if the silent man before her decided to pull any funny business. You should have cut holes in the jacket. Just because it was your dad's, doesn't mean you have to keep it in perfect condition. He would have preferred you to be safe if you're wearing it, over worrying about whether or not it looks pretty. She would be sure to alter it later. The quiet between herself and the other was beginning to become awkward. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the notepad, which was covered in Lisa Frank stickers, and a purple pen. There were nine differently colored pens laying at the bottom. She liked the idea of everything being a random pick when she used them. After writing, she flipped the pad of paper to face him and held it out to him tentatively.

Thank you... How did you do that?

The masked man looked at the note, at the girl and the tendrils extending from her back.

He removed the mask and tucked it under his arm. Now, Malice could see that he was smirking, barely holding back laughter. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a similar pocket-sized notepad and a black pen, though his notepad was plain and blue and didn't have any stickers on it. He wrote:

‘I hit him with an invisible crowbar. I’m a mutant, like you. Did your X-Gene steal your voice like mine did?’

He tore the page out of the notepad and handed it to her.

Now that the other person's mask was off, he did not make her feel as uncomfortable as he did before. She was not sure what it was about masks, but the lack of expression was good for weirding people out. The look on his face, though, the amusement he seemed to be containing, made her unsure of whether or not she should be upset that he found the whole situation funny, or feel more calm because he was not taking it as seriously as she thought it was. In the back of her mind, while wondering how her night turned into something so strange, the question of what to do about the guy that was still laying on the ground remained. But she was too focused on what she was reading to care right at the moment.

So, she finally met another mutant. His abilities were a lot different than what she expected. What, did you think that they were all going to zip around in the air, or blow things up with their eyes? This man in front of her was unique in a lot of ways. The fact that he had to write what he had to say got her a little excited. Malice never learned sign language, writing and typing was much easier and faster. The odds of coming across a fellow mutant who was also mute seemed very low, but her he was. And his hand writing was so pretty. Her own was small and bold and neat, but sometimes her m's and e's were messy from trying to write as fast as she was thinking. She put the pen back to the paper in her hand and wrote again. 

I guess. It's gone. What should we do about this guy?

There were more questions she wanted to ask, but she did not want to waste his time, or have anyone think that they just beat up some random guy to rob him. Though, that would be cute. Of course they would blame the human squid and the masked marauder. The normal human could not have possibly been the one to start the confrontation.

For just a moment the urge to kick the guy on the ground was there. Or wake up and slap him a few times. She bent and picked up his gun, still keeping an eye on her rescuer. Flipping it around in her hand a few times, realizing she was not going to be able to figure out how to unload it, she pushed the safety button instead. At least no one would accidentally shoot themselves. Malice could never bring herself to kill someone, but if she was mad enough she sometimes imagined beating them up pretty badly. At least it would teach them a lesson. Dead people do not learn. That urge was gone, though. She was one person and too nice, Or was it weak, or scared?, to do serious harm to anyone. No matter how bad she wanted it.

It might be a good idea if she held on to that gun. Especially if she wanted to keep walking around on the streets in this part of town at night.

Once it was clear that the girl wasn’t asking him some kind of rhetorical question, and she wasn’t about to shoot the human to death, Dorian had an idea. He held up a finger, as though telling her to wait. Then, he grabbed the unconscious man’s arm and slung the dead weight over his shoulders. Slowly, and a little shakily (bastard was heavy), he carried the man to the dumpster in a nearby alleyway and dropped him in.

With that done, he wrote:

These streets are as dangerous as you are beautiful. Would you mind if I accompanied you?

Slipping the handgun into one of the large front pockets of the jacket, since she was not wearing a belt and her pants did not seem supportive enough for it to set at her waist, she buttoned the flap shut and watched the stranger before her as he lifted the unconscious man and took him to what would, for the time being, be his own special bed. Malice thought he might need help and was about to offer some assistance, but he seemed to have it under control.

She looked at what he had just written and chewed the inside of her mouth a little bit before writing a response. Choosing to ignore the compliment, (Danielle was never good at taking them in the first place, but she did not want to come off as a mean person for making a smart remark, especially when the guy helped her) she wrote and looked back up at him. Honestly, she did not want to be out anymore after what happened, but she was not about to go back to her apartment either. It felt a lot better outside than it did cooped up between walls. Also, she still was not sure if he was sincere about his assistance, or if he might turn out to be some stalker and break into her home one night, after finding out where she lived. He could be completely fine, for all she knew, but she did not know. So, she was not going to take any chances just yet.

It's up to you. What's do you go by? Call me Malice, if you want. I'm not sure if any place is open right now where we can hang out. I was just going to the park to sit, but yeah.

Malice knew she did not have to accept his company, but there was something about him that she liked. Maybe his attitude, or something. She did not want to be rude and just send him on his way, though. Most people got on her nerves, talking too much, asking too many questions, giving her a headache. But that was what was good about another mute person; No headaches. Anyway, she decided she was going to keep her jacket over her arm until she could get scissors to the back of it and make room for her tendrils. So, if anything were to happen, she would have a better chance to fight back. With them wrapped around her torso, it added a bit of heat, so she would not be that cold without it.

Turning and beginning to walk away, she gave him a short glance to see if he was coming or not.

Ah, with the codename. He should really consider getting one of those. Not for symbolic reasons, like he assumed ‘Malice’ probably did, but practical ones.

I’m Dorian. He wrote this and showed it to the empty space where Malice was standing several seconds ago. She was walking away, looking back at him. He jogged a few paces to catch up with her and held the note where she would see it.

Then: The park? By yourself? Beautiful thing like her? Either those tentacles of hers are a lot more dangerous than they looked, or she legitimately didn’t realize what kinds of truly evil scumbags roamed around in this city at night.

...Unlike Dorian himself. Who, in spite of his body count, had standards. None of them were innocent young women; they were scumbags and idiots too stupid to live.

...A very specific kind of stupid, which didn't overlap with innocence.

Usually, I don't have very much excitement walking alone. This is the first time something like that has ever happened. Do you have any better ideas?

She steadied her pace so they could continue walking and writing at the same time, which for a long time she actually had difficulty doing until after losing her voice. It took getting used to. But when you have to hurry and write whatever you had to say, like when shopping and you needed to speak to a cashier or clerk, one got used to it rather quickly. At least she did not trip all over herself, or run into things as often.

One of her hands pulled a hair band out of a pocket in her bag and she put her hair up in a ponytail, making sure to get every strand possible so nothing was hanging loose. Sometimes, somehow, she managed to miss good chunks of hair and not notice until she got in front of a mirror. What was worse was when, even after getting all her hair in the bow, there ended up being bumps on the top of her head where shorter layers were loose. Her awkwardness even made putting up a simple ponytail some-what difficult.

Danielle started taking the time to examine Dorian. Remember your name, she thought to herself. Noting his appearance and different details, so she could remember him easier later. Growing up, she hated being stared at so she made a point not to rudely stare at others. But she could at least look him over since he seemed to be having a time of looking at her.

She had to remind herself from time to time that, even though she went by Malice, it was not who she really was. In her mind, Malice was another person. A stronger, meaner woman who had zero tolerance for bullcrap. The person she wanted to be. The person she strives to be. But even so, she was still Danielle and she still had to remember that she had limitations and to watch herself. I can protect myself now but that doesn't mean I'm invincible, does it Malice? Sometimes she felt like she had mental dilemmas. Maybe she did.

At this point, she was not entirely sure if she wanted to go to the park. But she had to do something, or she was going to get really bored, or cabin fever again.

Dorian tapped his chin with his pen, then started writing:

The park is okay. It just seems like

With a sideways glance, he noticed Malice looking him over. Perhaps even ‘checking him out,’ as they say. Dorian was pretty sure this meant she was into him. He smirked, still facing his notepad, and continued writing.

a dangerous place to be alone. Fortunately, we won’t be alone this time.

He showed this message to her, giving her enough time to read it before adding a question: Is there a story behind the name, Malice?

Her cheeks flushed a little pink when he looked up from his pad before finishing what he was writing. The look in his eyes was all it took. Danielle looked right away until he showed her the paper, regaining her composure. That was one thing that sucked about not having her mean side in control, she was able to get embarrassed easier.

The inside of her right cheek slipped between her back teeth as she finished reading the question. A lot of emotions passed through her at once. Anger, sadness, embarrassment, then the want to stay calm and make up a story. She was a terrible liar.

"Malice is who I am, now. I only use my real name for legal purposes."

Malice is stronger than Danielle. She is not afraid to speak her mind and usually makes the best, safest decisions. But she is also a lot scarier than her normal self. When she gets mad, the girl that lives through her tends to say and do horrible things. She has never physically harmed anyone, not yet. Though, she does know that, no matter how badly she wants to control herself and keep that from happening, one day she will end up snapping and someone will get hurt. There is just so much one person can take. But she does end up saying a lot of hateful, hurtful things.

People that let themselves get too close to her, close enough to share personal thoughts and feelings, trusting her with their little secrets, endanger themselves. Because, once they get the gall to insult her or push her around, or treat her badly, Malice erupts and she will throw all of their insecurities in their faces, doing her best to hit them where it hurts emotionally and mentally.

But she did not feel like writing all that would be safe. This Dorian fellow probably would not want to know all that. Malice, in truth, is a gift and a burden. She also did not know if he would be comfortable knowing those bitter pieces of information.

"One day, I just decided that I didn't want to go by the name I was born with. My body changed, so I decided to change my personality with it."

"What's it like having your unique abilities?"