ooc. My solo for like all back story. New posts are stretches of time, could be days could be months.

IC.

Alchemist sat in the darkness. The room he was in was cold, and there was a dubious dripping noise coming from the vicinity of his feet. The air was stale and damp, the walls slimy and the roof low. Two bags lay at his feet, one a camouflaged camping pack, the other a carry on suitcase. Within these bags were everything he had with him. Clothes, and some less friendly items, metallic ones to be precise. The bags were almost brand new, and he wondered how long they would last. He also wondered how long he would be camping in this sort of shelter.

’God it smells in here. This is absolutely repulsive, I’d almost rather have died.’

They say New York is the city that never sleeps, however Sydney was putting up a good fight for the title. Cars, busses, trucks, all drove past his lodgings for the night, dim lights piercing tiny rusted through holes in the walls. He knew he only had until about four to sleep, and, given that it was two at the time, he supposed he would set an alarm and get what he could. A few beeps of his watch later and he was out like a light. The dubious dripping continued and the traffic still rushed past but he was oblivious to it all.

’… Sleep time now’

Three fifty, the sun wasn’t due any time soon, so he could at least avoid too much attention for that while. His door seemed to be blocked somehow, through some unidentified source, possibly also the source of the dripping. Whatever it was it was certainly heavy, and he was locked in. It didn’t matter much however, he had other ways. Extending his left hand to press against the slippery wall Alchemist paused a second to listen, and the wall melted, reduced to a pile of slag on the pavement.

’What the hell is on that? I can’t even lift it.’

Stepping out of his palace the seventeen year old stretched his tired limbs. He had no time for delay however, he had to put some severe mileage between him, and his prison, his death sentence. Soon the resistant force was revealed. A rather heavy set man lay upon his escape, surrounded by a pool of vomit, which was slowly leaking through the cracks.

‘Homeless bum…’

A certain sense of irony overcame him. It took a second or so but it was there. The pot turned away from the kettle and continued his journey south, through the labyrinth of the city, awaiting the minotaur’s attack at every corner. His ball of string had been cut somewhere along the way, and his only comfort was that of the centre, isolation. A ripped sleeve caught on the wire fence of a construction site, pulling back and extending the tear. Alchemist didn’t even feel it, he was far too dazed to notice petty things like his clothes. He didn’t even particularly like that shirt.

’I’ve got to do something about these, I’m not going to survive if I don’t.’

Almost forty five minutes later, bruised and battered, scratched and cut the young boy stumbled into a public toilet and set down his bags. Gingerly removing the rags he was wearing on his torso Alchemist observed his now shirtless visage in the graffiti covered mirror. The tee, or what was left of it, had been glued to his body with scabs which were now missing, sending rivulets of blood running down, being caught in the waistband of the rather dirty pair of jeans. With a sigh he picked what seemed to be the worst ones and wrapped fist wraps around them as black makeshift bandages. His wallet was somewhere in his old cell, almost empty, it would have been of no use in the way of food anyway but the little money he did have may have payed for some real first aid items to dress his wounds.

’Pity I didn’t think of grabbing it.’

Sighing rather heavily Alchemist unzipped his suitcase and retried a new shirt. This one was white and would very likely show all the blood, but at least it wasn’t ripped. A brown flash made him frown as he closed the bag, he was sure he didn’t pack anything that colour. Flipping the top off the bag again Alchemist retrieved the item and let it unfold itself into a heavy trench-coat, the tag still swinging gently from the sleeve. He had no recollection of the item and as such it confused him. Shrugging he pulled his torn and pummelled arm through one sleeve. It didn’t fit but it was in his bag, so he assumed it was his. On the tag he spied writing as he pushed his other arm into its respective sleeve. Tugging the tag off the plastic thread linking it to the jacket he brought it to eye level. As he read the text Alchemist glared heavily and clenched his teeth. Upon the card was written “Dear C.J., For the trip, Love Mum.” Alchemist zipped his bag and left the restrooms, camping pack on his back, suitcase trailing behind him on its small plastic wheels. Dropping the Card into the garbage bin on his way out the door.

’What trip did she mean? It’s halfway through the term… perhaps she knew it would happen.’

The last Alchemist had seen of his mother had been the previous night, in amongst a group of assorted people, at his bedroom door. He had known it was coming, there had been so much bad publicity for his kind, it was no surprise they had attacked him. Still, it didn’t make it any more acceptable. It was surprising to him that he had even survived, having had to run through the middle of the group and out a second floor window. So much damage had been done to him, by knives, fists, shards of glass. He had thought he was dead for sure. But there he was, so he had an inkling that he had lived.

’What told you that? Possibly the pain. Yes, that or the whole breathing thing? Maybe.’

Continuing along the pavement, he walked past morning joggers and the cars of those on their way home from the graveyard shift, the blindingly bright sun edging over the horizon to his left, and his watch beeped for five. The smell of the smog overwhelmed him as he traipsed into the CBD. Towering buildings and billboards surrounded him and it was all C.J. could do to keep in the right direction, preferring the main street to the back alleys, he was exposed, but at least he had a direct path. Ahead was the bridge, once he was over that he was sure he would be safe. Alchemist broke into a jog, his suitcase bouncing along the uneven surface of the pavement. It didn’t take long for him to grow tired, but the bridge seemed no closer.

’Stupid deceptive distance’

Eventually making it to the bridge, thoroughly stuffed, Cafas made it to the middle before stopping, cars, busses and trains rushed past him as he stared into nothingness of the bay below. Sighing he closed his eyes for a moment and reached into his jeans pocket. ”This marks the end of my old life and the start of my new one.” Drawing an emerald necklace from his pocket he held it tight for a moment, reached over the edge and dropped it, watching it sail through the air and splash into the water below.

Rain positively pissed down, bucket load after bucket load. The footpath so much as three feet before people would be invisible to them. Dangerous weather for driving, yet despite than many cars drove by. A spray of water found itself over the pedestrians every time a car hit a puddle, not that they would notice it. Umbrellas were rendered completely useless by the sheer volume of liquid, buckling them and breaking them. Lightning cracked and Sydney was smashed by a less than delicate gust of gale force wind. Buildings acted like wind tunnels, concentrating the blast and smashing those foot-bound few who had not sought out shelter already with wet newspaper and other litter. Torrents upon torrents of H₂O poured down gutters, drains not large enough to suck it all in. It was pure havoc.

In the centre of all the havoc walked one figure, trailing a small suitcase behind him and carrying a camping pack on his back. He braved the storm, forced to walk the kilometres and kilometres that needed to be covered that day. He had found himself another job scheduled for the next day, without the money from which he would likely go hungry for the next week, and would definitely not be able to pay his gym admission. Water splashed off his trench coat but filled his feet, his makeshift waterproofing failing under the strain of the elements. He had his hood pulled low in an attempt to keep his head warm, but to no avail, it was all just way too much for any clothing to handle. He would have to change before his job or he could be guaranteed they would not be a returning customer.

'Rain, rain, go away, come again another day.'

C.J. had been on the road for a couple of weeks and had taken up semi permanent residency in what most called the street. He did have a few offers to live with others after his parents abandoned him. Not that at 17 he wasn't old enough to find his way home he supposed. Maybe the people he was running into just understood his plight. Either way he thought he might take up an offer for the night in question, due to the storm. He had used most of his money on food and kickboxing classes, so hotels were out of the question. Who did he know in this part of Sydney?

'Georgia lives around here, I could stop by her place.

He knew her address fairly well, she was one of his kickboxing classmates, she had offered him a tay, plus she wasn't creepily into him like a few of the others. Well, a couple... So maybe just one. He stared at the ground a little, continuously wiping his sunglasses as droplets built up on them. It was annoying, but better than being outed as a mutant. The one thing he had noticed during his life in Australia was that the people did not take kindly to anyone different, especially if that group had been reported as evil and violent. Mutants copped a fair beating. Just the day before he had heard of a mutant woman hospitalised after an assault with a blunt object, the pictures weren't pretty.

'Poor girl, that is the reason we have to keep it to ourselves.'

He had in fact stopped by the hospital they had reported her taken to. He had found out she was not local. She hadn't even harmed anyone, she had been helping. It was cruel. Alchemist shuddered at the memory of the life support machines. The doctors said she was lucky to be alive. They said it probably wouldn't last. They didn't believe she could pull through it. Another step forward. How truly horrible humans could be to each other, for no reason other than a gene they couldn't help having.

'Despicable. Maybe it's only around here, I haven't heard too many stories from abroad.'

He turned down a new street. It wasn't as busy as the previous one, all residential, branching off the main road. He counted down the houses until he had the right number. He walked up the path and pressed the buzzer. The crack of thunder obscured any noise from inside but he was sure a shadow moved behind the frosted glass. The door opened and Georgia's curious face met his gaze. She smiled and opened the door a bit wider.

"Hey buddy, come in, taking me up on my offer huh?"

C.J. smiled a little back. "Yeah, I am, thanks, I was in the area and I figured, why not drop by." He took off his coat and hung it on the rack just inside the house as the door swung shut behind him. It was warm inside, thanks to the gas heater sitting in the lounge room, just visible through the large, open double sliding doors, which, according to what little he could make out of them, were made of the same wood as the door frame itself. "Is there somewhere I can get changed?" He asked her.

"Sure thing, second door up the stairs on your left, it's the bathroom, just put your wet stuff across the top of the shower, I'll put it through the drier when you're done."

Cafas thanked her, grinned again and moved up the carpeted staircase, his boots and socks left abandoned on the tile entrance by the door. He reached the top and counted two down, entered the slightly warmer bathroom and began to strip down to get changed.

'Then again, maybe not everyone around here is so bad.'