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Celeste looked at the gray circle with disdain. It was surrounded by gold. The contrast was amazing, yet sad. The brightness texture was overshadowed by the sadness of the gray. She glared at that boring circle. Then she silent protested at the refusal of "Mr. Gray" to go away. She hated that color.
But she hated even more the fact that she was wrong. The gray substances were not gone, there was no way to get rid of them. She had come to believe she had found the answer. But no, she was wrong. No matter what, there always will be a gray object as a by product.
At least now, she knew how to choose the victim. As she discovered in her previous experiment, it was easy to make the original object recover its initial state. But the object intended to contain and duplicate the color, would always end with a fragment completely gray. In this case, one half of the sheet of paper.
She was frustrated. All her might redirected to contain her tears.. Those damn gray objects were appearing everywhere. Nothing she did was going to make them vanish.

The girl let out her frustration with a long, loud sigh. "Just a mistake." She said to herself. As she dropped the air in a another sonorous sigh. Then she continued breathing slowly with the intention to calm down. It was not enough... She took the last sip of juice and another cookie. And when she felt the situation and her emotions were back under her control, she took one more cookie. As a reward. She swallowed it in two ferocious bites. The poor cookie was crushed without mercy.
Defeated, but full of decision, she stole the golden surrounding that creepy gray circle. As the color moved close to her, the circle seemed to grow, bigger and bigger. She felt that growing spot was going to devour her fingernail. But for her relief, every moving color stopped at the end of the extraction. The entire sheet had the same color. Or rather, no color at all. Since she was sure that gray meant death. The absence of life. The absence of color. It was the same. The circle was gone, the lack of color was complete and unquestionable. The paper sheet was dead.
She took a new sheet of paper. White. Without a single stain. With nothing in it. Perfectly clean. Her next victim. When thinking about how it would end, she almost felt sorry for the poor inanimate object. A wise voice told her what to do. "You must break some eggs to make an omelet." Her golden nail touched the paper and then began the process of pasting. When the girl achieved a circle of considerable size, she lifted her nail, immediately interrupting the process. Again her vision of that particular color returned, the remaining color in her nail disappeared. Just as in the previous experiment. Only this time, the circle was painted with gold.

Her wild chant started the complex magic process. The same word was repeated over and over. This time, the target was the golden circle.
The girl managed to concentrate all her thoughts into one. Almost without effort. That was the easy part. Keeping them fixed on the same concept as the process lasted, was harder. Other thoughts always tried to steal the role of the main actor. They were simple thoughts of her daily life trying with all their might to oppose to the intellectual monopoly imposed by her. Every time a new thought appeared, she had to concentrate more strongly on the color in question. It was very stressful. Fortunately, she was working with small objects and the process did not last too long. She knew she was not ready for large objects.
Once the shiny gold was stored in her nail, She noted with disappointment a new gray circle. It was absurd. All ended in one of those gray circles.
Filled with rage, she stabbed the unashamed circle with her nail as a golden spear. The paper sank under its weight, wrinkling in all directions. Creating long branches with a single point in common.
Defiantly, she commanded the pasting process to start without any care for the mistreated paper sheet. Before her astonished eyes, the sheet was not completely eaten by the golden, the progress of the living substance was stopped at the edge of the circle. Excellent, when she thought that was dominating her magic, a new equation came into play. Apparently she could only cover one color at a time ...

Her secret and forbidden witchcraft began. Just after a satanic ritual. Breakfast. Curtains closed. Barred door.
Although no one was watching, she was feeling extremely dirty. With a thick layer of black. Heavy as metal. She felt its weight on her shoulders, yet it was not a physical dirt, but mental. She was cursed. But at the same time curious. Especially curious. A morbid curiosity urged her to use her powers, despite all possible evilness hidden behind it. That diabolical origin drew her closer. It seduced her.

Among its many shoes, was buried her mysterious little box. Full of very small objects of sentimental value. It was a box. Simply. Also a time machine.
When she opening it, she was able to travel at different moments of her life through small memories. Small time machines within a larger machine.
With a look full of nostalgia she took a button from the box. It was big. Dark. It looked black. Actually, it was a very dark blue. She smiled. It belonged to a fur coat of her mother. Her favorite. She had wore it a day she was alone, and inadvertently the button felt. She never said anything. The button was replaced. But she kept that little memento of her childish adventure.

Her witchcraft was not in the ability to go back in time, or to see her memories like a movie. No, but that magical ritual through her memories calmed her. She liked that feeling of nostalgia. And every time she opened that box, she saw a different object. Always a different flashback. All the memories in the box had their chance. With a mixture of sadness and joy, she place the button in its place. Very carefully.
Although the ritual had begun, she was still on phase one. Secure the perimeter.
Stealthily, she checked with her deep black eyes that the door was locked and the curtains closed. Her little world was sheltered. Nobody could see her. Celeste was invisible.

The dress and the teddy bear were the proof. She could repeat it. Celeste was sitting in the middle of the room. Cross-legged. She was surrounded by several sheets of paper, a large piece of cloth (Probably a very old blanket she could not remember) and a simple but beautiful gold ring.
Fearful, but excited, she extended her index finger to the ring. She kept it hovering around without touching it, mentally recalling the steps she used on the dress. Then she touched the ring with the tip of her nail. As expected, nothing happened.
She fixed her eyes on the golden object. Thinking with intensity, trying to concentrate all her thoughts in a single pulse. "Gold" Nothing. Celeste sighed complaining and concentrated again. Another pulse. "Golden" And this time the word put the magic in action.
Like a living creature responding to her orders, the color was dragged slowly to her nail. Like a magnet. The slick of golden climbed in a triumphant march. Enjoying it. Savoring its brief moment of freedom. The color was no longer tied to the object.
Unfortunately the show did not last long. As the colored exodus ended, Celeste saw the gold become more and more pale, until what she was watching was just a blurred dull gray. The ring looked like stone. Dead. Without a hint of brightness.
Her nail looked gray too, but it conserved some color in it. A gray scale that the ring no longer possessed. It was easy to guess her nail was painted with a bright color.

Then she took a sheet of paper and gently pressed her fingernail on the spotless surface.
Her thoughts focused one more time. A single word. "Golden" One concept that included both the color and texture, even when neither one was related.
Now the golden began to slide. Gently. Camouflaged before her selectively monochromatic gaze. In a steady motion. It almost looked like ink. Celeste knew that was not true. It was magic. Her magic. With every inch of paper covered with gold, the spot became more colorful. For every centimeter, she needed more time in which every thought must be redirected to maintain a steady pulse. A constant visualization of color. The concentration required was overwhelming. But she managed to stay strong until the paper shone in golden. It looked like gold. It was a great optical illusion. It was still a sheet of paper to the touch.

How to return the ring to its normal color without losing her new color? She pondered the question in silence. Letting her mind run free. She no longer needed focus, she needed an idea. Without the annoying limitation, her mind soon filled with a thousand thoughts. Most were not even related to the question. Debit cards. Clothes. Shoes. Music. Horses. That handsome boy in school...
The longer she waited after the mental formulation of the question, the less these answers were related to the topic. Celeste lost her concentration. But she felt relaxed. That disorder was relaxing after thinking so hard. She even found a beautiful symphony to hum. She knew it by heart. Her fingers began to play instinctively, on a invisible keyboard. A silent concert. Just for her enjoyment.

After her break, two ideas seemed most logical. Logic? Her witchcraft did not get along very well with logic. At least she did not understand how it happened. Was it on her nails? Was it a mental process? Or a mixture of both? She did not know. Shaking her head, she left her questions aside to re-focus on the two new possibilities. One idea was a little more risky than the other. She wanted to try the first one. Which promised a higher success rate.
Gently, she grabbed the golden paper as the golden fleece itself. It was a treasure. She study it thoughtfully, the brightness and color. She was stunned by her own work. It looked like a really thin sheet made of gold. Fragile. Recalling the wise words that his grandfather used to wear, she teared a large piece of the paper. "He who dares, wins."
To her surprise the magically painted color did not disappear. Now she had two independent pieces of the same color. So far the first theory seemed correct. With much excitement and anticipation, she repeated the process of copying, storing and pasting in reverse. Taking the color of one of the two halves. A big smile formed on her face. A triumphant smile. It worked. Her beloved ring was beautiful once again shinning with its original polished texture, while she still had another sample to use in any way she wanted. Celeste was ready to duplicate colors.

Someone impressed me, and I bet every member in MRO too.
When you manage to make something awesome from a idea that looks like a bad prank... well, is just awesome.

Is not just a good character, but the way he interact with the world in his own twisted and complicated way is what catch your attention.

For example:
Octowombatclip
The worst day is laundry day

Both are short, but I enjoyed them a lot. You have to give some credit to the wombat handed man.

I almost forget this... I will like to nominate, Steven "Wombathands" Francis Brown.

They pushed the empty barrels to the end of the van, then the plastic containers rolled down the street. Smearing paint in every turn in every direction. Transforming the neat lines into growing patches. The bright colors were mixed, creating new colors.
While Max moved three barrels toward the doors, Celeste searched for the knife her stupid bodyguard thrown into the shadows inside the van. While she was looking for it, she noticed that there were just three extra barrels. Enough for another round... but not more. The girl cursed. She misjudge the amount of paint needed to finish the job.
And cursed again. Her jean was full of small spots of paint, plus two large spots on the knees. Her hands were relatively clean, until she found the knife in the dark.

Another three pierced barrels took the place of the old ones. The van began to move again, generating the three colored lines one more time, steps ahead of where the other lines ended.

The fierce battle was extremely interesting, worthy of being seen. Although she felt an internal conflict. She wanted to stay and see. It was fun. But at the same time she was extremely afraid. Nobody could deny that it was a strange event that would not repeat again. Never. Fortunately. So many mutants together gave her chills. Still she could not feel comfortable there. Even in the "security" of the mansion. Everything there could be something else than what it looked like. It was like a house of mirrors.
Someone touched her shoulder. Celeste jumped in her place, scared. Fortunately it was just Peter. He was just too bitter to join the game. He carried her bag with all the things she would need. She grabbed it with suspicion. She looked around just to be sure. Nobody was paying attention to her. All the eyes were on the battlefield. It was the right time.


(OOC: Celeste will jump from here to a separate thread on the mansion to avoid delaying the flow of the battle. She will be back to join the match later. Feel free to post in the meanwhile.)

Celeste changed the page abruptly almost severing it, the end was near and there was no mention of her little adventure. She took a moment to calm down, ready to unleash a scream that would tear the ears and the newspaper too, but at the last moment she found it. The article was very small. Hidden in the shadow of other mayor news. None of them more interesting than hers. But for some reason the press had given more importance to those robberies and murders. She did not know why.
The girl quickly finished the petite article. She did not like what she saw. She read it again more carefully, this time between lines, trying to find what she was looking for. Twelve cars. Painted cryptically. Pink. Fabric. Just the facts. Re-reading it would be pointless, the article was very small. It was impossible to lose something in that tiny amount of letters.
Not a single mention of the great artist that did it, not even a clever nickname worthy of a villain. Nothing.
Andrew was reading over her shoulder, he frowned clearly upset. "What's next? The Statue of Liberty?" He joked in an unkind tone while shaking his head in denial. Then he just walked away toward the kitchen. Obviously he did not agree with that kind of art.
Peter's words kept echoing in her head, causing a loud noise when they hit the invisible walls of her psyche. The noise gradually increased. It was impossible not to pay attention to those words. No one could help but notice the statue of liberty with another color, with a funnier color... but it would not be easy to paint that gargantuan lady. It was practically impossible. Too much security. It would take too long.
She leaned back in her comfy chair, defeated, letting that luxury object comfort her. She needed something to identify her, a sigil, a symbol, something. She needed to draw everybody attention. Her father attention.

The idea was growing inside her head slowly. Inadvertently she accepted and rejected her own ideas, in a competitive selection process that lasted days. When that idea finally grew up enough to be noticed, it was impossible to look away. She had her epiphany. The Queen would be her sigil.
What spectacular piece of art would use to release her sigil? Again, her imagination opened a competition attended by all her thought. One by one they were judged. Until finally, after a week of debate, the vote was unanimous.

The mysterious black van cruised the streets near Central Park for about one hour. It was a miracle that no one has reported it. The streets were empty. It was three in the morning. But there would be watchful eyes. Somewhere. They must start as soon as possible.
Inside the van, its members took their positions. Celeste and her faithful bodyguard Max were in the back. Of course she was there only to monitor, she would not stain her hands.
When they arrived to the interception, her new driver Malcolm slowed giving the order they expected.
At unison both opened the back doors of the van, the black doors began to shake with the movement in a dangerous dance.
Using an entire week of accumulated stress, Max began to pierce the paint barrels one on one with a sharp knife. Each time the instrument get out of the tough skin of the barrel, it was stained in a new color. When the task was done, he carelessly threw the knife.
Max put them up forming a wall. Standing there like a protective barrier. A wall of paint barrels of 5 gallons each. Red. Blue. Yellow. Side to side. Everything happened before the watchful eyes of Celeste. Everything seemed perfect. She was ecstatic watching the hypnotic cascade of colors. The barrels were bleeding without hesitation, spilling its contents onto the street, forming a small rainbow in its suffering. The van was moving slowly enough to form three homogeneous lines. Incredibly they reached the middle of Central Park without any problem. But it was time to change the barrels.

Most students were looking for their best friends among the crowd to form teams. It was not absolutely necessary. But they did not know that. It was most likely the most rebel students would ignore that rule. Some others, whispered with their friends plotting against their enemies, trying to be on the opposing team. The crowd was ready, too excited to wait.
At the instructor´s order, the first couple was prepared to leave.
Some of them looked too normal to be mutants, others seemed to come out of a cartoon. A twisted cartoon. Some have wings, others tails, scales, hair all over their bodies, more than two eyes, no eye at all. Seeing them all together gave her a pulsing headache. The variety of mutants was awesome.
The instructors did a quick check of the equipment again for the first two fighters, mainly from the protective mask of both. Once completed, the two ran off to hide in the trees.

Despite having the need to run from the strange crowd, she did not run. She needed to stay until the end, or escape without a partner. Otherwise she would need to escape from her partner later. But it was so hard to stay there. She tried to stay as still as possible, without touching anyone. One girl in particular gave her chills, her skin was covered in mud... it was not the worst part of it. She came crawling across the floor... she was a shapeless mass of mud, until she approached the group, and as if it were witchcraft, she raised out of the floor. The girl that magically appeared from the formless mass was a little older than her. Mudgirl clothes and skin were completely covered in more mud. It was disgusting.
Her bodyguards also had their equipment ready, apparently they had the right to have fun. She must revise their contracts... Celeste was sure "fun" was not included. With the entire gear, they looked like giant tortoises, they would be easy targets. Without a doubt.
At least she was surrounded by mutants that looked normal. But nothing could get the fear off of her. At any moment any of them could explode into millions slugs.
Two new students left trotting, ready to hunt. They looked much more aggressive than the previous couple...