Recent Posts

Chase was not a troublemaker, not intentionally. He might partake in the occasional mischief here and there, but he was a good kid overall. And, as Hokee began to list all of the things that Chase could be useful for, his grin faltered, before slipping into its typical frown, and his brow furrowed. He had been hoping to be useful for good things, like a superhero-- but those things? Those things didn't sound like things that a good boy would do. Hokee was obviously bad. And the two of them weren't well-acquainted enough for Hokee to have been able to convince him of otherwise.

And yes, Chase took everything that Hokee said, word-for-word, quite literally.

"I'd get in trouble," Chase said frankly, the disappointment apparent in his voice. He couldn't even look at Hokee, so went back to scraping the snow off of the ice. The eight-year-old then murmured, "My mama'd not be happy."

Chase smiled. Yeah, Miss Gemma wouldn't be pleased at all.

He glanced towards Hokee, and Hokee slid the enormous snowball towards him. The snowball that was up to Hokee's waist, was up to Chase's ribcage, so Chase had to drop the shovel into the crook of his arm, and use both of his hands to stop it.

>> "How long can you hold it...looking like the person and all? Can you do it from memory?"

Chase was hesitant to tell Hokee much of anything now, thorougly convinced that whatever information he gave him, it would be used for evil.

"I dunno," was Chase's honest answer. He really didn't. He'd never been someone else long enough to see how long it would last. Chase didn't know how to answer the "method" question with both honesty and vagueness. Chase slid the snowball back to Hokee. He had one, hefty patch of snow left, and then the ice would be clear enough by Chases' standards.

"I can... kind of do it from memory... but only if I've done that same form a couple of times. Usually have to use some... thing else."

Not the most artful answer, but it would work. Chase shuffled past Hokee, towards the last patch of snow.

>> "Hokee....you?"

A momentary silence fell as Chase finished clearing off a patch of ice. This type of thing required focus. Hokee was a funny name. Who named their child Hokee? What kind of name was that? Chase kept his urge to ask these questions momentarily subdued, for the question had been turned back to him.

"Chase," Chase answered simply, focusing on a new patch of snow. He was making quick work of clearing the ice, and becoming much better at keeping his balance. Soon, he'd even be able to try skating with Hokee.

>> "That hair trick, do you just do hair or can you do other stuff too? Cuz if you can, bet it could be rather useful."

Chase beamed proudly while working.

"I could look like a whole other person," he boasted, "Sound like 'm, too."

He couldn't help but smile. Hokee was probably the first person ever to have called his power useful. Useful! Just the notion made Chase glow.

"Useful, how?" Chase dared to ask. For, above all, he liked to be both helpful and useful.

Neither the mediator, nor the counselor, nor the parents and their attorney had any questions for Valerie. Excellent. She had sufficiently explained his background without pissing-off the Townsends or their attorney, and had done so thoroughly enough that neither Detective Cervantez nor Miss Taylor had any questions, yet-- later, perhaps, but not now. Valerie flipped through a few pages of her notes and went into the section about the actual court case, and rolled her lips together as she approached the section. Now came the fun part.

"Now, the case," Valerie trailed, absently tilting up the corner of the page, pursing her lips. This was going more smoothly than she had though.

But, before the social worker could begin, Mr. Townsend leaned over and whispered something in his attorney's ear. So much for a smooth ride.

"Mr. Townsend requests that if any questions related to the case are to be asked, they be asked on the record," Mr. Evans interjected smoothly, gesturing towards the tape-recorder, "To ensure a degree of fairness. We wouldn't want any under-the-table dealings in the decision, now, would we?"

"Now, Mr. Evans," Valerie attempted to interrupt, but Mr. Evans held up his hand. The Townsends and the lawyer wanted to hear what Miss Taylor had to say.

Mr. Evans glanced towards the mediator with a tilt of his head, his beady-eyed gaze cutting towards Detective Cervantez rather than Valerie. Valerie really didn't have any. Valerie adjusted her glasses, her gaze wandering from the detective to Miss Taylor. It was an underhanded thing to do, but he had a very valid point. Certain details could lose their credibility if exchanged in-private and off of the record. Hopefully things didn't get too out-of-hand.



Chases' legs were cramping from crouching on the ledge just outside of the window. He and Big League had found a gap in the curtains through which they could see into the living room, but the occupants couldn't see out. Thus far, it was unoccupied and closed-off, which was most peculiar, considering that this was the common room for the entire student populace.

"It's empty," Chase whispered, passing a mystified look towards his group-leader, Big League.

"That's because there's going to be a meeting for the top-secret-agents, duh," Big League hissed back, rolling his eyes, "I swear, nobody listens to me."

"We should pop the window open a bit," Chase murmured. The window was unlocked, so they could push it open from the outside, "That way we can here what the spies are saying."

"Good thinking," Big League agreed. He popped the window open with his tiny hands, and not a moment too soon-- the door to the living room popped open, and Miss Gemma walked in.

"Miss Gemma," the boys observed. What was Miss Gemma doing at a top-secret-agent meeting? She was the school counselor. The crowd that followed sent a bolt of fear down Chase's spine-- Miss Valerie, his Mom and Dad, and the mean man that worked for them (whom Chase fondly referred to as Mr. Meanie-Face, for he could never recall his name). There was a fifth person, whom Chase whom Chase neither recognized nor noticed, but who we was was irrelevant.

What were his parents doing here? There was only one answer that rose in Chase's mind. They were here to take him back to Syracuse. After all of those court sessions, and all of those meeting and one-on-one's, one thing was made most-certain. He wasn't going to get away from Syracuse. Not unless he ran.

"Funniest looking secret agents I've ever seen," Big League grumbled, "They don't even have sunglasses. At least that one--" Big League pointed at the guy in the suit, "--has a secret agent-suit."

"I gotta go," Chase murmured quickly, an irrational fear setting in. He began sliding down the roof, without waiting to see if Big League was following.

"Chase, wait!" Big League whined, thoroughly confused as he slid down after him, "What's wrong, man? Wait up!"

>> "Yeah. Yeah kid..."

"Cool," was the extent of Chase's commentary. The older boy didn't want a heart-to-heart, and nor did he. Particularly not about Syracuse. He was never going back there, ever again. And didn't much feel like talking about it, either.

>> "I'd kill for a good Jreck Sub right now..."

"They've got good sandwiches," Chase concurred, bobbing his head. He'd been there a couple of times, so could speak from experience. But enough about sandwiches. He wasn't here to talk about sandwiches. He was either here to help, or he'd continue on his own adventure.

"So... can I help?"

Or should he leave? Chases' hands were in his pockets, but in how he stood, it was obvious that he wasn't going to sit still much longer.

>> "What you wouldn't like a man cave?"

"No?" Chase guessed. He didn't know what a man-cave was, but he had heard of a caveman. Through some sound, preadolescent logic, Chase had figured that man-caves were caves that cavemen lived in. It made perfect sense to him, so he didn't tell Mr. Dreadlocks that he didn't know what the word meant.

The older boy paused and fixed Chase with a stare when Chase said he was from Upstate. Chase froze, regarding him inquiringly.

>> "Yeah, what part? Watertown?"

"Syracuse," Chase mumbled faintly, his voice barely a hum. It was weird to think of such a recent past. It seemed so far away. He didn't go much further into that topic.

"Can I help?" Chase deigned to ask, daring to lift his gaze towards the long-haired boy. He was getting a little braver.

The older boy took the shovel and pulled it through without so much as a "thank you" to Chase for the favor.

>> "What the hell is up with your hair?"

Chase ceased toying with his hair, his blonde lock reverting to its typical length and texture. He couldn't get the dreadlock just right. His eyes colored with embarassment, and he looked down at the snow.

"I-I, um, was trying to copy, uh, dreadlocks," Chase explained lamely, "I change how I look."

Getting the shovel was his ticket into the gated area, right? Now with his hands free, Chase curled them around two consecutive bars, and pulled himself up. The progress was slow and steady, but eventually, he made it to the top of the fence. Chase perched there, his hands icy cold from the short contact with the wrought-iron, then he hopped down.

Chase righted himself, rubbing his hands together to get some warmth back into them.

"What are we doing?"

Chase was quite absorbed in what he was doing, when an older boy's voice snagged his attention.

>> "Hey, cool! Legos! What-cha building?"

Chase looked up at the kid in the sunglasses. His eyes flickered uncertainly.

"A pyramid," Chase replied, pronouncing each syllable clearly. Sounding mildly skeptical, Chase inquired, "You like Legos?"

He was an older boy. Usually playing with Legos was something younger boys enjoyed, not older boys like him.

Chase glanced at the older boy, then at the girl who had walked in with him, and back to his Legos. He built slowly, making sure to pay enough attention to be respectful, but still building.