This Wasn't My Best Idea [Open]

[Catherine Beauvais]

For what seemed like half an eternity, all that Catherine could feel was the ground pressing against her hip, the dull throb in her head, and the slow sharpening of her senses as whatever she had been administered began to fade. She lay where she was for goodness-knows-how-long, her breathing even, wondering how on earth she had managed to fall out of bed, and why the alarm had failed to awaken her.

Then, like a light switch being thrown on a pitch-black room, she remembered.

Emily.

The details of that day flooded back in a rush; her meeting with the shape-shifting child, the raid on her building, opting to go with the girl to the mutant prison instead of letting her be taken away all on her own. She sat up, rubbing her head sorely; she'd been smacked on the skull more than a few times since then, and the time she had spent being transported to the compound - hours? days? weeks? - was little more than a blur. For the life of her, she couldn't recall anything between her arrest and her awakening, which was odd even for a girl with her sorry excuse for a memory. She couldn't begin to count the number of times she'd walked into a room with no memory of how she had gotten there, but for something such as being moved to a prison for mutants? One would assume that such a thing would make a lasting impression.

However, sitting around thinking about it never did her any good, especially considering that she didn't imagine herself as a very decent thinker, anyway. Cathy got to her feet, (which she noticed, with some degree of annoyance, were bare; her boots must have been misplaced during the relocation) stretching her stiff muscles out as she surveyed the general area.

Whoever had been in charge of dumping her in this place clearly hadn't had the courtesy to take her into whatever shelter the prison had to offer. Far off to her right was - oddly enough - some sort of fountain; she hadn't assumed that such a thing would even be in a facility such as this. She brushed it off for now, and continued her scan of the area.

After a few moments, something else caught her eye. Another person lay on the ground, not too far away from where she had been dumped. A sudden surge of hope rose within her, and, walking on slightly shaking knees, she moved toward them.

It wasn't until she was hovering over them that she noticed the blood.

The person was a somewhat portly, full-grown man laying face-down on the cobblestones. Though her heart was pounding with sudden horror, she knelt down beside him, a hand on his back. Horrified as she was, she had an obligation to help him if he was injured. The man was warm, but clearly wasn't breathing. Looking down at the stones, the blood had probably come from his face; a thick, sick puddle had pooled near his head, the grotesque crimson snaking through the cracks in the cobblestone, spreading the horror around. Cathy drew in a deep, quivering breath, gritting her teeth as she fought back her fear and pity. The poor man. Who would have done this?

Catherine murmured a prayer for him, then removed her thin black jacket and placed it over his head. She would have to tell someone about this, so that an investigation could be launched and he could receive a proper burial. However, she also had more pressing matters; she had to find Emily, as well as someone who could tell her what in the world was going on.

She stood up, half-regretting using her jacket to cover up the dead man as she crossed her arms. As she backed away, careful not to put her toes in the man's blood, she let out a shout.

"Hello? Is there anyone here?" she called, looking around the area. There had to be someone she could get some answers from.

[Demetrio]

Demetrio cursed the cold gust of air that beat against the exposed skin of his face. The rest of him was hidden behind a long coat made for him by Madam Weaver. Under his right arm was another coat from the master seamstress herself. It was meant to be a belated Christmas gift from himself to his second in command, Bex. She was a good friend and deserved something nice for being the kind-hearted woman she now was.

He decided to take a short cut on his way to finding her, through the area next to the fountain. With winter in full swing there would far fewer people around to have to navigate through on the path he wanted to take. The fountain really was only a serious attraction when the weather was warm and people wanted to cool down and have fun. It wasn't even big enough for people to ice skate on. That was a true let down, as far as he was concerned.[/blockquote]

As he entered the fountain area, a shiver ran up his spine as more cold air made it past his winter defenses. While the temperature was above freezing, it was still decently cold. Probably a little dangerous for anyone out too long in it without proper gear.

"Hello? Is there anyone here?"

The call stopped Demetrio in his tracks. He didn't remember seeing anyone as he entered the area. But, then again, he hadn't been paying too much attention, either. He always had been talented at not being too observant a person. It wasn't particularly a talent that was well liked by him.

His head turned in both directions until his eyes settled upon scene that somewhat disturbed him. A dead man, blood, and a young woman all in the same place never added up to a good thing. Not to mention the female was barefoot and had no jacket. She either had to be slightly out of her mind or - judging from the beating it seemed she'd suffered recently - a new arrival.

Demetrio walked toward the scene slowly and stopped a few feet away from the woman. She seemed in need of help, and he was willing to give it, but he wasn't a fool. Such a situation had been a trap in his past, and he'd be damned if he let it get him again.

"What happened here, Miss?"

It was a bad opening line to a sensitive situation but he just couldn't think of anything else to say.

[Catherine Beauvais]

Catherine hugged her bare arms tightly, letting out a chattering breath that spiraled off in a burst of steam. It truly had not been a good idea to discard her jacket, but what was done was done. Already, she could tell that it was soaking up the man's blood, and a chill ran through her. If no one answered her call, she would have to---

"What happened here, Miss?"

She discarded the thought as though it had never been, turning quickly to face the speaker. He was clearly male, and stood several feet away, wrapped in a coat that she couldn't help but feel envious of. As if to annoy her further, another gust breathed icily upon her skin, and her teeth chattered in response.

"I... uh... I..." she began, pausing and swallowing hard. Now wasn't the time to be getting caught up on her words just because of the cold. She had obligations to take care of now.

She swallowed again, and began anew. "I... I don't rightly know what's happened to 'em. I s'pose he got attacked or somethin'. He was like this when I woke up." She looked down at the body, shaking. "I... uh... I dunno 'bout how this works here. I just got in. Is there a place where we should be tellin' a guard or somethin'?"

She bit her lip as she stared down at her bare toes, longing for at least a pair of socks. Hopefully, if there was a place to report the man's murder, they would have some spare shoes and a jacket she could borrow. Of course, if that was the case, she doubted that she would have been dumped there so unceremoniously, but that had probably just been a mistake of some sort. After all, this place was built so that the mutants could have a place to live apart from the normal people, not so that they could be left for dead. She highly doubted that the government would allow that sort of thing to happen.

[Demetrio]

So, his guess had been correct. The girl in front of him was a new arrival, not unlike himself several months ago, and yet she was under the delusion that the guards would help them. Did she not feel the bruises on her body? Or was it that she didn't realize it was the guards that were responsible for them? After a mental shrug, Demetrio determined it didn't matter. Either way, she looked cold, and rightly so. He had a brief inner struggle about the extra coat he carried, what was supposed to be a gift for Bex. It was quickly resolved when he rationed that she would likely rather this girl have it instead, as she was the one that needed it more.

"No, there isn't a place to report to the guards," he replied as he tossed her the coat. "Not that you'd want to go near them if there was one. They would be more likely to shoot you, rather than help you. Especially recently."

Demetrio took a couple steps to close the gap between him and the girl, all the while doing his best to look harmless and helpful; it wouldn't do if she got frightened and ran off. He went past her and took a good look at the dead man, careful to avoid the blood as he lifted the discarded jacket up. No recognizable features stood out, meaning the poor bloke had probably come in with her and gotten the rougher end of a beating or something not too far off. As he let the jacket fall back to cover the man, Demetrio tried to think of a possible course of action. The corpse just couldn't be left to rot next to the fountain; that would spread disease.

"What's your name?" That would be an ideal place to start. "And I don't suppose you remember how you got here? Few of us seem to." Demetrio prodded the shoes of the dead man with his toe and glanced down at the girl's bare feet. They seemed roughly about the same size. "As... unpleasant as it might be, I suggest you wear these. There's no blood on them and he won't be needing them anymore. At least until we can get you to Madam Weaver for a proper pair."

[Catherine Beauvais]

"No, there isn't a place to report to the guards. Not that you'd want to go near them if there was one. They would be more likely to shoot you, rather than help you. Especially recently."

Catherine was caught off-guard when the man produced a coat and tossed it over to her, and at the last moment she managed to snatch it out of the air before it could tumble onto the bloody ground. She stood where she was for a moment, staring at the garment almost uncomprehendingly. Nowhere to report a death to the guards? Guards that would want to shoot her? What kind of place was this? Even in non-mutant prisons, they at least cared for the inmates, and they were murderers, thieves, rapists and worse. The people here had done nothing, save for being born different. What in God's name was wrong with these people?

She snapped back to reality when she realised that the man was getting closer, and she murmured a meek, "Thank you," before donning the jacket. It wasn't exactly her size, but she knew better than to complain about charity. She took a small step back as he moved to examine the man, hugging her arms close as she let her top half warm up.

"What's your name? And I don't suppose you remember how you got here? Few of us seem to."

Catherine opened her mouth to speak, but before she could do so, the man continued, tapping the man's shoes. "As... unpleasant as it might be, I suggest you wear these. There's no blood on them and he won't be needing them any more. At least until we can get you to Madam Weaver for a proper pair."

"I... that's..." she began, then let her sentence trail off. As horrifying as it sounded, if she was getting no help from the people that ran this place, they would probably be her only choice, beside going barefoot and risking frostbite. Gritting her teeth, she knelt down, carefully unlacing the man's shoes as she answered his questions.

"M'name's Catherine Beauvais. But everyone calls me Cathy," she said, pulling one off and peering inside. It seemed clean enough, but the smell emanating was far from divine. Still, she stuck her foot inside, wiggling her toes about. The shoe was somewhat too large, but she could live. "An' no, I don' remember. I think they drugged me or somethin'." She stuck the second shoe on, tied them both and stood to her full height, facing the man and offering him her hand and a small, quivering smile. "An', if I can be so bold as ta ask, what's your name?"

[Demetrio]

Demetrio was glad when she began putting on the shoes. At least her feet would now be protected against the cold that was still trying to infiltrate his coat. Miss Catherine Beauvais didn't seem too pleased to be putting on a dead man's shoes, but at least she did it. The girl had more steel than some of those in his own faction. There were Dreamers that were very skiddish by nature and wanted nothing to do with a dead body; and anything that had touched a corpse would most certainly not be touching them.

"An', if I can be so bold as ta ask, what's your name?"

"Demetrio." He took Cathy's extended hand in his own and gave it a gentle squeeze. Demetrio also returned her smile with a small one of his own. It was a little awkward to be smiling when there was a dead guy on the ground not a few feet away, but they wouldn't get very far by addressing each other as 'hey you.' After letting his hand fall back to the blessed warmth of his coat pocket, he took a look around the area to see if any other people were near.

The area was empty with only three exceptions. A woman and child walked hurriedly past them while still managing to stay as far away from the two people and body as possible. They soon turned a corner and were out of sight. The third person was a man that was headed straight for them. He wasn't a guard; no, that would've just been Demetrio's horrible luck turning on him again.

The man was taller than Demetrio - who stood at 5' 10'' - by at least seven inches, and outweighed him by more than 80 pounds. Even with both of these disadvantages Demetrio grinned wide at the sight of the man. The man grinned back, his white teeth a stark contrast against his dark skin. Paul Pretnir was one of those mutants in which his mutation caused his original appearance to alter once it awoke. He could not hide the fact that he was a mutant from the world, thus he opted to stay in Freakopolis where he wouldn't have to worry about ridicule on the outside.

Paul was a telepath under all that black muscle. It was a secondary ability that was rather weak compared to his primary mutation that allowed him to control darkness and create it. His telepathy was still useful, however, and Demetrio was relieved that Paul had been in the area. As Paul Pretnir, a.k.a. Onyx, came near, Demetrio drew his hand from his pocket and extended it to his fellow Dreamer.

The changes in Onyx's appearance were not readily visible at first, as he came with 20 feet of Demetrio. Several seconds passed before a visible lightening of the man's skin could be seen. The two men shook hands as it happened and finally came to a finish, leaving Onyx's skin a light copper color. It allowed Demetrio and Cathy a glimpse at what Paul would've looked like had his mutation not affected his outward appearance. Demetrio's grin turned into a smug smirk as they released hands and he stuffed his in a pocket yet again.

"This never gets old for you, does it?" Paul asked his friend, eying his hand as he did so. "Not that I mind."

"Of course it doesn't," the Dreamer leader jokingly replied. Demetrio's mutation allowed him to practically nullify the mutations of other mutants when they were within a certain radius of him. The extent of that happened to be twenty feet. His voice turned serious as he continued. "I need you to contact a few of the others and make sure that guy--" He pointed to the dead man. "--gets to the graveyard and situated with his new sleeping arrangements."

Onyx looked over at the corpse near the fountain with a blank face. He knew well enough by now that such occurrences were not uncommon in Freakopolis. Many buried in the graveyard now had been dead upon arrival. All the residents could do was bury them before they began to decay and spread disease. Several were in unmarked graves because no one could be found that knew what the poor soul's name had been.

"Very well," was Onyx's only response before he moved out of Demetrio's range to contact others to help him transport the body and clean up the bloody mess. The darkness returned to his skin when he was no longer under the influence of the Dreamer leader's mutation.

Demetrio offered his arm for Cathy to take as his attention returned to her. He didn't need to worry about how Onyx would handle the situation. The man was not new to dealing with such things and would do what was asked of him and more.

"Paul will take care of our unfortunate friend. There's nothing else we can do here." He waited to see if Catherine would take his arm or not before continuing. "Are you feeling well? Your answer will have a high influence on where we go." If she wasn't feeling well, they could go to the infirmary. Their path would lead to the food tents if she was hungry. Or the two of them could just walk and talk, if that was what she wanted. He would be at her disposal for as long as she needed.