here at the honeybee inn. / open

[makopoison]

[ they tell him he won't make soldier. no amount of training can fix a weakness of the soul. the mako doesn't agree with him - he's bedridden for three days after the initial test, and upon discharge, told he'll nnot be allowed to apply again. on the very same day he'd tendered his resignation, apologizing to his squadmates for letting them down, and left a message to the turk who had helped him on the trains as well as zack fair, thanking them for their belief in him, however ill-placed.

he was left with no choice but to improvise. there was nothing to return home to in nibelheim, no reason to quietly endure further ridicule and a lifetime of being ostracized, but no way he could live on the plate with the sky-high rent and the soul-sucking jobs requiring more skill than country boy can provide. he isn't the first SOLDIER washout to be too ashamed to go home, and he knows he won't be the last. the slums are full of them. he'd found himself lost, wandering lost in the shadow of the plate. sector five was bright and flashy but he wasn't equipped to deal with pickpockets and gangs. the better part of the day was spent utterly terrified, certain he was going to die here tonight and no one would ever know because he'd been too damn stupid to tell them his plans.

don corneo's men saw an easy mark for the coliseum. promising big money and a place to sleep - but a hand on his shoulder, a whisper in his ear, i could make you a star, darling - offered him something better.

andrea rhodea had smiled so charmingly and with such faith he'd decided he was in before he even heard the offer.

( they'd suggested claudia for his stagename, not knowing it was his mothers. he'd balked, almost shouting no, because while the rhinestones and glitter were rapidly becoming just another part of his world - he couldn't imagine the humiliation of anyone he knew knowing this. shame had consumed so much of his life, dictated so much of what he enjoyed - he refused to let it ruin this too. )

so cirrus was born. and cirrus was a fucking hit.

and he hadn't been lying. cloud's androgynous features were a smash with the customer-base. he was a quick learner, a hell of a dancer, and not too bad of a fighter. he was a star - and it came with glitz, and glamour, and gil, but no glory.

the usual showstopper was done for the night. cloud, center-stage, dancing to a flashy new routine in a uniform somewhere between the men's snappy suits and the women's bulky bee costume. he's fanning himself in the changing room, huffing out a breath as he counts down the minutes until the end of his shift, when one of the girls tells him he's been requested for a private show. ]

Seriously? I'm almost off the clock. Can't someone else -

[ it's someone important, she says, shaking her head. classified. you know what that means.

the blonde pulls a face.

don't worry, it doesn't look like an exec. she adds hastily. but you better move.

he sighs. turns back to the mirror to wipe away any evidence of exertion and heads for the room. ]

i've no more fucks to give.

[goldtoxicity]

[ there's a new boy on campus. one of the last mutants left standing after m-day happened.

word on the street is he's a transfer (a survivor) of the now defunct xavier's institute, his tuition paid for by his legal guardian after he'd been picked up wandering the streets. he's seventeen, nearing eighteen, but his educational levels are all over the place. a prodigy in the sciences, but barely scraping by on the humanities. he had health problems, the kid who'd given him a tour of the school had said, having eavesdropped before they'd been formally introduced. he spent the past two months in a coma.

joshua foley is a mystery.

the school's first mutant, or at least it's first out one. he can't hide - his skin is a bright, glittery gold, with smudges of black that seem to move. his hair silver, long enough that it's just starting to curl. and his eyes - they're corpselike, they say. unsettling.

but that doesn't stop people from clamoring for his attention. he socializes, but at a polite distance. which serve the wealthy elite just fine. they're curious and polite, but from a comfortable distance. enough that their wealthy parents will be upset that they associated with a mutant - instagram pictures and facebook posts directly aimed at mommy and daddy's delicate sensibilities. he gets it. he's friendly but not a friend, and they're friendly but they've got enough friends.

the only one that approaches with anything more than casual curious conversation is the clean-cut richard campbell gansey the third. their conversation starts cordial, some light brightens josh's too pale eyes, but must say just the wrong thing, because that invitation to his little collection of misfits is met with an immediate shutdown. ] Dude, no. [ he'd snapped. ] I came here to get away from people like you.

[ what exactly prompted that response wasn't heard, or if it was, isn't being said. the story is better without it. gansey had tried to apologize, of course, but nobody bothers with that detail. what is tacked on is the way ronan lynch and the mutant had locked eyes afterwards. the way his brows had pinched together and the way ronan had sneered before he, adam, and gansey had turned to lope off across the quad, and josh had watched them go, stuffing his hands in his pockets. ]

You would think [ he'd allegedly muttered, quietly and hatefully ] somebody in a place like this would have a little tact.

[ but that's all external.

internally, joshua foley has no idea what to make of this. every part of him itches to run again, to try to dodge around how much dani loves and cares for him so he can disappear into the scenery and be forgotten about. so long as she knows he's here he's never really free. she says she won't use him like he was used before, she says that his powers are his - but he doesn't trust that anymore. not when he knows that he exists as a last resort, an easy out, and all it takes is one person to remember for him to be pulled back into the hell of obligation and family.

no one here knows what he can do.

he passes it off as a physical mutation, nothing more nothing less. unfortunate. boring. people lose interest once they know he can't blast fire out of his fingertips, and the only one who knows the truth is told off swiftly and coldly. if they get killed pursuing something stupid and magical, that's not his problem. no skin off his nose. it won't bother him a lick.

( if he tells himself this enough he's certain it will be true )

the mystery and intrigue doesn't fade out completely, but there's always a new scandal, a new faux pas to gossip about. it isn't until one of the distant-but-friendly classmates on a science project hands him an invite to a special party later on in the week that he actually starts to feel like they see him as a person and not a novelty.

though it could just be for bragging rights about being tolerant.

and what a party. absolute riot. he's nearly buzzed off the atmosphere alone, further away from the vibe of xavier's and the x-force than he'd been since he'd set foot on campus. there are fireworks and explosions, kids with too much money and too much freedom smashing newly purchased televisons just for the hell of it. one moron twists his ankle trying to jump over his car, and no one looks at him expectantly to heal it.

he's not here for that. he's - backsliding is probably the term david would use, if david were here. back without any sort of parental supervision, without obligation or duty, he's spinning out. he has nothing but time to think. and all that thinking - that's the problem right there. it makes him angry, it makes him upset. it gives him a private dorm at dani's request, both because she knows he has nightmares and because she fears that he might lose control and hurt someone.

so that thinking - that thinking, those thought, all this terrible damage - has to be turned off for a while. he asks for a guide, and when they ask what he wants, he says a little bit of special k and it sounds stupid but it earns him a grin and a jerk of their head towards the car where the host is lounging. kavisnky's a name he's heard rumbled here and there, the master forger. the up and coming druglord to be.

the boy that actually leads him there - a with the glassy eyes and giddy smile - doesn't feel right. he feels the hair on the back of his neck prickle as his senses warn him that something is off about the way he's built. something vital here or there is missing, isn't it? josh doubletakes when they're close enough to brush wrists, hand tensing as wrong and missing flood his senses. he doesn't catch himself as he turns to watch him go, brows drawn together and lips parted - tempted to call him back, to ask if he can look deeper to make sure he's okay, but he stops himself.

it's probably fine, he thinks. maybe he got his appendix out. maybe, maybe, maybe -

maybe he's just crazy. maybe this isn't his fucking problem. he shakes his head as if to rattle the thought out, fixing the host with a smile. ]

Hey. I was told you're like, the guy to talk to around here for contraband.