Amidst the rubble of a war not long past, the stars seek to raise a new generation. Blessed with celestial powers that have begun to make their reappearance, the Gifted are individuals whose shoulders the future of the city rests on. Will you overthrow the dysfunctional government or work to keep it in power? Or will you undermine the whole game and play to your own advantage? No matter your motives, Hyperion is yours to shape.
[attr="class","appsub"]"what should I do tomorrow?"
[attr="class","appsub1"]"What should I do after tomorrow?"
[attr="class","appcat3"]It had not been very long since he left his hometown for someplace bigger and ideally better. Or maybe he just wanted some kind of change, whether good or bad--he just wanted to leave for something in hopes for an epiphany to rain on him, even if it just told him to go back home. So far no such shining realization had happened yet, and he mused that he might have been trying too hard. Though the young man knew he wasn't exactly ready to live on his own, he managed to get by, even if it was barely scraped. Part time jobs were the death of a philosopher because it was much too quiet and that meant more thinking. Thinking. Words flew by as their sounds thumped in his mind. What if, what if?
Kou decided to take a stroll in the resident university to calm his nerves. Maybe someplace familiar, even if it wasn't, would help. In one hand he had a pocket book of some cliche murder mystery novel that he bought for cheap in the run down bookstore. On the other hand was a plastic filled almost to the brim with snacks. He did not have the appetite for big meals, but he did like to munch on things while he did other things. It kept himself moving and tasting and his thoughts elsewhere. The weight was a bit heavy--sandwiches were mostly weighing it down, but there were some small packets of biscuits as well. Most were sweet, one was particularly salty. With a heaved sigh as if the world was on his shoulders, he collapsed on a nearby bench to continue reading in earnest. They were reaching a point where the second murder had occurred, and the victim was one of the original suspects. Was it the cook that killed her? His thoughts flitted to a story that actually had the detective as the murderer. That was interesting.
At least the sky was mildly cloudy, not too hot but not too windy. He thought about his powers for a moment before returning to the words printed on the pages. He would work later as a waiter. He hoped that he could get some more tips today, which could afford him the sequel to this book. There were some other students walking around, but he wasn't sure of the reason. It was already half way through the afternoon, but it did not seem like there were classes today. Or at least, not much. He managed to get in here because he had worked as one of the clerks here, filing all those papers of individuals that were just faces on a flat surface. Hm, he used to be one of them. His eyes glued themselves again to the print.
Micaiah found himself staying late on the university’s campus; one of his professors had wanted to speak with him, and then there had been his appointment with the financial aid department – they had to make sure his income hadn’t risen above the cap, that he had acquired the correct number of hours for his next semester, and of course there was always discussion of his sister, of the housing provided by the university, job offerings and expenses and too many details that spun his head and left him fidgeting in place. He couldn’t exactly snap, not when the university was so accommodating of him, though he understood that he was a statistic for them, a gesture of good will, a showcase of opportunity.
And yet, he thought, as he pushed through the main exit of the business building, he couldn’t exactly complain – a business degree, a guaranteed internship in his senior year: he used them much as they used him.
“Honestly,” he murmured, as he emerged outside, blinking in the sudden sunlight that assaulted his eyes; while it was not a particularly bright day, his eyes still had to adjust the sudden shift from warm, artificial light to natural, piercing sunshine. “I should just go sleep.”
Despite the time, his stomach was complaining at him, heedless of the fact he had devoured several bowls of ramen for lunch. A short nap, he decided, would be a way to avoid the hunger now gripped his insides – at least until it was actually dinner time, and he was ready to go through several more packets of trashy, college-kid-certified, cheap food.
He turned in the direction of his home, intent on doing just that. His steps were loose and long, a stride he had picked up from his tiger’s self, had learned to emulate to conserve energy. And yet, he drew up short as he came closer to the far edge of one of the many courtyards that dotted the sprawling campus. A set of benches stood at attention, a row of trees planted uniformly behind them. His head tilted to the side, considerate, as he sized up another young man.
The youth was a stranger to him, dark head bent down over a novel that had undoubtedly seen better days. But it was not the boy who drew his gaze – rather, it was the plastic bag that sat on the bench beside him, the lip of the opening tugged down just enough to tantalize Micaiah with the tell-tale look of wrapped sandwiches and other foodstuffs. His mouth watered to see them, and he unconsciously found himself drawn closer, imagining turkey, roast beef, even a simple ham sandwich – anything to contrast against the watery, bland ramen he bought in packs of ten and twenty because it was cheap and filling.
He hadn’t realized how close he’d drawn until he could make out the book’s cover, obviously a mystery of some sort, if the back copy was anything to go on. He peered down at the youth, swallowed, and tried to speak.
“Figured out the killer yet?” His voice was brusque, almost terse, as if the other boy was a disappointment, as if the back of the book proclaimed the murderer in bold, vibrant type. His arms crossed, and he cocked his hip out, tapping his foot. “It’s got to be one of the original group, and the author has to have laid out some clues for you already. Not a proper mystery otherwise.”
[attr="class","appsub"]"what should I do tomorrow?"
[attr="class","appsub1"]"What should I do after tomorrow?"
[attr="class","appcat3"]Kou had actually heard the footsteps some time before the stranger spoke. His body winced a little from surprise, but the movement was not too noticeable and it may have just appeared that he looked up from his book with a flat expression. He sized up the boy from head to toe -- an ID, perhaps a student here? Looked like it, but his aura commanded a sense of haughtiness that made him dislikable. It was even laced in his tone, but Kou did not mind it. The fact that he was trying to make conversation must've meant that he had something of interest. It was either going to be the book, or the...ah. "No, but I'm not exactly making an effort to figure it out before the reveal." he replied matter-of-factly. Was it defensive? Maybe yes, but at the same time he was also telling the truth, or so he'd like to think.
"If I were to deduce why you suddenly decided to talk to me though, there are a few answers that come to mind. The first is that you've already read this book and want to rub it in someone's face that you figured out the killer long before the book did. The second is that--" his free hand slipped underneath the plastic bag's handles and tugged it up a bit, "--you want some of my grub, to which I would have to politely decline because I do not plan to share." His expression had now changed into a small smirk, one that showed his teeth a little and it appeared his red eyes had a tiny sparkle. "Alternatively you could just be putting a royal facade because you're pitifully lonely and want to make friends, even if you're terrible at it." His gaze returned to the book, but in truth he had forgotten the last line he read before he was interrupted so suddenly.
Who reads a mystery without even trying to find out the killer? That was the thought that filtered through Micaiah’s mind as his eyes opened a fraction wider, displaying surprise – and yet his face continued to wear its unimpressed expression. He was not one so easily rattled, though it did make him wonder what sort of person he had stumbled upon. Mystery was a genre that encouraged reader participation, brought the audience into the story itself and invested in them the power to race against the detective in trying to pin down the perpetrator of the crime. It was a genre he had never particularly liked, though he had read through many of its most popular books over his lifetime: he disliked the challenge of it, the match of author versus reader. Give him an autobiography or some detailed analysis on the human condition: they existed only to inform and the only challenge provided was one he provoked himself into.
Micaiah’s mouth curled, and his teeth flashed in a cat’s smile. He wasn’t one for philosophy, and he wasn’t one for deductions. But the way this boy wielded his hand, as if the world was so easily deconstructed, made Micaiah want to bite back, his hunger momentarily forgotten in anticipation of a fight. Just the slightest hint of gold bled around his black pupils, smearing the violet of his irises – an indicator of his heightened emotions, stoked by the adrenaline that was pushing down his (admittedly poor) constraints.
“Wrong,” he proclaimed, when the boy had finished laying out his reasoning. “That works in mysteries, but regular human beings aren’t rational actors.” His hand lifted then, curled into a fist that he drove into the open palm of his other hand. “Maybe I just came over here to beat the shit out of you.”
His lips curled up higher, the smile he showed now a tiger’s challenging snarl.
[attr="class","appsub"]"what should I do tomorrow?"
[attr="class","appsub1"]"What should I do after tomorrow?"
[attr="class","appcat3"]"Oh." Kou's eyes had widened as he noticed the stranger's eyes change color ever so slightly. He breathed, "Well fuck me." What else was there to say? He was ninety percent sure that this boy was not aggressive earlier, but clearly he had underestimated him, and now his safety was being threatened. Oh boy, why him? Why couldn't he just have a day to himself where he was reading a novel and just letting his mind flow with the words? He wasn't going to apologize though, as he was sure that he said nothing overly insulting. The young man was pretty damn sure that it had to be one of the three choices...at first. Now that there was a tiny bit of conversation going on though (if one could even call it that), the factors had certainly changed.
Sure, there was a plan B: use his power to create an escape route, but if he had provoked this guy, then surely he could find a way to ease him back to a safer spectrum. It was unfortunate that he attempted a quip at someone who apparently had a short temper, or someone who had confidence in his abilities. Hm, this either meant he possessed some combat skills, or he was gifted like he. It could be both, for all he knew. Kou glanced around, but there was nobody within reach to call for help, and he guessed that he'd still get socked in the face before actual assistance would come. What a pickle.
Closing the book, he placed it beside him as he quickly leafed through the snacks he had bought not too long ago. Taking an educated guess, he pulled out a nice, clean ham sandwich, wrapped in transparent plastic and ready to eat. He outstretched the item towards the stranger with a straight face, "Peace offering?" He was dead serious, of course. He would rather give up some of his food rather than getting punched. He debated whether he should say that he was sure that the boy had not been planning to beat him up initially, but he figured it would be better to keep his mouth shut.
The tiger’s snarl eased off into a small smirk as the boy finally acknowledged Micaiah properly. He wasn’t an overly tall person, nor was he built in a way that hinted toward power – but he was scrappy, the type who had spent his boyhood years brawling with anyone who looked at him funny, spoke an unkind word against him, or simply crossed him on the wrong day. He was not one for diplomacy, and the truth of the matter was that in certain circumstances he could easily cross from being pushy into acting outright bullish.
But, like a bull, he reacted on a push and release system; the other boy had relented and so no longer posed a challenge toward Micaiah’s dominance. And he was a domineering person; Soleil, the leader of Aegis, had been one of the few people to force his own submission. Thinking on it, Micaiah snorted softly, taking a half-step back even as the other boy scrambled in his bag. The fight bled out of him almost as quickly as it had tightened his muscles, the gold in his eyes softening to a gentle yellow. Sharp, but no longer searing.
Still, that energy had to go somewhere, and Micaiah bit back a mocking smile as a sandwich was offered to him. How quickly you change your tune.
But it was food, and the ham beckoned him. He took it carefully, his fingers brushing against the other boy’s with a surprising lack of reaction to the contact.
“Thanks,” he said; manners be damned, he tore through the wrapping with nimble fingers and dipped his head, taking a smooth bite. His eyes scrunched in pleasure, the piece of food dropping into his stomach and chasing away the hunger that forever plagued him – if only for a moment.
With food provided, he was willing to be a bit kinder, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand as he added, “But you should be more… careful, with your words.” He took another giant bite, chewing through the sandwich quickly and swallowing. “Mouthing off is a good way to get punched.”
He cracked another smile, a dark humor coloring his words. “Not everyone is as kind as me.”
[attr="class","appsub"]"what should I do tomorrow?"
[attr="class","appsub1"]"What should I do after tomorrow?"
[attr="class","appcat3"]After one of his sandwiches had been snatched out of his hands, Kou decided that he might as well eat one of them as well. He needed something in his mouth to distract him from an almost terrible situation. The next sandwich happened to be tuna, which was fine--after all he picked out all of these himself. With relative ease he tore off the plastic, folded it up, and slipped it underneath the bag. He would throw it into a proper trash bin later, if he did not forget. Considering how the stranger ate his offering with gusto, he had figured the boy was definitely famished. Still, his red irises looked at him cautiously, knowing that if he tried something else he could get in trouble again. Man, it was much more fun earlier when there was no threat to him getting socked.
But Kou had no problem with adapting to situations that would sacrifice his dignity. He was not like those people that would readily fight even if they had little experience in it. He wasn't like those silly protagonists in cartoons that did not take kindly to being humiliated. No, Kou was practical, rational, and any other synonym for those terms. The cost between being punched versus one of his sandwiches was clearly a no-brainer.
"The same goes for you and your temper." Kou had muttered in between smaller bites. He decided not to follow up on another remark, despite the fact that he was very sure of himself that he wasn't mouthing off extensively. He had done worse than that; this boy just did not take kindly to a lick of it. He outstretched his hand and tapped the spot beside the bag, inviting him to sit on the bench. With the stranger's last words, he could not help but sneer and let out a little snort. "Kind? I've met better." He tried to constrain himself to loosen his cheeks. Words, Kou, words. This boy did not appreciate biting ones, so he should shift his angle. "Well, if you do not appreciate what I say, can I ask why did you approach me, then?" He was still willing to bet that it was the food, and if that were the case he was going to have a problem. What if this boy started becoming dependent on him for snacking? Did that mean he needed to avoid the campus from now on? There went one of the places he actually liked to lounge around in, but then he remembered that he worked part time here was a janitor, which pretty much sucked. He wanted to bang his head against the backrest of the bench.
Heck, he just realised that he didn't even know the kid's name. He was not planning to ask until it became necessary.
Micaiah smirked at the boy’s retort. He didn’t reply immediately, still intent on gulping down the sandwich. His eating habits weren’t overly sloppy, but it was the way he gorged himself – almost animalistic, taking great, gulping bites as if the food would be snatched from his hand at any moment. Being a human, he could not take the giant mouthfuls a tiger could make, but the desperate desire to defend his food was still there. It was only when he’d swallowed down the rest of his sandwich that he dropped his hands, crumpling up the remaining plastic and shoving it into one of his pockets.
At last, he clapped his hands. “Don’t be pouty. ‘sides, unlike someone, I’m not gonna back down from a fight.” He grinned, flashing his teeth like fangs before his mouth closed once more. The boy was a weird kid, in Micaiah’s opinion. The type to mouth off without considering the consequences, without the brawn to back up his words. Now that he’d figured out how the kid worked, though, he was more willing to let the boy’s words wash over him. Even if they bordered on insulting, the food had mollified him somewhat, and he only offered a cheeky grin.
“Weirdo, offering the guy who almost punched you a seat.” Despite his words, Micaiah plopped down with a hearty sigh, kicking out his feet in front of him. The sandwich had filled him up pleasantly, and he found himself stretching, spine kinking like a cat’s before he rolled his shoulders, a self-satisfied smile still stuck to his lips.
He lolled his head lazily to glance over at the boy beside him, wetting his lips. “Mmm,” he hummed, blinking slowly. He made a show of considering the other’s question, tipping his head back until he could view the trees that stood behind them before he finally rocked forward back to his original position. “Maybe you just looked lonely?”
He resolutely refused to acknowledge his desire for food; it was a matter of principle with him. But, because he was feeling better, he was kind enough to add, “My name’s Micaiah, by the way. What’s yours, sandwich boy?”
[attr="class","appsub"]"what should I do tomorrow?"
[attr="class","appsub1"]"What should I do after tomorrow?"
[attr="class","appcat3"]Kou rolled his eyes. "I know my limits, kid. Words are my preferred choice of combat." That probably sounded weird, but he was going to go with it. He'd glance at how fast the boy scarfed down the sandwich, but he still kept his slow pace. It wasn't like he was extremely hungry or anything, compared to this guy who seemed to have been craving for something--anything--for a day. Or maybe he just had that big of an appetite? He would probably never know. "It's better to eat when you're sitting down." he replied nonchalantly, even if the stranger had already finished the peace offering.
His movements reminded Kou of the stray cat that lived nearby his apartment. Now he couldn't get the image out of his mind: he was sitting beside a white, short tempered feline. That sort of made sense considering how quick he was to show his claws--oh no, the metaphors were kicking in. This was it, if he were to somehow maintain conversation, he was going to see him as a cat. Were they even going to see each other again after this? He rested his eyes on the other boy for a moment, trying to figure out the best response to him looking lonely. "I have trouble believing you wanted to make friends if your first reaction was to punch them." Of course, he knew that the reason this guy was provoked because of his words. Kou still believed that the reaction was unwarranted.
He had taken another bite of his sandwich, almost finishing it, when he properly introduced himself. Oh, he supposed he should do the same. "My name's Kou. Nice to almost get hit by you, cat boy."
Micaiah smirked back. “You know your limits, huh?” Softer, more to himself and dripping with gentle condescension: “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
He agreed that it was nicer to sit while eating – it was a luxury rarely afforded to him, though. Too often he found himself on the move, ranging across the districts. And there were the times when he was chosen for a double shift of patrolling; too often he’d find himself scarfing down snacks as he patrolled the glitzy District One – the guards that regularly showed their faces were unkind toward littering and were known to throw him dirty looks based off his appearance. He just didn’t fit in with their kind; they were the civilization to his wild.
But blue blood still bled red.
Micaiah blinked and said softly, “Thanks, then. Could have eaten standing up, but I still appreciate it.”
He turned his eyes back toward the boy, his eyes widening in surprise to find the other’s gaze resting on him. It was difficult to penetrate the depths of his scarlet irises, and Micaiah scowled back, a hint of red dusting his cheeks. “Maybe I wanted to make friends until you opened your stupid mouth,” he shot back, turning his head away with a sharp jerk.
“Kou, then,” he said sullenly, leaning forward until his elbows were resting on his knees, his chin in his cupped hands. He stared off into the distant, for a moment quiet as he came to a decision. At last, he pushed his hand out toward the other boy, palm up. “Another.”
After a moment, he added reluctantly, “Please.”
He didn’t think it was unreasonable – Kou was either dense or deliberately playing dumb. His words were definitely insulting, the kind that would normally encourage Micaiah to plant a few hard knocks to his kisser, teach him what being a smart ass earned if you weren’t willing to back it up with fists. But because of how willfully ignorant the other acted, he was more than willing to ignore the annoying little quips – assuming he got another sandwich.
Because he really did suspect the boy was just that sort of airhead, he added as an explanation: “Talk shit, get hit. Or pay the sandwich toll, and we can be best friends.”
[attr="class","appsub"]"what should I do tomorrow?"
[attr="class","appsub1"]"What should I do after tomorrow?"
[attr="class","appcat3"]Kou wasn't quite sure what cat boy meant when he seemed to muse about limits. After all, humans were clearly far from perfect. The body could only go so far without collapsing from hunger, thirst, or fatigue. It was practical to think about the boundaries of flesh. "I did not think of Hyperion to be very dangerous when I moved here, but clearly I was mistaken." he commented offhandedly. It was true that there had been a war here not too long ago, but media made it appear that the city had recovered since then, and that things were picking up. Still, when Kou about it, it had only been a decade or so since that traumatic event. Was this boy involved in the war? Suddenly he felt a tiny pang of pity. Maybe that was why he was so quick to resort to violence.
It appeared that this boy, while he certainly had the bark and bite to back himself up, was rather flustered in terms of social skills. That was fine, Kou had thought, since he wasn't exactly an expert in it either. He even did something "tsundere"-like, how cute. "That's a thought. Suppose I can appreciate the effort." He responded mildly, amused by the faint blush that tinted Micah's cheeks.
There was a period of small pause after that, and Kou easily finished the last bite of his sandwich. He was thinking of saying something that would let him continue reading, but before even considering how rude that could've been, the boy had spoken with his arm stretched out. A demanding pose. Kou furrowed his brows; the cogs in his mind moving as he tried to figure out the best response for this situation. He feared this, but he didn't think that the other would actually ask. Could he find it to convince himself that he had bought too much for his lonesome anyway? But he only had three other sandwiches and they were supposed to be for snacks when he got hungry...
But the prospect of getting punched was also something to consider. For a few seconds silence fell on them. "...fine, but I'm not made of money, you know." He should probably high tail it eventually unless he really wanted to give all of his sandwiches to this guy. With a sigh, he pulled out a simple cheese one and placed it on Micah's open palm. Kou's face was no longer amused. "If you're this hungry, why don't you buy something from the school cafeteria?" he asked, leaving out that it was quite a walk from where they were sitting.
The boy’s words rippled through Micaiah; his expression dropped, something dark swimming in the depths of his eyes.
Hyperion – dangerous? How wonderful, he mused, to know nothing of what had occurred before, to know nothing of the underbelly of Hyperion. To know nothing of the Gifted and the power that crawled through their veins, scorching them and twisting them into horrible, horrific animals, hellbent on destruction.
It was too easy for him to remember the days that had followed his parents’ deaths. The ruined District 13, the desperate flood of civilians into the innermost districts, desperate to be protected. The hellfire that had rained from the sky.
And now he was a beast himself, a creature of the night, a predator – a monster. Something inside him whispered the word, and he inwardly withdrew as if it had burned him. It wasn’t something he liked to think about.
“Yes,” he answered at last, his gaze distant. “Hyperion can be a very dangerous place. But it’s home.”
He was quick to snap out of it, though. There was no way he would let himself relax around a stranger, and he scowled back at Kou. “You should appreciate my efforts,” he snapped. “Imagine if I wasn’t around – then you’d just be some weirdo hanging out on campus, reading.”
As if he didn’t read himself. But, he would argue, at least he did it in the privacy of his own home.
Still, he was quick to lose the grim look, his brow smoothing and a grin flitting briefly on his face as he accepted the sandwich with greedy fingers. Briefly, he pulled the bread back, inspecting the contents. He wasn’t a huge fan of dairy – cat stomachs didn’t handle lactose well. But in his human form, it did him no real harm; it was just a leftover sense from his tiger form.
With a small hum of approval, he tore into the food. He was less ravenous in his devouring compared to earlier, but he was no less quick about it.
“Thank you,” he said between bites.
Then he was content to continue eating his sandwich, letting the silence drag between him. He broke it only when he had finished the meal, bringing his thumb up to drag his tongue along the pad of it, seeking out remnants of the food. Still hungry, he thought, but it was distant feeling now, less likely to intrude on his thoughts.
“Money’s tight,” he answered simply. “And I eat a lot. Tapeworm.” He flashed a mischievous grin.
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