((OOC:
lxdarknessxl said:
One, who seems to call himself 'Howl', looks like a teenage boy with wolf-like features.
^ Technically speaking, Houl is ten...
@Fallen - Hehe... I actually lol'd at Prophet Steel and his drug-induced reasoning... that cactus is a persistent little bugger, ain't it? =P
Also, I've somehow gotten myself confused as to where in the world everyone is, so apologies for those of you I mention in this post even though you're actually on the other side of the planet. =P ))
=^= Houl =^=
Silence. To kids, it’s a punishment. To librarians, it’s a virtue. But to mind readers, it’s a necessity for sanity.
Before the chaos that was the power-switch, Houl didn’t believe that Whiplash’s powers had any sort of downside. If he had known the truth, he would have offered his sympathy. In the dense population of humans around the city, thoughts were running rampant. Everyone and their grandmother had something to comment on, something to complain about, or something to say. And since no one was paranoid enough to guard their thoughts from psychics, their ideas ran loose, all funneling into Houl’s head with the velocity of a landing tornado.
He couldn’t take it. The current of thoughts running through his head was far too much information to take in at one time. Birthdays flashed behind his eyes, work schedules rang in his ears. The thoughts were so crowded that he just wanted to run into the middle of the chaos and tell everyone to shut up. But of course, such an act would only cause more thoughts to run loose.
Having fun? Peter asked. Houl glared at his voice and let out a low mumble. Honestly, he didn’t like his new companion. Whiplash was nice and funny and caring, and Peter was… a lot of unmentionable words. Houl didn’t need his ever-so-serious voice telling him that his plans were stupid and that he needed to focus in order to use his powers. He already knew that focus was necessary, and he also knew that his plans were far better than Peter made them out to be.
Sighing, he shifted his position under the dumpster, trying to spread himself out more thinly along the metal container’s bottom. It smelled particularly rancid in the place he had positioned himself, overwhelming yet another of his senses. His head pounded with an unbearable ferociousness only made worse by the lack of clean oxygen underneath the garbage. Still, he couldn’t leave his hiding place until Whiplash found him. Those men in the orange suits were probably still looking for him, and his wolf-like appearance would only help to narrow their search.
There was a slight pause before Peter spoke again.
… Have you ever thought about changing outfits? His words caught Houl by surprise; the ten-year-old lifted his head, struck by the thought and ultimately the bottom of the dumpster. Immediately he let his head fall back to the ground, and rubbed the spot of the impact with his free hand.
Changing his clothes? The thought had never come to Houl’s mind. His wolf-skin attire was completely of his own making, an extension of his animal-like qualities. It was a part of him, really; over the course of his years journeying from town to town, he had never taken it off. He’d bathed in it, hunted in it, ate in it… in fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he had not warn the outfit. Still, Peter had a point. So long as he looked like a wolf, he’d attract the stares of anyone near him… and, eventually, get himself captured.
He ran his fingers through the hair on the top of the wolfskin. It was rough and scaggily, covered by a thick layer or dirt – and dotted by splotches of blood and sweat. Honestly, it needed a good scrubbing, along with some shampoo and conditioner. At the very least, it needed to be soaked in a river for a few good minutes. He didn’t know of any bodies of water within the vicinity of the city. And it wasn’t like he could just walk in to any of the facilities humans had lying around…
How about this, then? Peter began,
We’ll find you something else to wear from one of the clothing stores around here. Then we can blend into the crowd and find a place to wash your… wolf… skin… Houl had to admit, it was a very good plan… But what would he do with the rest of his clothes while he was looking for a place to wash them? Surely he couldn’t just carry them around in his arms…
Carefully, he crept his head out from underneath the dumpster, looking around. Besides a rather ugly looking bird nearby, there wasn’t a single living soul around to see him. He crawled out from underneath the metal, stood up, and let his nostrils fill with the scent of clean, fresh air. There wasn’t a moment to waste; he needed his disguise to be completely foolproof by the time the orange suits arrived. He scampered behind the stores, taking care in dodging between buildings without being seen.
Finally, he spotted a place that carried human clothing. The back door to the store had been thrust open, allowing a rather burly man carrying a cigarette to stomp through. He stood in the middle of the street, his back to the door, puffing grey clouds into the air. Houl crept over to the doorway, his gaze swinging between the man and his feet. As soon as he hit the doorway, he leapt inside and scurried behind the wall, panting like the fugitive he was.
Silently, Houl waited to see if the man had noticed his movements; a quick inventory of the man’s thoughts was enough to convince him otherwise. He made his way through a hallway, glancing at the various rooms as he past. Different pieces of clothing, all fit in boxes, filled each crevice, but none of them matched his size. Sighing, he turned and walked into one of the storage rooms.
A small tower of boxes greeted him as he entered. After a quick check over his shoulder, he turned to the lowest of the boxes and began rifling through its contents. Nothing in it fit him; everything was too big. He turned to the next box, only to find that everything was too small, and set that box aside. The third box, however, was a jackpot; most of the clothes in here seemed just right, and he quickly pulled out a grey shirt and a dark blue pair of pants.
After another quick check to see if the man was coming, Houl switched the two outfits. The shirt he had picked was slightly too big, but he didn’t mind the length. The dark blue pants, however, had a rather mysterious feel to them – stiff, but still comfortable. Curious, he glanced at the label on the box. “R-E-T-U-R-N-S S-H-I-R-T-S J-E-A-N-S”, the words spelled out. J-E-A-N-S… je-ans, maybe? Well, whatever they were, they were comfy. He set the box to the side, ignoring the strange numbers written beneath the words.
Now, what could he hide his old clothes in? He turned for his routine check before checking the rest of the boxes. Clothes, clothes, clothes… he set each box to the side, creating a miniature tower to the left of him. Finally, he found was he was looking for – a backpack. Carefully, he picked it up and examined it. Stains lined the right side of the bag, stains he couldn’t quite identify… but besides that, it was perfect! Balling up the rest of his old clothes, he stuffed them inside the depths of the bag and closed it up tight so that no one could see inside.
By now, he had everything that he needed. Smiling, he sauntered out of the room, turning back into the hallway just in time to see the man with the cigarette heading toward the back door.
Oh, shoot! His thoughts rang through the cloud of other voices as he raced down the hallway toward the front of store and over to the counter. A wad of money sat on top of the counter; without thinking, he grabbed it and hurried off. He scurried behind a line of clothing hanging in the corner of the store, weaving his way between the cloth until he had lost himself in the sea of fabric and metal hangars.
It was inside this ocean of cotton and polyester that he found himself face-to-face with his own reflection. Though he had tried to give himself the appearance of an average ten-year-old, he had wound up looking like a street rat. The grey shirt he had picked out was fairly new, stylized with a pattern of spray-paint designs and dotted with various skulls. The je-ans were new as well, though they had faded in various areas along the legs. Houl himself, though, looked disgusting. His face was covered in streaks of dirt, sweat, and blood, and his hair, a ragged, tangled mess of dirty-blond, fell into his face. He brushed away the hair, peering at himself with his round, green eyes, and scratched at the dirt latched onto his cheeks.
There had to be some way to hide his face… Glancing at a nearby shelf, he spotted a grey-and-blue baseball cap sitting up above him. It took several tries for him to jump high enough and knock the cap off of its hangar; why was he always so short? Finally, he latched onto the hat and put it on, letting it fit snugly over his head. He pushed his hair into the cap; the only part of it that could be seen was by the open spot in the back of the hat.
He had just begun making his way to the front of the store when a voice stopped him. “Hey, kid!” Slowly, he turned to see the burly man from before towering over him. “You’re not planning on taking that hat without paying, are you?” From the tone of his voice, Houl could only guess what would happen if he said yes.
“…No,” he muttered, his gaze falling toward the floor. Smiling deviously, the man led him over to the counter, swiped the hat off his head, and rang it up on a register.
“That’ll be… nine ninety-nine,” the man declared, setting the hat back down on the counter. Houl’s eyes widened. Nine hundred and ninety nine dollars?! He stared at the money in his hands. Altogether, he had three pieces of paper; one had a 1 and a 0 on it, while the other two had 2s and 0s. He didn’t know how much that was, but it didn’t seem like enough…
Slowly, he took the wad of money in his hand and set it on the counter. “Um… here you go!” He stated, hoping that the man wouldn’t notice if he didn’t have enough. At the sight of the cash, the man raised an eyebrow. He picked up the money with care, examined the worth of the bills, and paused, as if contemplating what to do with it.
“… I think you need to work on your math a little bit more,” the man said with a smile, handing Houl the piece of paper with a 1 and a 0, and sticking the other two pieces of paper in the register. Houl stared at the money for a moment before stuffing it into his pocket. Not quite sure what to do, he stood there, looking at the hat, until the man pushed it over to him and gave him a gentle nod.
Taking the baseball cap, he pushed it back on his head so that it covered his hair, took one last look in a nearby mirror, and headed toward the entrance. As he pushed open the door, a wave of thoughts hit him, stunning him like a flash of bright light. Gosh, how did Whiplash stand all these thoughts buzzing through her head?! Groaning, he stumbled into the loose crowd and headed over to the middle of the town’s square.
As Houl stepped into the clearing, several familiar faces greeted him. Detour and her injured bears were sitting outside of the vet’s office, speaking to another man who responded by picked up one of the animals like a dumbbell. He caught a thought from the unknown super, one that explicitly mentioned the man’s intention to kill him should they ever engage in battle. Lowering the baseball cap over his face, he made out the ghostly form of Cadaver in his peripheral vision. She was speaking to a man in a Frankenstein mask… since they both looked rather undead, it seemed almost natural that they should be conversing.
Carefully, he backed away from the scene and. If the other Titans found him now, there was no telling what would happen. Better safe than sorry – at least in his state. Turning around, he examined the other end of the square. Most of the people were shopping, excluding a few sitting outside at a cybercafé nearby. Curious, he stepped closer to the people there, surveying the documents they were working on when a familiar face caught his eye.
Fallen Angel. A man had the birdman’s picture plastered up on the screen of his computer, if only for a moment. What was that man doing with a picture of Fallen Angel. He drew closer, trying to make out the words on the screen.
Suddenly, he was bombarded by thoughts. Prideful thoughts… they groaned about Fallen Angel’s antics. Then, they turned around, thinking about a large quantity of explosives being placed around the city. Houl caught the glimpse of the man’s affirmations – he considered himself a villain, through and through. His rant about Fallen Angel continued, but by this time, Houl had already slipped away and disappeared into the crowd.
He found a place on the ground, a good distance away from the Titans and the crazy man who wanted to kill Fallen Angel, and sat down, placing his backpack to his side. Putting explosives around the city… it was a vicious tactic, one that would kill off several hundred people. To think, that the man wanted to waste such good sources of food with a fireworks display! Houl shook his head. Such a waste…
Sighing, he turned his gaze to the people passing by. Sooner or later, Whiplash would find him, and then he could fill her in on everything. She’d know what to do about the crazy guy, since she seemed to know a lot about everything. Maybe she even knew of a good place to wash his wolfskin! He smiled a bit at the thought of her, looking into the crowd with the expectancy of seeing her face show up at any given moment.
Inventory (including animals under his control):
+ 10 dollars
+ Backpack
+ Wolfskin shirt and pants (in backpack)
