scoutxselkies

[scoutxselkies]

isabela-dayal‌:

@scoutxselkies

“Scout, please focus!” She’d been interrupted so many times, that she’d lost count. Not just from the gibber gabber of the other- not that she minded their little banter from time to time. It’s just when she’d asked the lovely ankle monitored man for help, she was expecting to get some actual help from his adopted daughter��� or not adopted. She hadn’t the correct idea nor semblance of their relationship. Perhaps she could get to the bottom of that today. She’d handed the girl a set of gloves, yet she still was met with the sight of them upon her hands.

“Those are supposed to protect your nails from dirt. I suggest you put them on. Unless nail care is not of importance to you.”

With the edge of her own glove as it met at her wrist, she wiped a her brow from sweat beads that were already cascading despite the fall chills. The winter months were approaching and she was finding it hard to believe that she’d have time harvest the autumn vegetables in time. “We’ll start with the mustard greens and work our way to the broccoli. Then repot some new vegetables, deal?” 

Nail care? Scout glanced down at her fingernails. The whittled down nubs were painfully uneven in a way that reminded her of how the facility sheared her hair. They’d wanted their dog of the military bland, boring, and blindly patriotic. Certain investors become uncomfortable when weapons had personalities, and she’d never quite understood why.

“Aren’t deals supposed to be mutually beneficial?” she asked. Scout slipped on her gloves, if only to hide the state of her nails.  “Even Farmville gives you Farm Cash. That little shot of dopamine tickles my funny bone, and suddenly I’ve paid Facebook $10.99 just to chase the rush. Sometimes, I black out over rows of virtual cabbage.”

She thought about what the facility would if they could witness her squandering of potential, tapping mobile games during the commercial breaks of reality television shows. It would infuriate them. And so, her simple evenings with the ‘reformed’ thief next door made her immensely happy. “I should warn you that I’ve never done this before. At least, not in ways that don’t require double tapping,” she said. “I’d be more useful hopping the fence to bring you a cold beer.”

[scoutxselkies]

simonxmuhn‌:

“Drugs. Gangs. Whatever it is, I don’t have time for any of it,” Simon scowled. He’d heard the news of the mayor’s accusations and didn’t believe it for a minute. Not because he blatantly disliked the mayor (although he wouldn’t consider himself a member of her fan group) but because he had sourses of his own that told him otherwise. And Simon couldn’t do much about it, not without exposing himself or his sources to the public.

So instead, he’d sit and wait and focus on more time-pressing manners: grading rough drafts of final research papers. The pages never seemed to end. And while Simon was far from an English professor…the grammar some of his students used made reading their papers regarding basic introductions of language made it all the more impossible. And the gust of wind that blew part of his finished stack away threatened to make sure he’d never finish.

“Hey –” Simon called out to pedestrians down the sidewalk, hoping one would stop to grab the few papers that fluttered in the wind. “– Grab that for me, will you?”

Scout stormed down the sidewalk with hunched shoulders and her hands jammed into her jacket pockets. Today had been a refresher course on why she would never, ever be a vigilante. And now she was aching to go home, raid Gilbert’s liquor cabinet, and let some smooth gin nurse her bruised ego. 

Scout stomped on a handful of papers with blood-splattered sneakers. Smudged dirt left a strong shoeprint across the papers, but that wasn’t her problem. “Yeah, I guess I could lend you a hand,” she said. Slowly, she took her hands out of her pockets. They were about the size of a KFC spork. 

Their size made it a pain in the ass to grab the papers, but she made do with what she had and held out the papers. “Hey, my eyes are up here,” she said.    

[scoutxselkies]

redjcnny‌:

She wasn’t meeting Jenny’s eyes, not on purpose, but it seemed like the stranger couldn’t. This was familiar to Jenny, she’d arrested plenty of people that had done so many whippits (usually combined with a mish-mash of other drugs) that they could barely meet her eyes and she’d have to wait for them to come down to question them. “As far as your concerned, I’m your Sheriff now.”

In vino, veritas though and she knew the same was probably true with drugs. “Did you slip something into the food?” Now Jenny was frustrated, she grabbed the woman by the front of her shirt, partially a purely emotional response, but it was also to make sure the woman didn’t tip over. Still, Jenny tried to meet her eyes. It was a habit. “What’s in the food?”

When she went on further, Jenny’s eyes rolled and she dropped her hands from where they clung to the stranger’s shirt, but kept an arm out to catch her in case she fell. “Okay, I don’t think any of that is actually considered poison. Now, tell me your name. And don’t say you’re the Hamburglar, or I’ll lose it.”

Words tumbled from her mouth and any sense of self-censorship failed under the drugs’ influence. Scout had always been a terrible liar, both with and without BLISS’ placating effects. “Me? No, I’m more of a pot brownie kind of woman,” she said. She righted herself with a groan of effort, keeping her chin up long enough to finally meet Jenny’s gaze. “Nothing good for freaks.”

Getting involved would ruin her chance at normalcy. Right now, she was indistinguishable from any other young adult in the room. She could be an average twenty-something growing out a bad haircut, an immature kid with a gap-toothed grin and permanent chip on her shoulder. Nobody had to know she was a mutant. Nobody had to know she was a lab rat, a clone. She wanted her identity to be ambiguous, and she’d much rather be kicked out of a party for being an everyday asshole than some extraordinary freak of nature. 

“Let’s keep all hands off the merchandise,” she said, brushing off her costume. “I’m saving myself for Maid Marian.” Scout could only imagine how intoxicated she sounded, slurring through her words and causing a scene. Her tongue poked the inside of her cheek and she drew an impatient breath before answering: “Well, which name do you want? I’m kinda digging being the Hamburglar.”

She took one wobbly step forwards. Or was that one wobbly step backwards?  Scout wasn’t sure anymore.

“So, I’m gonna make like a banana and split,” she slurred. “My work here is donezo. I’ll catch you on the flippity flip, Sheriff.”  Deep down, she knew that even Gerald could stop her piss-poor escape attempt with both arms tied behind his back. But, she was growing worried that someone from the Selkies Project would eventually recognize her under the costume and food crumbs. 

[scoutxselkies]

redjcnny‌:

A criminal with the energy of a sugar powered four year old was nothing new to Jenny. She had dealt with plenty of them in Jacksonville, she just imagined that she wouldn’t have to nearly as much in New Arkansas. Of course her first big event in the city would be put on pause by the fucking Hamburglar. Jenny stuck a single arm out, ready to lightly clothesline the offender and catch them in her arms, but they were more off balance than Jenny originally anticipated and everything went crashing down.

The robe of her boxer costume got olive oil on its hem when Jenny squatted down, an eyebrow raised and ready to interrogate and thoroughly reprimand the food thief. “A favor.” Jenny deadpanned. “By stealing their food. Free food, might I add,” she said, gesturing to the platters that were slowly being decimated by the guests. Jenny made eye contact with the stranger, waiting for a flash of their eyes. “I’m not going to tell you to give this food back, but I think you should make Gerald and his Merry Band of Geriatrics a new plate.” Her expression turned curious. “What’s the point of stealing the food when it’s free?”

Blurred doubles of party guests danced behind her eyelids, their vivid colors bleeding out from their silhouettes like the print of a wet magazine. She swallowed back the bile burning her throat. “And who are you supposed to be, huh?” she asked. “The Sheriff of Nottingham?”

After a nauseated moan, her eyelids fluttered open. Her unfocused gaze flitted between both the real and hallucinated Jenny. “I’d ixnay the oodfay if I were you, Sheriff,” she said. “This food’s loaded with poison his pacemaker isn’t equipped to handle.” 

Scout forced herself into a sitting position, wobbling and struggling to balance with the amount of drugs coursing through her system. Her body would process it  -- any brain bleeding would sort itself out, her irregular heartbeats would quell, and she’d be back to her normal self -- eventually. Whether that would be in ten minutes or ten hours, however, only time would tell. But for people like Gerald? In Scout’s opinion, Zombie and Bliss may as well be toxic waste. 

“Ever heard of high fructose corn syrup? Red dye number forty, anyone? Gluten?” she said. “Free or not, he should thank me for taking it off his hands.”

[scoutxselkies]

blind-man-mordecai‌:

Mordecai blinked behind his goggles, taken aback by the woman. She was obviously drunk…or high? It was hard to tell. And without really being able to see facial expressions Mordecai only felt concern. “Are you ok?” He asked, cocking his head a little. “Perhaps you should sit down…”

“Being okay is relative,” she said. “Still, it’s not like I’m gonna drop dead on the dance floor.” Scout’s breath came in quick, sharp inhales and she clutched her chest. Fingers going numb, the hat slipped from her grip and landed on the man’s shoes. “Whoo, mama’s having a heart attack,” she mumbled.

The excess of Zombie and Bliss outpaced her healing factor, shutting her body down until she could regenerate. She knew the process couldn’t kill her -- after all, she’d been the most popular guinea pig at the compound whenever the scientists’ new substances needed a trial run. Nevertheless, it wasn’t pleasant feeling like a hydraulic press was crushing her upper body. “I mean, uh, it’s probably just heartburn,” she said. “Got any Tums? Oh, but don’t bother if they’re cherry flavored.”

[scoutxselkies]

Three strokes later, the Hamburglar was back on their bullshit. The appetizers cradled against her chest stained her jailbird costume with marinades and dipping sauces. Food stains wouldn’t win the costume contest, but she supposed one could argue that a smattering of ketchup enhanced her outfit’s authenticity as a McDonald’s character. 

Gliding on a pair of bubblegum pink Heelys, she swerved past an elderly benefactor and plucked his drink right out of his hands. She chugged the punch, clicked her tongue at its artificial sweetness, and tossed the emptied cup behind her. Her body’s healing factor could detoxify a little Bliss and Zombie without too much of a hassle. “Keep up with the aspirin regimen, Gerald!” she said. “And stay away from sugary drinks.” 

Scout didn’t consider her actions heroic. Judging by the offended uproar she skated away from, she’d sooner be considered an asshole than a hero by popular consensus. But nevertheless, she endured the complaints, the oregano flakes sticking to the fuzz of her costume, and the cool slip of olive oil seeping through her shirt sleeve. 

Someone attempted to stop her -- from, presumably stealing from the elderly -- and as Bliss effected her balance, she fell. Food tumbled out of her hands. Browned, plump domes of portabello mushrooms rolled across the floor, their toasted breadcrumb and crab meat stuffing spilling. Golden garlic knots left streaks of olive oil on the ground, a teriyaki skewer hit the ground with a wet smack, and rings of deep fried calamari flaked everywhere. 

Scout groaned.

“Look, I did Gerald and his Merry Band of Geriatrics a favor.” 

[scoutxselkies]

blind-man-mordecai‌:

So far, so good. Mordecai mused from his standing position on the outer rim of the party, watching over everyone as they mingled, talked, interacted, laughed, and enjoyed the catering. Mordecai had gone back and forth on if it would be worth it to push aside the medical tape enveloping his face to dip into the drink and food, but he wasn’t to a point where he absolutely needed it. After all, he had a larger late lunch with the super intendant of the local school district of possibly introducing mutant history into the local curriculum. It had went well, but he would have to wait to see what the other said. Mordecai was just quietly listening to those talk around him and walk, getting an idea of how many people were around when someone bumped into his shoulder. “Oh! My apologizes!” He mused, his voice warm and kind. 

“Move it or lose it, King Tut!” she slurred. “Security’s looking for whoever clogged the toilets with stuffed mushrooms, and I can’t defend myself because I’m orbiting the fucking rings of Saturn.” Scout clumsily readjusted the black, wide-brimmed hat on her head and stumbled. Consuming too much Bliss was catching up to her. Her heartbeat spiked as her vision dissolved into a blur of candy corn lights, and the garlic knots she’d eaten earlier felt like stones in the pit of her stomach. She knew she must’ve looked intoxicated -- especially when she yanked off her Hamburglar hat, flipped it over, and dry heaved into it.

[scoutxselkies]

subject152‌:

“Vomit guy…?” finn echoed, dazed. the majority of his mental power was focused on not losing control. especially not around this many people. he didn’t know what he’d do if he hurt somebody. his eyes finally looked up at the person who had spoken, tilting his head slightly. she was familiar. 

as their arms linked together, he automatically flinched from the contact, yet held on tightly after a moment. she didn’t seem to mean harm, and her presence was helping ground him. finn let her lead him away from the sea of bodies, clinging to her form like a life raft, taking deep breaths in an attempt to keep calm. his eyes clenched shut before opening several moments later, relieved that nothing seemed to be floating. 

when they got to the clearing, he felt his heart rate finally slow down slightly, clarity returning. he attempted to break away from the hold and was surprised to find her grip on him firm. don’t panic. “It wasn’t because of me bumping into you,” he finally replied, tone confused, still gaining his bearings. “Who is the…vomit guy?” finn didn’t quite understand what was happening or what interest she had in him. his gaze lingered on her for several moments. “Do I know you?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” she replied. Scout studied the crowds before loosening her hold, now linking arms like old friends rather than the steel of a chain-link fence. “I’ll try to phrase my next question as delicately as possible, alright?” she said. “Then you’re free to go take some antacid or puke into a popcorn bucket.”

Her vigilant gaze scanned the crowds once more, glossing over mothers with festival balloons tied to strollers and old couples settling into lawn chairs. It was only a matter of time before Thalia initiated recovery efforts to recoup trust in the program; impatient investors and upset generals were applying pressure. The escape had cost them more than missing mutants -- missing marvels of modern science -- no, it had cost them dollar signs. Scout leaned in lowering her voice and hoping the festival commotion would apply an added layer of protection over their conversation. 

“Does the word ‘Selkies’ mean anything to you?” she asked. “You know, those stick-in-the-mud bastards who wouldn’t let us read the last Harry Potter book? Or was that punishment unique to me? Shit, I still need to know how that ends.” Scout bit her bottom lip, taking a moment to revel in her tangent and release the young man’s arm. “I’m Seventeen or well, that’s who I was,” she said. “But more importantly, I swear if you spoil the ending of Harry Potter I will make your life hell on earth whether we’re allies or not.” 

[scoutxselkies]

francis-wan‌:

“You probably should have cleaned that bad boy out before–” he took a step to try and examine the scene further. the stranger was successful in pulling his attention away from that cheese booth, despite Scout’s obvious means of delaying their meeting “…placing it on your head.” his face contorted with disgust as he surveyed the line of pumpkin juice trailing the skin. a grimace on his face held a feigned sympathy for the other’s discomfort. “Let me–”

he began to dig in his pocket for a kerchief to help prevent the leak. “Help you there.” it was oddly uncharacteristic of him to try and prevent further mess, though in the public eye, he was no more than a family friendly stranger enjoying a family friendly festival.. “Tell me, what exactly were you thinking in pulling a pumpkin over your head. Can you eve breathe under there?” after patting the spot dry, he suggested in a rather serious tone, “Come, now. Let’s get pumpkin juice out of your hair as well.” 

Convincing lying required a sense of urgency and consequence, two things that an immortal with a devil-may-care attitude lacked. Scout was a mediocre liar; the scientists knew it, the military knew it, and even Thalia Kim knew it. So why, she thought to herself, was her first instinct to do a terrible impression of Hannah from The Bachelorette? 

“Bold of you to assume I have hair,” she said. Her pitiful imitation was a far cry from Miss Alabama’s iconic sweetheart drawl, and she winced after every word. Her shoulders too, were stiff from tension as Francis’ patted them dry. “Oh, don’t you feel like you need to fuss over me!” she said. “My creative vision for the pumpkin carvin’ contest didn’t turn out right. At least pumpkin juice is just as great for your outsides as it is your insides. Heck, by the time I’m a done fermentin’ under here, my skin’s a going to be a glowing.” 

Scout wanted to slap her pumpkin forehead. Somehow she’d gone from impersonating Hannah Brown to Nintendo’s Mario. 

“That’s a lil trick from my pageant days,” she said. “Anyway, I must be going to the ladies room, now. Thank you for being such a gentleman.” 

[scoutxselkies]

nevralselkie‌:

though she hadn’t been here of her own volition, practically dragged out from her usual scene of comfort ( mainly, the bar ) in an effort to make her ‘socialize more’, there was little denying there were worse choices out there than darts. it was definitely ‘the thing’ for alya, if nothing else. she knew the rules, was good enough to go pro — or she’d been told by a man in a drunken stupor with an untrustworthy gaze one evening way back when. she had fewer complaints than expected. but oh, man. that crowd out there. unless absolutely necessary, she refused on all counts to step away from her booth — primarily in fear of causing an undue scene and ruining what had been a semi-decent sort of day in a way. she had enough going on in her life, generally speaking, without adding more stress to it, thank you very much. 

she busied herself presently with setting up a clean board for the next set of players, removing all the past tries and filling up more balloons for popping, rearranging prizes. that sort of thing. in all her limited motion and activity, she hadn’t noticed right away that someone else had joined her across the way, shifting in slight surprise at the shadow that greeted though barely looking away from the task at hand. “you’re going to need to give me a minute. i have a few more of these, sorry.”

“Is that giant teddy bear the grand prize?” she said. Scout pointed to the massive plush stuffed into a prize rack too small. “I always wanted one of those things, but they were never practical.” The toy’s dangling limbs obscured smaller prizes like the row of novelty backpacks, the scent of their factory plastic so pungent that she smelled it from the other side of the table. 

Scout’s palms slammed against the booth. The loud smack attracted attention from busybodies with upturned noses and raised eyebrows. Her words were jovial, spoken like a childhood friend delivering the punchline of an inside joke. It was her eyes that betrayed her, alight with a lifetime’s worth of misplaced anger twisted in all the wrong ways. “The problem was that my doctor and his spineless assistant hated me having any working fingers, hands, or arms to hold one with.”

Slowly, she slid her palms towards herself and took the table’s edge hostage in a white-knuckled grip. Two backpacks had fallen from the prize rack due to the booth shaking, but the bear was still wedged in place. “Might as well just give me the bear, huh?” she said. “You know I won’t miss.” 

And she wouldn’t. It was part of her design after all, a culmination of gene editing and ethically questionable procedures that resulted in a successful clone. “Cough it up,” she said. “I want the fucking bear.”

[scoutxselkies]

oranccn‌:

Admittedly, he was a bit taken aback by her response but couldn’t help pressing out a small smile at her honesty. It was rare these days, finding someone that regardless of your emotions, they’ll tell it to ye straight. And clearly, she was going through something heavy. His eyes narrowed in amusement at her choice of foods, but decided it was best not to question it, considering the state of her. “Definitely not a meteor,” he said quietly in his placid Irish brogue, his eyes flicking to the television above the espresso bar. He almost said more, almost told her about the extent of his power but it was something still so difficult to do, even with being in New Arkansas now. He just wasn’t used to it. He was used to seeing his kind get killed for the mere mention of the word mutant. Anyway, he was sure she could care less, considering her demeanour. The barista handed him his card again and he took it, stuffing it back into his wallet, watching her fade off to the back of the house. He nodded at the woman’s mention of the news, the words: will mutants ever be safe? scrolling along the bottom of whatever it was being reported. “It’s unfortunate. Shouldn’t have to be that way.” He looked at the television again, “I was just reading about it on the Huffington Post.” He shook his head, “two kids in Connecticut.”

Scout’s gaze fell from the television screen to the tabloid magazines on the counter, pages spread open to the latest gossip. The misfortunes of Big Mike and Pilot Pete would have to wait. Complaining about reality television while such somber news stories droned in the background would be, as Gilbert had once called it, a ‘dick move’. She refrained, instead twirling a strand of hair until she’d practically knotted her index finger against her scalp. 

“Uh yeah, a real shame how things turned out,” she said. Her face scrunched in an expression she hoped appear empathetic, but came across more like she was trying to read fine print without glasses. “What’s real tragic is that they went after some kids without offensive powers -- or maybe, even reliable powers,” she said. “I mean, nobody in their right mind is going to risk getting laser beamed to death in the middle of a fist fight. Whoever did it must’ve known they had the upper hand.” 

She struggled to unwind her finger out of the knot she’d created in her hair. “I’d like to see somebody try that on me,” she said. Scout laughed, bitter and sweet with an accidental snort at the end. There was a small gap between her front teeth that her healing factor wouldn’t correct. In the compound, she joked that the government didn’t offer any decent dental plans for clones; they weren’t going to waste eighteen months power negating a multi-million dollar asset because she wanted braces. 

“They’d be in for a real treat,” she added, under her breath. “Especially if they’d make me miss Dancing With the Stars.” 

[scoutxselkies]

oranccn‌:

The glasses, utensils and ceramic dishes shaking and clinking together raised no indication to Oran that he had been the one causing the ground beneath the coffee shop to quiver. He was far too lost in the Huffington Post article on his phone, courtesy of a Mutant’s Unite Facebook group member, that was titled: Two Mutants Murdered, Found Near Westport Train Station in Connecticut. The more he read of the article, the angrier he became, and that was the last emotion Oran wanted to feel in a café full of mutants enjoying their morning coffee. Or at least…he assumed they were mutants. This was New Arkansas, after all. Unfortunately for him, anger was an emotion he felt more often than he liked. …bodies of two teenagers, Henry Jacobsen and an unidentified Caucasian male of about 18, beaten- he stopped, feeling his heart beat faster and his breathing become shallow. Placing his phone onto the surface of the table, his jaw clenched, he inhaled through his nose on a count of four, then held it for seven and released on eight. He did it again, mentally reciting the numbers as his mother taught him, four…seven…eight, exhale and before he could go again, he heard a girl’s sharp scream behind him and the smash of a plate full of food ahead. Oran’s eyes shot up to the coffee bar in front of him, realizing now that glasses were clinking against forks and mugs were clinking against plates. “Shit,” he muttered, standing suddenly. Reaching the person who’s plate of food it was that fell. “Here, let me pay for that.” He looked at one of the barista’s, handing them his credit card. “Could we just get another one of these, er,” he looked at the plate of food at his feet, the rumbling of the café finally coming to a halt. “Sorry, what was it you were eatin’?”

“My feelings,” she groaned. That morning, terrible news was broadcast across every media outlet she cared for: Pilot Pete had been selected as the new leading man on The Bachelor instead of her personal favorite, Big Mike. It was all she could think about, even as cafe patrons dove under their tables screaming. “Get me another Big Apple -- extra cinnamon, whipped cream on top -- because I’m struggling right now.”

Scout wasn’t oblivious to the anti-mutant headlines sandwiched between celebrity interview segments, nor was she ignorant to the rise in mutant crime. She chose to ignore them. Despite being a mutant, her conscience never festered in guilt. There were plenty of masked crusaders trying to make a difference, and they were welcome to change the world. She wasn’t one of them -- those vigilantes, those heroes, those whatever they liked to be called. No, she was a normal woman who wanted the Big Apple Pancake while she skimmed tabloids.

“And a parfait,” she said, nodding at the barista. “Could you sprinkle M&M’s on top of the chocolate sauce, too?” By now, the cafe patrons began their tentative crawls out from under tables and finished videotaping their experience with the ‘earthquake’. She sat on the only stool not tipped onto the floor by the shaking, and that was because she’d gripped the counter when the tremors started. 

Scout’s eyes were a timeless brown, like a treated cherry wood dresser and just as glossy. The thought of ordering an extra dessert crossed her mind, but a glance at the man’s troubled expression convinced her not to press her luck. Instead, she wistfully sighed at the food splattered across the floor. “What’s next, a meteor?” she said. “I wouldn’t doubt it with a shitty morning like this. I mean, have you seen the news? I’m surprised people put up with the injustice of it all.”

[scoutxselkies]

subject152‌:

breath in. breath out. the bodies around him were suffocating, and finn felt regret swirling around his stomach. why did he even come to this…thing? the function of the event was still somewhat lost on him. something about exchanging goods but also entertainment? somehow he had lost his twin in the sea of people, and his only goal since was to find them. part of him was fascinated by the crowd, full of humans who all looked and acted so very different than anything he was used to. yet, another more overwhelming part of him was terrified. terrified to be there alone, terrified that somebody would realize finn didn’t belong.

stopping in the middle of the path, his eyes searched for his twin, breath picking up. several passersby sent him annoyed looks, attempting to get around him. when a body collided with his, his eyes turned downward in fear. “’m sorry…” he muttered, taking several steps backwards, attempting to keep his powers in check.

“Hey, aren’t you that acidic vomit guy?” she asked. “Could’ve sworn I’ve seen your face before.” Scout tilted her head, causing chestnut brown locks to graze her shoulder. He seemed familiar, if not from a compound computer screen then perhaps from the night of the breakout. But, it was difficult to study the face of someone’s whose gaze wouldn’t leave the floor.

Scout bounded to his side within seconds and linked their arms together, not-so-gently pulling him outside the flow of the crowd. The muscular tone to her body, which held its own despite her short stature, was hidden under a lose, strawberry pink hoodie. She’d gotten tired of people’s questions, and she’d gotten tired of spoon-feeding them excuses about bodybuilding and shooting ranges. Nevertheless, it was so much easier pretending to be a gym rat than explaining she was a clone genetically designed to check-off the boxes on the military’s wish list. 

Scout pulled the kid until they were on a square of clover-patched grass between two competing apple cider booths. She kept their arms linked, her’s rigid to prevent the kid from breaking free and running away. “If you are the acidic vomit guy, then we gotta find you a bucket because you’re looking green around the gills,” she said. “Do you always look like you’re gonna hurl when you bump into someone?”   

[scoutxselkies]

francis-wan‌:

the fresh crisp autumn air whirling overhead and in his lungs created a warm sensation in the pit of his stomach as he continued to walk through aisles of booths. vendors’ smiling faces were equally warm, but it didn’t stop the eerie sensation that crept behind his ear. the feeling of being constantly watched and the paranoia of freedoms being taken away had him on slight edge. his demeanor, however, would betray that. perusing a rather smelly cheese booth, he’d taken a toothpick of sample and savored the quick chew.  and to the person next to him? he spoke, “Now all we need is wine and I’d call this festival a success. Don’t you think?”

Francis was here. It wasn’t what he was capable of that frightened her -- no, she’d recovered from over a dozen cases of smallpox and black plague in his presence over the years. What frightened her was the people he could call, the ones angry they couldn’t make bank tearing her to pieces and selling her like used car parts. So, Scout had no choice but to do what any sensible escapee would do: she put a pumpkin on her head.

The frantically carved eye holes were wonky. And if she was being honest, the overbearing smell of pumpkin guts was getting old fast. She’d hoped that she could sneak by him unnoticed, but he’d caught her. Well, he caught mouth-less, pumpkin head her with only one eye hole carved in the right spot.

Scout shrugged in response to his question. A scoop of pumpkin goop and seeds slid down her neck.

“Fuck,” she thought. “I’m leaking.” 

[scoutxselkies]

Hello everyone, I’m Beanie & it’s absolutely wonderful to meet you all! I’m very excited to bring this Walmart Deadpool  muse to the roleplay! Under the cut, you’ll find some background information and character traits about Scout. Who’s ready for clone shenanigans, lost fingers regenerating in cafeteria chili, and zany mutant antics!?! :D

| B A C K G R O U N D |

🚑 Fellow mutants from the compound may know her as Seventeen, a nickname she stubbornly gave herself to draw attention to the cloning program she was created from. There were sixteen other clones deemed “successes” to varying degrees. However, each had been relocated to organ harvesting tanks once they were made obsolete by the creation of a superior clone. 

🚑  Scout's project was an intended blueprint for future super soldiers, and thus she’s been combat trained to her limits. Not only could she totally give John Wick a wedgie, but she’s an excellent marksman and can march like nobody’s business. The program convinced her to strive for high performances by stating if she remained an “important asset”, then she would not be replaced by future clones. However, she realized years later that the scientists had lied to her. 

🚑 Scientists improved the regenerative healing factor with each clone. Scout’s mutation is the most advanced they’ve produced yet, but the near-immortality comes with multiple drawbacks that scientists hoped to eradicate with the next batch of clones. Her younger clone, whom she calls Eighteen, is still trapped inside the compound. 

🚑 Eighteen is a mere, nine year-old girl innocent to the bleak future of all clones and is often seen carrying a Mr. Potato Head toy. Since her grand unveiling, the scientists have pitted her against Scout in hopes a rivalry will encourage both their mutation’s development. Scout instead began exhibiting a protective, sisterly attitude that disappointed her creators. She preferred keeping Eighteen ignorant to the specifics of their future within the program, and was cautious never to misplace her anger upon Eighteen.

🚑 Scout was aware that the program couldn’t cause her permanent harm -- at least, not while she hadn’t been categorized as obsolete. No matter how gruesome the experiments or harsh her training, she knew that her mutation would keep her alive. Living a life of little consequence caused her to develop a facetious sense of humor that targeted scientists, guards, and her fellow inmates on the daily. She’s hardly ever serious, much to the dismay of others, and has repeatedly treated Thalia Kim’s endeavors like a joke. Scout occasionally cheered up Eighteen with trouble-making antics. Apart from that, her shenanigans were mostly for her own amusement and the only form of rebellion she could exhibit without jeopardizing her standing as an important asset. 

🚑🚑🚑 tldr; local clone with john wick-tier combat skills & marksmanship lived under constant threat of being replaced by newer, improved clones. being deemed obsolete would mean a semi-conscious immortal life of floating in an organ harvesting tank. copes with stress, fear, and the sensation that nothing matters by being kinda a dick.

| P O W E R S | 

🚑 for this blatant wanda wilson audition, i have given her deadpool powers

🚑 REGENERATIVE HEALING FACTOR: The ability to heal and regenerate oneself, even from life-threatening injury or presumed death. I think I wrote out her strengths and weaknesses best on her application, so I’ll drop a link to that HERE !!!

🚑 She relied on a specially designed painkiller while living in the compound to manage her pain, one of the drawbacks of her ability, and is running low on supply.

| L I F E  ON  THE  O U T S I D E | 

🚑 She escaped during the summer breakout three months ago, and is currently rooming with a reformed thief serving his final days of house arrest. Gilbert was seasoned criminal, occasionally rendezvousing with the band of villains when their needs intertwined. Scout’s presence technically break one of the terms of his deal: no unauthorized visitors allowed. 

🚑 Gilbert was the one who came up with the nickname “Scout”; he caught her intruding in his house, rummaging through his pantry & eating his stock of Girl Scout Cookies. 

🚑 Since her escape, she’s become quite fond of reality television (she’s a member of Bachelor Nation 😎 ), gummy candy snacks (Gushers and Trolli 4 life), and generally feeling entitled to having fun. 

🚑 Scout avoids involvement with mutant politics and infighting, choosing instead to live an ordinary, civilian life that’s as mundane as possible. This is a final act of rebellion against her creators: the seemingly wasting of her mutation’s gift of near-immortality. Between her bouts of stubbornness, however, she grapples with questions about her existence, her purpose being alive, and cyclical guilt about her mutation.

| C O O L  R A N C H  P L O T  I D E A S |

🚑 I don’t have any preset plots for her at the moment, but I’d love to brainstorm, check out everyone’s plot pages, & reply to a bunch of open starters to see how things develop organically! If you have any plots in mind or think Scout would fill a good wanted connection for your muse, NEVER FEEL SHY ABOUT MESSAGING ME~! <3 <3 <3 I promise I’m super friendly & am ALWAYS down to get #lit with character angst & silliness! :D :D :D I PROMISE THAT I’M JUST A BIG MEME!

🚑 I’m working on a premade plot page for her, and will probably post a link to it OOC once it’s ready! Until then...check me spying on all your muse blogs & sneaking into your DMs with plot bunnies! ;D

[scoutxselkies]