Nova Prime / Rich Rider (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
iamresponding) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
legionworld2016-01-02 08:59 pm
iamresponding) wrote in legionworld2016-01-02 08:59 pm
Entry tags:
Imagine There's No Heaven
Who| Rich Rider and YOU
What| Laying face down in the grass in Central Park like a goon
Where| Central Park in the Habitat area of the ship
When| Same day he woke up, natch
Warnings/Notes| Nothing really.
Rich hated being told to slow down. There was a part of him that was screaming at him to be on the move. After all, there had to be 8X8 planetary distress calls to answer; this universe was supposedly as much of a mess as his was.
But the medicos here refused to budge on the "you need rest and time to adjust, especially since you need to adjust to the prosthetic arm" thing so here he was resting and trying to adjust. Kind of. If tooling around the whole ship without stopping was the same as resting and adjusting. Because he couldn't seem to stand still.
Admittedly, even just walking was hard. The Nova Force was still there -- he could feel it -- but it was definitely diminished somehow and that meant his invulnerability and superstrength were gone. Without that pinpoint precision and body awareness it gave him at full capacity, his extremities were a little numb and he was clumsy as anything, just like he was the last time he'd lost the Nova Force.
So after a whole day of pacing around the ship from place to place -- and constantly tripping over his own feet as he did it -- he walked through Central Park (Central Park! Made just for him, reconstructed out of old historical records!) and tripped one last time over his own feet, practically falling on his face in the middle of Strawberry Fields, not far from the "Imagine" John Lennon memorial.
Then he just...stopped. Finally. Because he was alive and he felt grass on his face. How long had it been since he actually felt grass? So he kicked off his boots and socks, too, digging his toes into it.
He'd almost forgotten what grass felt like, but it was itchy and smelled green and earthy and non-sterile in the way everything in space didn't. And as itchy as it was, it was...nice.
Apparently, the Human Rocket could slow down for at least a little while. How 'bout that?
Since he was focusing a bit more on the grass and the light artificial breeze, and his own breathing (he was alive, he was breathing) he wasn't focusing on how it looked to be a grown man face down in the middle of a field.
Truth be told, it looked pretty ridiculous.
What| Laying face down in the grass in Central Park like a goon
Where| Central Park in the Habitat area of the ship
When| Same day he woke up, natch
Warnings/Notes| Nothing really.
Rich hated being told to slow down. There was a part of him that was screaming at him to be on the move. After all, there had to be 8X8 planetary distress calls to answer; this universe was supposedly as much of a mess as his was.
But the medicos here refused to budge on the "you need rest and time to adjust, especially since you need to adjust to the prosthetic arm" thing so here he was resting and trying to adjust. Kind of. If tooling around the whole ship without stopping was the same as resting and adjusting. Because he couldn't seem to stand still.
Admittedly, even just walking was hard. The Nova Force was still there -- he could feel it -- but it was definitely diminished somehow and that meant his invulnerability and superstrength were gone. Without that pinpoint precision and body awareness it gave him at full capacity, his extremities were a little numb and he was clumsy as anything, just like he was the last time he'd lost the Nova Force.
So after a whole day of pacing around the ship from place to place -- and constantly tripping over his own feet as he did it -- he walked through Central Park (Central Park! Made just for him, reconstructed out of old historical records!) and tripped one last time over his own feet, practically falling on his face in the middle of Strawberry Fields, not far from the "Imagine" John Lennon memorial.
Then he just...stopped. Finally. Because he was alive and he felt grass on his face. How long had it been since he actually felt grass? So he kicked off his boots and socks, too, digging his toes into it.
He'd almost forgotten what grass felt like, but it was itchy and smelled green and earthy and non-sterile in the way everything in space didn't. And as itchy as it was, it was...nice.
Apparently, the Human Rocket could slow down for at least a little while. How 'bout that?
Since he was focusing a bit more on the grass and the light artificial breeze, and his own breathing (he was alive, he was breathing) he wasn't focusing on how it looked to be a grown man face down in the middle of a field.
Truth be told, it looked pretty ridiculous.
no subject
"Where I come from, they look just like humans. For the most part, a demon could be sitting next to you and you might not even realize it."
For the most part. The soukoku were obvious exceptions, but enough of an outlier to not warrant a mention right then.
"The only difference is that they live much longer and that their brand of magic works differently. That's really all it is." Saralegui sighed, and by his obvious exasperation, it could be assumed that he'd probably given this lecture many times before. "Stories of the monstrousness of demons are just propagated by fear and warmongers."
cw: mention of domestic violence, abortion
He thought back to everything that'd happened to Vance.
"See, in my world, the mutants have powers but because they were born with them instead of getting them from some outside source like a lot of people, the public doesn't trust them. Like that makes any difference."
He rolled his eyes.
"Some of them look human and others look less human but they're all still people. But people treat them awful. Like my friend Vance is a mutant and he accidentally killed his father with his powers -- self defense. His dad was a rotten person that beat on him and his mom his whole life and the one time Vance fought back he accidentally used his powers and killed him." He frowned. "But it wasn't like his dad didn't have it coming. He was really laying into him, hurting him real bad, and Vance didn't mean to kill him, just to get him off him. Anyway, Vance got tried for murder and had to serve time in jail."
He pointed to himself.
"Meanwhile, I had a similar thing happen to me once. My pregnant friend's husband went crazy with jealousy and went after her with an ax and I accidentally killed him while defending her life. The police didn't even press charges. Never mind that Vance had dealt with his dad hurting him for years with no one stepping in."
He still maintained that his not being a mutant was the difference. The police and jury just didn't sympathize with a young mutant abuse victim. But Ginger Jaye had been a normal human -- and pregnant, at that -- and Rich was a normal human that'd gotten his powers another way, and that made all the difference in the world in the police and DA's eyes.
"People went on like he was this terrible monster and a murderer." He remembered when that anti-mutant group actually tossed an aborted mutant fetus at them when Vance was leaving lock up. He'd never been more disgusted with humanity before or since. "That's the difference. They treat mutants differently but they're not that different at all. Some of 'em even look the same."