Dark filters

Who: Porter
Where: His house
When: just after school

In contrast to a large portion of the student body, Porter had actually been in an okay mood all day. Sure, he felt a little bad just for being in a good mood? But he hadn't known any of the people who'd died, their deaths and mourners were an abstract thing for him to witness. But with the lax pace of classes for the day, he'd managed a lot of reading from the book he'd picked up at Nevermore. It was fascinating stuff, too; the personal account of the author, who claimed to be like Porter, and detailed records of a few other cases as well. It seemed to flesh out theories about what they were, but never really had any answers for why. Still, it was such compelling stuff that all Porter wanted to do was get to his room and keep reading.

Heading up the front steps and inside, Porter shrugged his backpack free, struggling out of his sweatshirt without breaking his pace. "Mom! Carter! I'm home!" he yelled, intent on saying more until he uncovered his eyes and saw the boxes. They were neatly stacked by the stairs, still sealed and bearing shipping labels. "Yes!" he blurted instead of asking the seemingly-empty house about dinner, rushing over to grab them all. He'd spent some time online on Saturday, and one-day shipping was a godsend when you were an impatient sixteen year old. He'd only barely gotten the first one in his grip when footsteps carried down the stairs, gradually revealing his stepdad descending.

"Hey champ," Carter said with a little nod, smiling faintly at the box in Porter's grasp, "Couldn't wait until Christmas to open presents, hey?" Porter managed a little smirk in kind, shaking the box in his hands lightly. "Just saw some stuff online I wanted to get," he explained lightly, shrugging his shoulders, "And I have some designs for new shirts and stuff? So the money'll be right back." He wondered why he was explaining this to Carter, though; it wasn't like his stepdad did any of the work, he just told him how to handle the money and shared a bed with his mother. That thought and the flare of resentment that came with it surprised Porter, and he scowled a little as he pushed both away.

His stepdad frowned back, apparently reading the look for ire and stepping in closer. "Porter, you know it's not about the money, right? Your mother and I, we know you do a lot to earn it, and you're entitled to have some fun with it here and there." Porter just nodded in response, feeling like this was one of those talks where the parent did all the talking, and the kid was just supposed to acknowledge that they understood. He felt like he'd guessed right as Carter smiled a little, idly glancing at the shipping label of another box. "We're not upset with you, either. You haven't done anything wrong. Heck, your mom doesn't even know I'm talking to you. She wanted this to work itself out."

Maybe you should listen to her, Porter seethed silently, giving another little nod of acknowledgment, then blinking. "Wait... what? What's supposed to work itself out?" he asked of his stepfather, returning the first box to the stack. Carter sighed a little, chuckling in soft understanding. "I was young too, y'know. My dad was a military man, so we moved around a lot. And I know how easy it is to just grab onto the first friendship you find when you get somewhere new. If it's a pretty girl? Even better." That got a real glare from Porter, his brow lining darkly as he stepped to Carter's side, positioning himself to just head upstairs as soon as he could. "It's not like that, Carter," he spat, putting the extra emphasis where any other kid might say 'dad', "You don't even know her!"

"Do you?" came the quick reply as Porter's stepfather crossed his arms over his chest, steadying himself for what was obviously not going to be an easy chat. "Do you really know her? It's only been a week or so, kiddo. How well can you know someone in a week? Shoot, your mom and I knew each other for--" he started to say, the words getting cut off as Porter stepped in close. "Don't. Don't try to make you slipping into my father's spot in bed sound anything like this. It's not," he growled in a low voice, surprised by how well the dark filter his vision had taken on seemed to fit. He felt that darkness in the moment, it was a natural way to see this confrontation.

Carter blinked in obvious surprise, keeping himself to only a slight step back as Porter moved in close, but he was plainly surprised by the move and sudden venom of his stepson's words. "Now hold on, Porter. Just... calm down, okay?" he asked, "I'm not trying to say anything like that. I just don't want you to get your heart broken, or have this girl take advantage of you."

"She's not!" Porter snapped in a louder voice, reflexively defensive where Medea was concerned and not caring if his mother overheard. "God! Do you think I'm a little kid? Or some kind of idiot? She's my friend! And I don't want you thinking she's... coming over here to suck my dick and take my money!" he blurted, growing angrier with every accusation he imagined being levied. "You don't have to tell her my door stays open, Carter! You don't need to worry about my feelings! It's a little late, if you hadn't noticed! You're the one who made me move here after I finally had some friends, and it's not fair for you to try and screw up whatever I have here that's good!"

He turned around the moment the last word had left his lips, grabbing the stack of boxes and hefting them in his arms, then starting to trudge up the stairs. "Porter!" came his stepdad's voice from behind him, "I didn't mean that! C'mon, just come back and let's talk about this." Porter didn't stop for him, climbing each stair with an angry scowl. "Just knock when dinner's ready," he said over his shoulder, "I have work to do, gotta get my bank balance back up to snuff." He heard Carter call his name again, but Porter was done talking for the day.

He stormed into his room, kicking the door shut behind him and dropping the boxes on his bed, then stood there for a moment as he seethed. He'd never felt angry like this, maybe because he'd never had the energy to spare, but right now he wanted to burn some of it off. Blast his door from the hinges, take the wall off entirely, destroy something. Instead, he opted for what so many kids his age did when mad. Porter tugged the headphone receiver free from his stereo, turning the volume up and pressing the play button. Music blared to life, making him flinch initially as his ears adjusted.

Moving to his bed, Porter tugged his shirt up, catching sight of the bruises on his back in the mirror as he did so. They were healing, but they looked hideous. That made him wonder how Medea's own injuries were with a flash of concern, though he couldn't exactly go check right now. He'd have to cross the house, and Carter would probably be watching for him. So he yanked the tape free of his first package, digging through the bubblewrap until he found a freshly blister-packed cellphone, and a few cards taped to it. It was all the more reason to go see Medea; he could help her activate it, set up a picture to show when he called, maybe even put a few songs on it for her.

Just wait, he told himself, dropping the phone back into the box and ripping open another. It was bigger, but it needed to be. The shipping label alone made Porter smile a little, since nothing was quite as awesome as a company called 'Ninja Supply.com'. He dug around inside, tossing each item onto his bed in turn. Climbing claws? Check, though he'd need to be stronger to get any use out of them. A collapsible grapple and cord? Check, but again, it'd take practice and he doubted he'd ever have a use for it. Last was a black halfmask that he tugged on, slipping it around his neck like a collar, then tugging it up over his cheeks and nose. Porter turned to look at himself in the mirror, deciding he liked how it looked. With a hood over his hair, he'd look dangerous, mysterious, just a pair of eyes garbed in black.

Not that he'd ever really be mysterious, or even the sort of hero who'd need a mask. Or a hero at all, he thought darkly at his reflection, tugging the halfmask down and sighing. Porter slipped his phone from his pocket, dropping to sit on his bed as he cycled through the pictures. THere was still a box to open; a new skateboard for Kaysen, but he didn't have the enthusiasm to even bother. He just... needed to see Medea. Even if it was just her captured on the screen of his phone. He stopped on the first picture she'd posed for at the playgroud, sighing quietly and staring at the screen. "I can be a hero," he murmured, voice buried under music. "She believes it, so I will too." Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow, but he'd need to find her soon. Just so he could keep believing his own words.