This is the freebie for the May 2014 Crowdfunding Creative Jam. It was inspired by a prompt from 
dialecticdreamer. It also fills the "Jumping / Skipping rope" square in my 3-30-14 card for the 
cottoncandy_bingo fest. This poem belongs to the series Polychrome Heroics.
"The Ones Who Would Do Anything"
When Danso turned twelve, he realized
that he could "borrow" things from people --
their virtues (their vices, if he wasn't careful),
their powers if they had any.
It was hard enough being a black boy
without being a freak on top of it,
so he kept his mouth shut
and nobody found out.
He lived with his mother, who loved him,
until she died and he got stuck
with his uncle who didn't.
When Danso was sixteen,
his uncle caught him kissing Tyrone
and kicked him out of the house,
so it wasn't his superpowers
that got him in hot water after all.
Danso did all right for himself on the streets,
because he could borrow whatever abilities
he happened to need at the time.
Then one day he saw a man
(pimp, said his streetwise instincts)
struggling with a girl who looked maybe ten,
all wavy blond hair and brown calf eyes.
She was terrified, but not of the man.
"You have to let me go!" she screamed.
"Bad things happen when people hurt me!"
Danso could feel it,
something fizzing and burning
like a soda can left in the summer sun,
ready to explode.
He tapped off what he could,
yanking the pimp away from the girl,
but when he touched the older man's arm
the power burst loose like a handful of fireworks,
leaving a mass of sparks and blisters.
The pimp screamed and ran away,
but the girl wrapped herself around Danso
and said, "You made it stop.
Please let me stay with you, mister.
I can't make it stop on my own."
"Mind telling me what I'm getting into?"
Danso asked, because he needed to know,
but he wrapped an arm around her
for comfort as he spoke.
Her voice was small and smoky-rough.
"I used to live with my daddy," she said.
"Then one day he tried to touch me,
and I didn't like it, he made me sick --
I got hot and sort of exploded.
When I woke up, I didn't have
a house or a daddy anymore."
Danso knew what it was like
to feel desperate, to lose control,
to long for a family that
you didn't know how to find or make.
"Okay," he said. "You can stay with me.
My name's Danso. What's yours?"
"Call me Boomer," she said.
It took him a month
before he learned that
her father had called her Hadyn.
It was harder to find enough
food and shelter for both of them,
(harder still for a black teenager
to get by with a white tween in tow),
but they managed.
They claimed it was just babysitting,
but inside, they were family now.
It was easier to pick pockets, though,
with people watching a cute little girl
skipping rope and singing rhymes
while Danso's fingers were busy.
They also scavenged efficiently
for food and clothes and
things they could sell or trade.
That was how they found
a skinny mixed-race girl
who looked maybe six or seven,
with dark wild hair and brown eyes and
a ratty tank top falling off her tan shoulders.
She turned on them,
fierce as an alley cat,
and she had the tail for it --
the tip crackling with energy
that made Danso's nerves jangle
in response like the time the cops tased him.
He spoke to her, soft and low,
teasing the energy away in little wisps
as he soothed her, like lifting a wallet
delicately, carefully, without anyone noticing.
Hours later, the tale unfolded.
"My parents did drugs," she said.
"The social people took me away from them,
but they didn't really want me either.
Then one of the boys there did this to me --"
Her small hands wrung her tail between them.
Gently Danso peeled her fingers away
before she could hurt herself.
"Be nice to your tail, sugar," he said.
"It's part of you now, no matter how you got it."
"But it makes people hate me," she whispered.
"I ran away before anything worse could happen,
only now I'm lost and I'm hungry
and nobody wants me."
"Well, I want you, and your pretty tail too,"
he said to her. "I'm Danso,
and this is Boomer. Who are you?"
"Whipcrack," she said.
"If I'm gonna be a supervillain,
I get to have a cool bad-girl name."
"You are not a bad girl," Danso said firmly.
(He wouldn't let her be a supervillain, not ever.)
"You can be Whipcrack if you want to,
but tell me your first name too."
"Lakia," she said,
and just like that, Danso had
another little girl clinging to him.
If it had been difficult to feed two,
it was even worse with three,
but at least now they looked
more like a blended family.
Danso could pass them off as his sisters,
because everybody said that
black women were whores and had
kids by all different baby-daddies
(nevermind that his mama had
one husband before the cops shot him dead
while she was pregnant with Danso).
They acted like a family, too;
Boomer taught Whipcrack
how to skip rope and shared
the tatty length of clothesline they used.
He could leave Boomer in charge,
let her and Whipcrack hide somewhere safe
while he went out to look for odd jobs
or steal things or panhandle.
Sometimes he did things that
he really didn't want to do
just to keep the girls fed.
Other times they went out together,
especially to the street fairs
where people dropped food everywhere
and forgot bags of things they'd bought.
Coins glittered on the sidewalk,
waiting for clever fingers to pick them up.
People stared at Whipcrack's tail
and it made a great distraction
even without using any power behind it.
Danso was waiting for the girls
outside the porta-potties
when a woman walked up to him
and said, "I gotta go to the can.
Will you hold Nathaniel for me?"
She shoved the toddler into his arms
without waiting for an agreement.
The boy was chubby and cranky,
with a mop of limp brown curls
and his fair skin reddening in the sun.
Danso waited patiently.
Boomer and Whipcrack
came out of the porta-potties,
but Nathaniel's mother didn't.
The toddler fussed and whined,
little flares of power running through him
like lightning hidden behind clouds.
One moment, sounds were too loud
and the next Danso could see impossible things.
No wonder the poor kid kept crying,
the way the world overwhelmed him all the time.
"I don't think she's coming back,"
Boomer said when the street lights came on
and the sellers started packing up their tables.
"What are we going to do with the kid?"
"Well, there's an information booth
at one end of the fair," Danso said.
"We can leave him there,
and if his mama doesn't pick him up
then I guess someone will put him in care."
(It's what the grownups would say to do,
but he wasn't not sure it's right.)
"We can't give him to the social people,"
Whipcrack said. "They don't like freaks.
They'll hurt him, or throw him away."
It was hard to argue with that
when the boy's mother had just
fobbed him off on a stranger.
Danso thought about handing Nathaniel
to people who wouldn't even be able
to understand what was upsetting him,
let alone mash down on his senses a little
so the poor kid could get a moment's peace.
He'd fallen asleep with his head on Danso's shoulder.
"I guess we've got a little brother,"
Danso said, giving in to the inevitable.
They already knew his given name,
but they wound up calling him Howl
because that's what he did all the time.
He got into everything and then itched and cried.
He turned games of jump rope into tug-of-war
and wailed when the girls wanted their toy back.
He couldn't eat half what the rest of them did
without throwing it up and then sniveling.
It was Howl who gave Danso his nickname.
"Blankie," the boy said, snuggling against
the soft gray cloth of Danso's shirt.
"Fine, I'll be your Blankie," Danso agreed.
"Ours too," said Whipcrack,
and Boomer nodded.
"Yours too," Danso assured them.
It was exhausting to have three kids in tow
and Danso knew that he couldn't
keep it up for much longer.
He had to sleep sometime (but couldn't
take his eyes off them for a second).
He didn't dare turn them over
to social services, because dammit
Whipcrack was right about unwelcome freaks
even though adults were supposed to
take care of children no matter what.
Finally he came up with an idea.
"We'll try going to SPOON," he said.
"That's a superhero hangout, so
they won't treat us bad just for having powers,
and maybe they'll know about a grownup
who'd put up with kids who are different."
There were interracial adoptions, after all,
and even people who fostered the crippled kids.
He'd heard of that. Maybe there was
something similar for little freaks like them.
"You won't let them do bad things to us?"
Boomer asked, clinging to Danso.
"Of course not," he said.
"You won't let them split us up?"
Whipcrack asked. "You promise, Blankie?"
"I'll do the best I can," he said.
It was a long way to the nearest SPOON base,
and they couldn't afford bus tickets,
so they walked and hitchhiked (and Danso
carried the little ones when they couldn't walk)
and it took forever with the weather turning cold.
They were dumpster-diving again
when something went *poof*
and suddenly there was a baby
right in front of them.
"What the hell?" Boomer yelped,
jumping out of the way.
"It's just a baby," Danso said.
She was tiny and new,
with a short ruff of straight black hair
and faintly golden-brown skin
all wrapped up in pink.
"What's her name?"
Whipcrack asked.
There was no way of knowing.
"How about Rosita," Danso said.
"That's a Mexican name."
They called her Poof just as often,
because Danso couldn't put her down
for a minute without risking the chance
that she'd teleport again.
The one time he left her with Boomer
so he could pee in private,
Poof had jumped halfway across the city
and only Danso's familiarity with her gift
let them track her down before she did it again.
He'd heard horror stories about how
some superpowers could
yank babies away from their homes,
and now he had nightmares about
losing Poof the same way her parents had.
Danso stole money to buy diapers
and formula and other baby things.
He carried Poof inside his tattered coat
to keep her as warm as he could
now that it was starting to snow.
Finally they made it to SPOON.
Behind the desk was a man
with short strawberry blond hair
and freckles on his fair skin,
his gift no more than a faint ghost.
He stared at them.
"What, you never seen kids before?"
Danso said, too tired to be polite
even though he couldn't afford
to piss off these people
because he needed their help.
"We don't see a lot of them in here,"
the man said, "but we'll make do.
Hi, I'm Groundhog. Who are you?"
Danso made introductions,
and that helped, but when
Groundhog offered him a clipboard
and invited him to sign in,
the teen had to shake his head.
"I can't put her down or she'll teleport,"
Danso said, nodding at his arms full of Poof.
"Oh, I see how it is," Groundhog said,
his face softening. He touched a button.
"Granny Whammy, I need you up front.
This situation is urgent."
Moments later, an old woman arrived,
her white hair and wrinkles at odds
with her strong, muscular body.
"What seems to be the issue?" she asked.
"Bunch of baby soups showed up,"
Groundhog explained. "They need our help."
(Somebody save us, Danso's heart said,
but his instincts didn't entirely agree.)
Just then, Howl cried, "Nana!"
and peeled off Danso's leg.
"No no no --" Danso protested.
The toddler ran to Granny Whammy,
climbed up her with some assistance,
and snuggled into her soft fuzzy sweater.
Then he began to wail.
"What's wrong with him?"
Granny Whammy asked.
"He's allergic to wool," Danso said
as he coaxed the toddler away,
"and pretty much everything else
that God created on the fifth and sixth days."
"I'm wearing cotton; is that okay?"
Groundhog asked, and Danso nodded.
"Great, let's go have a wash.
Plenty of soups are allergic to things
so we have soap that's pretty safe."
Groundhog took Howl to the bathroom.
Meanwhile Granny Whammy wrote down
what Danso told her on the clipboard forms,
and gently admonished the two girls
not to play jump rope with the electrical cords.
"Boomer and I don't have parents anymore,"
Danso said. "Whipcrack was taken away from hers.
Howl's mama dumped him on me.
Poof teleported and I have no idea
where her parents might be.
So we're it for each other now.
I'll do anything to keep them safe and happy."
"I'll see what I can do,"
Granny Whammy said.
Groundhog came back with Howl,
who was no longer crying.
"When I was a baby, my flight power
turned on and launched me into the sky,"
the older man said. "The thin air hurt my lungs
by the time anyone could get up to catch me.
After that my parents got really protective,
so I never fly and I don't even like going outside.
I work here to help keep things like that
from happening to other soups."
Granny Whammy got on the phone
with someone she called the Muffler.
"I know you've said your limit is two,
but I have five homeless superkids in my office --"
"Four," Danso said, because
he wasn't a child anymore;
he'd been taking care of the others.
Granny Whammy put the phone to her shoulder.
"Five," she said. "You don't look a day over fifteen."
"I'm sixteen!" he snapped, stung by her words,
and then regretted it because he usually
claimed to be eighteen so people
would let him act as an adult.
He had a faint shadow of mustache now;
he could pass if he pushed it.
"You have a right to expect someone
to look after you too," Granny Whammy said,
and her gentle voice made his chest ache.
Danso didn't know how to let anyone
take care of him anymore;
that was his job now.
He missed it, though, being able
to relax and let Mama do the worrying.
But Granny Whammy fixed everything,
somehow, convincing the Muffler
to accept the whole bunch of them,
and Danso was so grateful that
he didn't have the heart to argue.
He still panicked when they reached the house
and his talent went away.
"It's okay," Granny Whammy said.
"That's why the Muffler fosters young soups.
Her gift is power nullification. It's a field effect,
and it covers almost the whole yard here."
A field effect.
The whole yard.
He could let go of Howl
without worrying that
the boy's super-senses would hurt him.
He could put Poof down
without worrying she'd disappear.
Danso started crying then,
out of exhaustion and relief
(so much for looking like the cool dude)
but it was okay because the Muffler
was a nice middle-aged lady
with graying hair and a soft body
who knew how to handle teenagers
as well as younger kids.
She held him and let him cry,
and then she put Poof in a crib
and Howl in a toddler bed.
She gave Boomer and Whipcrack
each their own jump rope
made of colorful cotton with real wood handles,
not a piece of scavenged clothesline,
and let them skip rope in the playroom.
Danso sat on the couch
and watched the girls play.
He didn't mean to fall asleep,
but he was so tired that he did anyway,
and that was okay too
because the Muffler was there
to keep everyone safe.
* * *
Notes:
"Family isn’t always blood. It’s the people in your life who want you in theirs. The ones you accept you for who you are. The ones who would do anything to see you smile, and who love you you no matter what."
-- Unknown
Power Manipulation is a superpower that allows the user to affect someone else's superpowers such as enhancing, suppressing, or copying abilities. The effects are usually temporary.
About 40% of homeless youth are LGBT, and the leading cause of that homelessness is family rejection. People are working on ways to fix this.
Child sexual abuse is another common cause of youth homelessness.
Self-Detonation is the ability to explode like a fireball or bomb. As in this case, it usually comes with regeneration.
Parentification appears in ordinary life, but also in the tropes Parental Substitute and Promotion to Parent in entertainment. Absent a capable adult, a younger person may take on parental responsibilities. This often happens to young people who are caring for a handicapped relative or a younger sibling. This has positive and negative effects. It also poses extra challenges in fostering or adopting a parentified child or sibling group.
A tail is an example of the superpower Additional Limbs. This one happens to come with a nerve blast ability, a variation of Nerve Manipulation.
Self-loathing can create patterns of self-destructive behavior. It's a common problem for superheroes. Self-compassion helps overcome these negative feelings.
Black family dynamics are complex and face extra challenges; it is not fair to blame black women for this, although that is the typical response. Read a history of the term "baby-daddy."
Enhanced Senses may include vision, hearing, touch, smell, taste, or others. Sensory processing disorder describes various conditions where someone's senses cause distress or disorientation. There are sensory integration activities to help overcome such problems. Super-senses are just one example of how a single power can have both positive and negative effects.
Child abandonment is particularly a risk for children with special needs. Sometimes the parents are not charged with a crime. While child abandonment is a terrible thing, it happens most often when parents have burned out and no longer have the material resources or mental faculties to function in a safe, sane manner. In the America of Terramagne, ordinary parents cannot be compelled to keep children who develop superpowers, because they may have no means of safe control, and uncontrolled powers can be hazardous or deadly. They are supposed to surrender such children to Child Protective Services if they can no longer provide adequate care, but in practice that doesn't always happen and prosecution for abandonment is erratic. So there's an overrepresentation of soups among street people of all ages, and it's getting worse as more young people develop superpowers.
Contact comfort is reassurance gained from healthy touch. Children need skin contact, but so do adults. Touch starvation has negative effects on everyone.
Teleportation is a superpower that can wreak havoc if it develops at an early age.
New parents often have nightmares about their children being lost or injured.
Allergies are common in childhood; people may or may not grow out of them. People with enhanced senses have a higher chance of allergies. See a summary of Genesis for a reference to animals created on the fifth and sixth days.
Overprotective parents can cause developmental delays and other problems. This is especially a risk for handicapped children. Young soups are "special needs" children by definition, although they are typically "twice-exceptional" in having both advantages and disadvantages beyond the ordinary.
Family of choice appears both in everyday life and entertainment tropes. Blended families may need to exert extra effort to form healthy bonds.
Jump rope is a popular childhood game and good exercise. Although any bit of line may serve the purpose, the best jump ropes have a soft flexible rope with sturdy swivel-mounted handles.
See images for Blankie (Danso), Boomer (Hadyn), Whipcrack (Lakia), Howl (Nathaniel), Poof (Rosita), Groundhog, Granny Whammy, and The Muffler.