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| Mab |
 Posted: Sun Jan 04, 2009 3:01 am Post subject: Keeping Up Appearances |
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Drunken Warrior Princess
Joined: 05 Jul 2005
Posts: 390
Location: England
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Stacy hurried down the corridor bundled in a black hoodie and massive sunglasses that left her looking like the bastard lovechild of Jackie Onassis and Michael Jackson. When other students passed she couldn’t help but tug at the rim of the hood, bow her head and speed up. She stuck to the walls, trying to draw as little attention as possible, oblivious to the fact that her five inch boot heels were echoing on the polished wooden floor.
Stacy was never normally backwards in coming forwards but then normal situations didn't involve her skin falling off. The shed cycle was just another biological fact of life for her, an irritating inconvenience that Stacy had come to expect once every three years or so. But this was something outside the normal pattern. The prickling heat on her skin and the ache in her lower back told her something was wrong.
Finally she burst into the medlab. “Gingersnaps?” she called, but there was no recent scent of the weregirl. Just traces of her, along with Penny Dawson, who’d been down to see ‘Dogbert’ god-knew how many times. If anyone had asked her, Stacy would have declared it a massive waste of time, talking to a big furry vegetable. But deep down she wasn’t so sure. She remembered that first trip down to the overcrowded ward when she’d met the soldier-boy, Forge. They’d both seen a wounded telepath in a nearby bed freak out and cry wolf. Literally. And now there was just the wolf left.
With a palpable dread pooling in her stomach, Stacy followed the only fresh scent in the medlab. It left her stood outside Hank McCoy’s office. Yet another ‘fellow freak’ Stacy found herself at odds with. Her whole posture deflated for a moment. The deformed ones like her should have been the easiest to get on with, were all she’d ever known back in Vegas. But phobia, bad luck and circumstance just seemed to get everything twisted around and mixed up and now here she was looking for help so that her beautiful human-looking boyfriend wouldn’t have to see her scaly mutant skin fall off. If her friends from back west could have seen her, they would have laughed their asses off.
“Suck it in…” she muttered to herself and hammered three times on the door, making the frosted glass rattle.
For the sake of her pride, she decided that if Hank didn’t help her, she’d leave a message for Rahne then just give herself a mammoth dose of dopamine (because paying attention in chemistry meant she was actually starting to remember names for the chemicals she so casually controlled) and sit the whole ‘whatever-it-was’ out in her room. Her shoulders drew back, her chin raised and her hands went to impatiently tilted hips.
“Hey Doc! You got a minute?” Still nothing.
Standing in silence was not a natural state for a naturally loud-mouthed girl. Listening for any sign of life, Stacy immediately noticed when the rhythmic sound of Jon’s life-support equipment stopped. There was a brief frenzy of bleeping followed by a crackle and then silence. No alarm, no electrokinetic crescendo of equipment catching fire. It all just… died. The lighting flickered and a tremor of fear ran down Stacy’s spine. It accentuated the pain she’d been suffering in her lower back, making it throb in time with her heart as it began to pound a little harder.
“Dogbert…?” Stacy peered apprehensively round the corner at Jon’s body, pulling her hood down and pushing her sunglasses back onto her scalp.
Something was wrong. The scent of fear coming from him was faint but growing rapidly, a kind of primal fear she only tasted on people who knew they were about to meet their maker.
She didn’t really want the telepath to die, but more importantly to her, she didn’t want to end up being implicated in his death. If she did nothing and ran away it would likely not go well for her. If she meddled and made whatever-it-was worse, it would be equally bad. And on top of all this panic was some strange sixth sense she couldn’t rightly explain, a peculiar strain of impending doom that made the tingle in her peeling skin just a little worse. “…Jon?” Her voice became small and equally scared.
Unsure what to do, Stacy shrank back against the wall, rapidly becoming more like a little girl who’d wandered too far from home while playing dress-up in her mother’s shoes.
She never saw the third presence in the room, not even as it dived straight for her.
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Stacy X | Kes | Courier | Malice |
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| Wolfbro86 |
| Posted: Sat Oct 17, 2009 11:26 am Post subject: |
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Joined: 26 Jun 2005
Posts: 233
Location: Ventura, CA
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Even in his comatose state, adrenaline was flushing his system, the tang of it sharp in the air around the unconscious wolfman. Jon's body was twitching, much as Stacy had described it before, like a dog in the throes of a particularly intense dream, hands spasming and clenching, lips twitching and pulling away from his teeth, soft, almost inaudible whimpers and snarls escaping him. Clearly something was going on, but there was no cause that Stacy could see that would result in such a violent reaction.
On a psychic level, things were a much different matter. Malice's claws bloody hurt, despite being insubstantial. Blinding, mind-numbing pain...Jon had heard that when the body got hurt, it had automatic ways of coping. It could dump dopamine into the system, adrenaline, any number of other chemicals, or even just shut down entirely, going into shock and falling unconscious. On the other hand, there seemed to be no means for the mind to cope when the pain was purely psychic. It was all Jon could do to grit his teeth and fight back...
But he could see that the fight was going his own way. He could push this crazy ghost back despite the pain, push her away, take control of the situation. He had her. He had her! He could fight back, send this...thing back to whatever hell spawned it...
"Gingersnaps?"
Oh, no...
“Dogbert…?”
No! Not now! Jon could see Malice turning, breaking away from him, evidently sizing up the new target...
“…Jon?”
Malice turned and dove, Jon hot in pursuit, snarling after her. <Oh, no, you bitch, leave her out of this!> |
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| Mab |
| Posted: Thu Oct 22, 2009 12:44 am Post subject: |
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Drunken Warrior Princess
Joined: 05 Jul 2005
Posts: 390
Location: England
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Jon’s fist rammed into Malice’s chin like a freight train; the impact sent her sprawling across the astral plane. <Badly trained dog?> Jon's grin was wide, showing off his teeth. <Should have paid better attention, bitch. I'm not a dog.> He leaned his head back, howling out loud, his body responding with a soft howl of its own. <I'm a wolf!>
Malice howled back, as if the pair were part of the same pack, and laughed. The sound, though, was distorted as she wrenched Penny’s jaw back into place. She doubted the animal before her had power enough to kill, but he was proving to be more commanding of his own telepathy than she had assumed. With any luck he would pulverize her to some strange point of inertia, some fleeting state of stillness. In his mind’s eye was the intent to push her away, a focus on driving her out rather than beating her down. Some part of the wolf had enough sense to know it was pointless trying to kill her. But that was exactly what she wanted him to do. So she crouched, ready to launch herself at him once more.
"Gingersnaps?"
Two heads snapped in the direction of the voice, one in panic, the other with inspiration.
“Dogbert…?”
Jon could see Malice turning, breaking away from him, evidently sizing up the new target. Another monster, she noted with disgust. Xavier’s truly was a freak show, something akin to the mad house Alice Marlstone had been committed to in her final years.
“…Jon?”
As she dove towards Stacy, the Marauder thought that perhaps she would have to use her new host to dig out the eyes of all who lived in this new Bedlam, leave them all to live in blissful ignorance of each others' ugly flaws… Even the ones who had followed Sinister to London.
<Oh, no, you bitch, leave her out of this!>
The apparition wearing Penny Dawson’s face collided with its latest victim and was gone.
Stacy let out a brief guttural noise, as if someone had landed a hard blow to the front of her head with a blunt, heavy object. Her feet stumbled and her shoulder smacked into the wall before an arm could raise itself in protection. As she clumsily stood upright her yellow eyes darted around the room in abject panic. But then finally even her vision fell under the intruder’s control. Terror melted into mere confusion as Malice gagged and coughed. Without the original mind’s expertise, the sudden barrage of perception, the heat and scent and flavour was unnerving.
“Dear god! What’s that… what’s that smell?!” The clipped British accent was the polar opposite of Stacy’s usual mallrat twang. She ran a hand over the back of it’s opposite, coming to terms with the scales that were starting to bubble and peel like sunburn. “Something’s wrong…” she frowned, reaching up to Stacy’s face. Her fingertips brushed over a shred of dead skin that had come away from her cheekbone. Catching it, she pulled, peeled down a section almost ten inches long, even though many of the soft, wet scales underneath were not yet ready to be exposed. The side of her face and neck was left raw, a feeling Malice decided was comparable to a finger with the nail pulled away. Somewhere in the back of her skull a girl had started screaming. She tilted her head, closed her eyes to stop and listen, as if appreciating some harmonious choir. "...Better now."
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Stacy X | Kes | Courier | Malice |
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| Wolfbro86 |
| Posted: Thu Oct 22, 2009 11:46 am Post subject: |
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Joined: 26 Jun 2005
Posts: 233
Location: Ventura, CA
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Jon had no idea what Malice had in mind as she dove toward Stacy, only that it wasn't going to be good for either himself or the snakelike mutant. He dashed after Malice, a second behind, he could almost reach out and touch her...and then she disappeared. Jon blinked, screeching to a halt. Something was wrong...he couldn't put his finger on it, but something was very wrong, here. <Stacy? Stacy, can you hear me? Are you all right?>
“Dear god! What’s that… what’s that smell?!”
<S-...Stacy?> "Very wrong" didn't even begin to cover it. Jon could feel the fur on the nape of his neck lifting.
“Something’s wrong…”
Jon just stared in shock, shivering slightly. That wasn't Stacy...it was Stacy's body, but it was like she had been scooped out and replaced with someone else. He gasped, recoiling as she reached up to her face, peeling away a long strip of loose skin...and he could hear terrified screams coming from Stacy's mind.
"...Better now."
<Bitch! What did you do to her? What did you do with Stacy?> Jon snarled, charging forward. <Stacy! Can you hear me?> Damn it, she'd probably hate him for this, but he couldn't think of anything else to do...Jon reached out with his mind, trying to get into Stacy's head, figure out just what the hell was happening with Stacy and the crazy ghost bitch... |
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| Mab |
| Posted: Wed Nov 04, 2009 2:04 am Post subject: |
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Drunken Warrior Princess
Joined: 05 Jul 2005
Posts: 390
Location: England
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Eyes, heat senses and Malice’s own telepathy combined into a confusing mess. As the lights stopped flickering, she focused beyond the disorientation and clawed back control of her reptilian host.
The EKG alarms surrounding Jon’s bed sputtered and finally began to wail, but every ounce of her will was focused on the stray soul whose only crime had been a bad reaction to her appearance. Soon enough the Marauder thought she saw a give-away distortion in the disinfectant-flavoured air, heat-hazed hint of lupine shape moving through the medlab. Stacy, still trapped inside her own body and staggered by pain, was terrified at what looked like a genuine ghost. Instinctually, a litany of curses poured from the girl’s mind, a strange chant where every <ohgodshitfuck> reassured her that she’d survived another second or so.
<Bitch! What did you do to her? What did you do with Stacy?> Jon snarled, charging forward.
Malice dodged the distortion and hissed. The involuntary gape of jaw and rush of breath surprised her, although not unpleasantly. Howling and screeching she was familiar with, but she had never used such a snake-like host before. She decided to hiss again, showing her fangs with a strange pride. “Down, boy!” she sneered, sidestepping towards Jon’s body.
Stacy was still hurling swearwords from her own unconscious into Malice’s mind, like a drowning woman desperately bailing out a waterlogged lifeboat with a leaky bucket. Her first assumption had been her worst fear, that Jon was somehow responsible. But then she would have expected to see him more clearly, to have been given some kind of queue that matched whatever experience had caused previous medlab residents to cry “Wolf!”. There was nothing visual to go on though, just the sense of being pushed to a backseat while that odd English accent came out of her mouth, the skin was torn from her face and Jon’s voice was somewhere, sounding royally pissed off (with something other than her for once). <Jon?> She yelled in panic. <What the fuck?!>
<Will you please be quiet?!> she heard internally. <Your sewer-mouth ranting makes me nauseas!> Still the same foreign accent but in her own mind it was carried by the voice of her old boss, Rachel Drache. It was annoyed and sharply authoritative, clearly belonged to someone who expected obedience. In an anxious process of elimination, it occured to her that the source could be the school’s headmaster, the telepath with big ideas that Scott was unnervingly committed to. One crazy psychic student was a threat but a crazy psychic headmaster running his own mutant cult would be a royal clusterfuck.
<Stacy! Can you hear me?>
“Whether ‘Stacy’ can here you is neither here nor there.” Malice growled. With a swiftness and grace that was entirely un-Stacy-like, she hurdled over the bed to land straddling Jon’s body in a pose that was suddenly very Stacy-like, tasting his shallow breath like a succubus.
“I took my own eyes out before I died.” She carefully placed her thumbs over Jon’s eyelids, all set to push Stacy’s long black nails down and through. “It does wonders for the sixth sense; not to mention the seventh and eighth… Maybe I’ll take the eyes of this host wench next.”
Stacy’s heart leaped into her mouth, or at least the psychic equivalent. The thought of inflicting that kind of attack on someone else would be bad enough, doing it to herself would be horrific. But at least that guaranteed the wolfboy was an ally in whatever odd fight she’d stumbled into. <JonJonJonJonJon! Make it stop! Make it stop! This is too fucked up!>
Without being aware of what she was doing, Stacy reached out, creating the opening the other psychic had been looking for. But like a drowning woman, she grasped too desperately, pulled too quickly. In a flare of memory and panic, she suddenly found herself sprawled face down in what she instantly recognised by touch and scent as the Nevada dessert.
<Unngh… Ow.> It was the middle of the night, as cold as the day was hot, and she was wearing an old X-Ranch outfit that did little to keep her warm. Struggling to raise herself on shaky arms, she saw Jon lying a few feet to her right, tufts of pale fur picked out against the darkness by the light of a distant bonfire. <Jon? What the fuck are we doing in Vegas?> She crawled on hand and knee over the dried out earth. <Where the Hell are my clothes? And why could I hear some crazy Brit woman in my head!?> Straining, Stacy noted with alarm that the other mutant didn't register in her heat sense.
<Jon?!> She scrambled to close the distance, grabbed a thick heavy paw to try and use her power through the exposed skin to wake him up. A second wave of panic hit her as she realised that his body chemistry was equally absent. If it weren't for the great handful of grey fur clutched in her hand, Stacy could have sworn he wasn't there at all...
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| Wolfbro86 |
| Posted: Sat Nov 14, 2009 1:35 pm Post subject: |
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Joined: 26 Jun 2005
Posts: 233
Location: Ventura, CA
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Jon snarled as he dove for Malice…but the bodysnatcher dodged neatly out of his way, the lupine ghost skidding past as he worked to correct his “momentum” and turn around. He paused, though, at the hiss from Malice, as well as the alarms around his body screeching back to life. There were definite times when having enhanced hearing just made for a colossal headache. Recovering, Jon swung again, only to have Malice sidestep once more.
<Jon? What the fuck?!>
Recovering from his last unsuccessful attack, the lupine mutant’s ears perked up, brow furrowing. It had been faint, and he hadn’t really been paying attention, but that had sounded like…<Stacy?!?>
“Whether ‘Stacy’ can here you is neither here nor there.”
With a snarl, Jon’s gaze returned to the body that Malice had commandeered, focused on the task at hand. <Let her go, you creepy ghost bitch! It’s her body, not yours!> He started to charge for a third time, but aborted it, skidding to a halt as Malice seemed to almost flow through the air, landing straddling his body. It suddenly occurred to him just how vulnerable his body was, just lying there. With Malice poised above him like that, it almost looked like she was about to kiss him…
“I took my own eyes out before I died.”
Jon froze completely, eyes widening in horror as Malice put Stacy’s thumbnails to his eyes. They were almost touching…he could see his eyes flicking back and forth frantically beneath their lids, like an REM sleeper trapped in a nightmare they couldn’t wake up from.
“It does wonders for the sixth sense; not to mention the seventh and eighth… Maybe I’ll take the eyes of this host wench next.”
<Ohhh, no…no, no, no no nonononono…> Jon moaned in horror. If he’d had the physical ability to, he would have vomited at that moment. She could take his eyes out. Hell, she could take his eyes out, slowly dismember him piece by piece and let him watch while she did it and then do the same to Stacy, and there would be nothing that he could do about it. Oh God, what would happen if his body died while he was like this? Would he wind up like her, an immortal ghost slowly driven insane in a world where nobody could see him?
<JonJonJonJonJon! Make it stop! Make it stop! This is too fucked up!>
<Stacy?!?> God, it was her! And if she was able to get messages out, then he might be able to get in. Jon reached out with all his strength, probing, trying to find the right way…<Stacy, I might be able to help! But please, for the love of God, you have to let me in!>
Suddenly, there it was: the crack in the wall. Jon rushed forward, but gasped as he felt…something…grab hold of him in return, clamping down on his psyche with strength born from desperation. <N-no, Stacy! It’s too much, I can’t control it->
**********
Blackness.
<Jon?!>
And then sensation returned in a rush, the lupine mutant jerking into a seated position, screaming uncontrollably and waving both hands in front of his face, trying to ward off a pair of thumbs that were no longer there. <Ahhhh! Shit! Shit!> He scrabbled backwards, scooting on his butt for several feet across the desert floor before one eye cracked open. <…shit?> Jon’s hands slowly lowered as he looked around, perplexed, not the least reason because his mouth seemed to be moving along with the words as he spoke them mentally. <Ummm…what the fuck?>
Jon looked around quickly, trying to get his bearings. He seemed to be wearing different clothes: instead of the hospital gown he’d been wearing in the bed, he was clad in a baggy hooded sweatshirt, unzipped down the front, and a pair of cargo shorts, tailored to take his tail into account. Evidently it was just barely enough, even with his fur…the desert at night was bloody cold, and he could see his breath frosting in the air in front of him. Stacy was right behind him, he could hear her breathing, and could smell her there…he could also see a bonfire off in the distance, and his ears went back against his skull as he realized he could smell it as well. Wood smoke, burning meat…and worse.
A shiver went down his spine. <Stacy…I’m not entirely sure what happened. I think you dragged me into your mind, and…> Jon blinked, a brow rising incredulously as he turned and saw Stacy. <And what the hell kind of outfit is that?> |
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| Mab |
| Posted: Wed Dec 16, 2009 2:49 am Post subject: |
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Drunken Warrior Princess
Joined: 05 Jul 2005
Posts: 390
Location: England
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Malice felt the other astral ghost loose the last of its grip on the physical plane and disappear completely inside the snakegirl’s head. She sighed, let her hands drop, palm up, either side of her knees and slumped with disappointment. “Well it’s no fun if you’re not watching, pup! How else are you to study sight without an optic nerve?!”
Malice had, on a few occasions over the centuries, found it necessary to enter the already occupied subconscious of her relegated hosts. It was always a rather cramped and disorientating experience but was the only tactic to offer even a chance of evicting third party intrusion. Concentrating as much as she could, she let Stacy’s eyes roll back into her skull, allowed the body to fall backwards still in its kneeling position. A vision of darkness and fire overtook her before her shoulders landed on Jon’s knees.
***
Stacy squawked with surprise when Jon shot up out of the dust like a tweaked out junkie. <Ahhhh! Shit! Shit!> He scrabbled backwards, scooting on his butt for several feet across the desert floor before one eye cracked open.
<Whoa, whoa, whoa!> Stacy held up her hands, still kneeling in the spot Jon had left behind.
<…Shit?> his hands slowly lowered as he looked around, perplexed, not the least reason because his mouth seemed to be moving along with the words as he spoke them mentally.
The realisation dawned on Stacy at the exact same time, as if their thoughts were somehow linked. <Did you just actually say that? Like outta your mouth?! You can speak!> Stacy hauled herself up, dusted down her knees while muttering furiously. <You lying motherfucker…> She was shaking with equal parts anger, fear and cold. Curls of misted breath rose from her nose and mouth like a dragon.
<Ummm…what the fuck?>
<All that shit about “I. Can't. Talk. Normally. My throat and mouth aren't designed for it.” Bullshit!> Her tone became rapidly more hysterical, the corners of her eyes growing raw with unshed tears. <Why can’t I smell you, or see the body heat? I swear to god, if you’re fucking with me I will turn you into a throw rug!>
<Stacy…I’m not entirely sure what happened. I think you dragged me into your mind, and…> Jon blinked, a brow rising incredulously as he turned and saw Stacy. <And what the hell kind of outfit is that?>
There was an amazed pause.
<Seriously?> Her voice was practically a shriek. <We got attacked by some Limey telepath, went from New York to Vegas in like two seconds flat, and you wanna talk about my fuckin’ clothes?!>
Not knowing what else to do, Stacy began marching in the direction of the light, not caring what the other mutant saw of her. The scent carried down to her by the wind made her heart pound hard in her chest but the cold was unbearable. If the choice was hypothermia or the warmth of a funeral pyre, it was no choice at all. Modesty and squeamishness would have to wait.
<This is what I had on under my coat the day I wandered into your school, fuzz-bucket. The day I met Penny and Bobby. You came along, hauled me out of a window, scared the crap out’ve me then handed me over to Scott.> She wished Scott was there with them now, her fearless boy scout who’d jumped around in time and battled evil mutant tyrants like it was a casual day job. He gave off a comforting aura of stoic competency that simply overwhelmed the desire to panic. <You never got it. You prob’ly never fuckin’ will! Because this is exactly why I am so goddamn scared of you sometimes, and you're stupid if you don't believe most 'paths are getting away with this mindfuckery!>
She picked up the pace as a shiver ran down her spine which, oddly, had stopped aching. <If we're in Nevada, or the Nevada in my head anyways, it's 'cause that's where I wish I was, every day. I never wanted to join your stupid school! I was happy where I was, out in the desert. But along comes a posse’a flatscans with little dicks and big guns, and suddenly my house is on fire, my friends are dead and I’ve got a bullet in my arm! I don’t wanna be some ‘gifted youngster’ charity case stuck in a mansion with you and the other freaks who have your own little boys-only tea parties and never go out!>
Stacy let her anger and self-pity warm her from the inside out as she marched, hands waving about in an attempt to emphasise the point she was awkwardly trying to make. <I freeloaded my way New York on a rumour 'bout a safe house. I barely slept, barely ate, and when I got to Westchester I had nothing but the junk in my pockets and the thoughts in my head.>
She turned to Jon at that point, angrily tapping her right temple. <It might not seem like much to you but in here's the one part of me that never got beaten or fucked or pimped out! Inside my skull was private and personal and safe. Then suddenly your voice was in there. The first time anyone had done that. No warning, no apology, just expecting me to be ok with that and growling like a fuckin’ rabies case when I wasn’t!>
The fiery temper was starting to burn out, leaving a charred mess of fear and tiredness. Her voice dropped from loud to normal, right through to quiet. <Now you’ve gone and flashed your teeth at some other insane ‘pathic bitch and suddenly I'm stuck with you in my head 'cause I'm too stupid to run or fight... and Hank hates my guts.. and my skin was falling off and...> She sniffed, wiped her nose on the back of her hand and rubbed her eyes.
<The least you could do is tell me what you were really doing in that coma; and gimmie your goddamn hoodie so I don’t freeze to death, huh? Not everyone gets born into a fur coat y’know.> |
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| Wolfbro86 |
| Posted: Mon Dec 28, 2009 2:10 pm Post subject: |
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Joined: 26 Jun 2005
Posts: 233
Location: Ventura, CA
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Jon sighed, just letting the abuse wash over him. He had to handle it, after all…he was in here to help her. Stacy was scared, out of her depth, and had no idea what was going on. He could give her some license. While she ranted, he looked around carefully, sniffing slightly and squinting off into the darkness. The more he saw, smelled, and heard of that bonfire in the distance, the less he liked it.
<We got attacked by some Limey telepath, went from New York to Vegas in like two seconds flat, and you wanna talk about my fuckin’ clothes?!>
<Hey, it took me by surprise, that’s all!> Jon looked back to Stacy, frowning slightly. That much was about the limit. Besides, he should probably correct her. <And we’re not in Las Vegas. We’re…I guess we’re in your head. Your subconscious. Whatever. That’s why my mouth is moving as I talk, your powers aren’t working because neither of us really have physical bodies to use them on, and…hey, where are you going?> Jon frowned, breaking into a trot as Stacy started to walk off.
<You never got it. You prob’ly never fuckin’ will! I was happy where I was, out here in the desert. I didn’t wanna be some ‘gifted youngster’ charity case! But along comes a posse’a flatscans with little dicks and big guns, and suddenly my house is on fire, my friends are dead and I’ve got a bullet in my arm!>
Jon’s ears laid back flat against his skull. Sure, other youngsters his age had beaten him up and made his life miserable…but he’d never actually been shot at, or heard of any mutants being killed. A shiver ran down his spine. Well, at least not until he’d gone to Xavier’s…
<I had t’freeload my way to New York based on a rumour of a safe house like the place I’d come from. I barely slept, barely ate, and when I got to Westchester I had nothing but the junk in my pockets and the thoughts in my head.> She turned to Jon at that point, angrily tapping her right temple. <It might not seem like much to you but it’s the one part of me that never got beaten or fucked or pimped out! Inside my skull was private and personal and safe. Then suddenly your voice was in there. No warning, no apology, just expecting me to be ok with that and growling like a fuckin’ rabies case when I wasn’t.>
<…I’m sorry. I never realized…> Jon flushed under his fur with shame. He’d known that people liked to keep their thoughts private, and he was able to do a very good job of being able to broadcast his own thoughts without having to hear others’, but he’d never thought that someone would take it so far. But from what Stacy was saying, Jon could start to understand…and it only made him feel worse when she seemed to wilt.
<Now you’ve gone and flashed your teeth at some other insane ‘pathic fuck and I’m stuck in the middle.> She sniffed, wiped her nose on the back of her hand and rubbed her eyes. <The least you could do is tell me what you were really doing in that coma; and gimmie your goddamn hoodie so I don’t freeze to death, huh? Not everyone gets born into a fur coat y’know.>
The sweatshirt came off easily, the wolfman handing it over carefully. <Of course…> Jon shivered slightly, his fur fluffing up a bit as he crossed his arms over his chest, looking around. <Listen, Stacy…I’m really sorry. About all of this. Everything.> He sighed, breath steaming in the freezing air. <When I was born, I looked like this, yanno? I’ve been a wolfman my whole life. I never had a normal childhood, never got to…never got to do so many things.> He gestured at his face helplessly. <I couldn’t talk at all, then…it wasn’t until I got into my late teens that I started being able to do the telepathy thing. I had to use sign language for everything…>
He sighed, rubbing at his head nervously as he continued. <Then I got to go to Xavier’s. It was like a dream come true. I could walk around outside without drawing stares, I could talk to people without them giving me the evil eye. I didn’t have to sign what I wanted and wind up with people just looking blank, I could come out and say it.> Jon’s gaze refocused, looking off into the distance. <It was the first time I could really be around people my own age. I could be myself. I didn’t have to hide anything anymore.> He shook himself slightly, coming out of his reverie. <I got used to it…I didn’t even think that you might take it the wrong way. I’m sorry.>
<As for more recent things…> Jon shrugged his shoulders nervously. <The coma…was a pain in the ass. Something about being comatose…sort of jarred my consciousness out of my body, and I couldn’t figure out how to get back in.> He frowned slightly. Now was not the time to bring up some of the things Stacy had said while he was out of it. <But anyway, the other telepath…thing…ghost…whatever showed up out of nowhere.> His blush returned with a vengeance. <When I first saw her, she looked like Penny, only…wrong., like she’d been hurt bad. I thought that she had done something to Penny…and then she started messing with the equipment around my bed. The stuff keeping my body alive, you know? So…I sort of attacked her, and we got into a fight…> he looked sidelong at Stacy. <And then you came in...I guess you sort of know the rest.> |
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| Mab |
| Posted: Tue Jan 12, 2010 2:56 am Post subject: |
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Drunken Warrior Princess
Joined: 05 Jul 2005
Posts: 390
Location: England
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<Listen, Stacy…I’m really sorry. About all of this. Everything.> He sighed, breath steaming in the freezing air. <When I was born, I looked like this, yanno? I’ve been a wolfman my whole life.>
Stacy hadn’t started changing until she was 13, but she’d met a few other girls whose luck hadn’t even stretched that far. Hearing their stories, she’d never quite been able to decide whether it was better to have known a fleeting normality, or whether it was better to never know what could have been.
<I never had a normal childhood, never got to…never got to do so many things.> He gestured at his face helplessly. Something in Jon’s expression tugged at her sympathies for the first time since she’d met the other mutant, harking back to stories of survivors who’d been kept locked in basements and shelters by frightened or bigoted parents. Her frown warped the markings in her forehead and as she turned back to the view ahead she let her hair fall down to cover her eyes.
<I couldn’t talk at all, then…it wasn’t until I got into my late teens that I started being able to do the telepathy thing. I had to use sign language for everything… Then I got to go to Xavier’s. It was like a dream come true. I could walk around outside without drawing stares, I could talk to people without them giving me the evil eye. I didn’t have to sign what I wanted and wind up with people just looking blank, I could come out and say it.>
She could see the logic but try as she might, Stacy just couldn’t picture anyone feeling that liberated in an institution that constantly left her feeling on edge. <You really like Xavier's, huh?>
<It was the first time I could really be around people my own age. I could be myself. I didn’t have to hide anything anymore.> He shook himself slightly, coming out of his reverie. <I got used to it…I didn’t even think that you might take it the wrong way. I’m sorry.>
<Whatever. Sounds like me when I first came… well, here.> She gestured awkwardly around them at the desert. <Maybe it’s my problem. I’m used to mouthing off, ‘cause it’’s the only thing most folks out here in the Badlands ever respected.>
<As for more recent things…> Jon shrugged his shoulders nervously. <The coma…was a pain in the ass. Something about being comatose…sort of jarred my consciousness out of my body, and I couldn’t figure out how to get back in.>
Stacy shot a suspicious look at the telepath, remembering full well what she’d hissed at him in the medlab the day the other injured psychic flipped out. <Sucks to be you then, Dogbert…>
Jon frowned slightly. <But anyway, the other telepath… thing… ghost… whatever showed up out of nowhere.> His blush returned with a vengeance.
The pair’s pace was fast closing the gap between them and the fire ahead. The vague outline of the X-Ranch’s burning timbers were already emerging, darkened details of the original building there inside the blaze made all the sharper to Stacy as she remembered how it once should have looked. <Did y’actually see… what-ever-it-was?>
<When I first saw her, she looked like Penny, only…wrong., like she’d been hurt bad.>
< Penny? Jesus!> Even Stacy had a soft-spot for the school’s resident welcome wagon. In any other circumstance she would have questioned whether the apparition wasn’t Penny herself. But feeling that sickening… thing inside her, she knew it was nothing she’d met in any form before.
<I thought that she had done something to Penny…and then she started messing with the equipment around my bed. The stuff keeping my body alive, you know? So…I sort of attacked her, and we got into a fight…> he looked sidelong at Stacy. <And then you came in...I guess you sort of know the rest.>
<Maybe know’s not the best word…> Stacy winced, clawing hair back from her face to meet Jon’s glance. <I’m pretty sure most of what’s happening now is waaaaay beyond what I thought I knew.> She turned to the fire, so close now she could finally feel the blessed heat on her face and thighs, even as the fumes threatened to choke her. <This is my old house. I 'know' it should be ash by now but here it is, burning and burning, like an oil fire!>
Flames and memories danced in her eyes as she studied the inferno from the outside, a sight she had only glimpsed in a rear-view mirror before. <You smell that too? I’ll never forget the…> The next word died in Stacy’s throat as something screamed, something from inside the burning ranch.
***
Darkness. Heat. Then light; overwhelming light all around her and the roar of fire. Malice found she had become a shapeless apparition again and reached for something within her host to give her form. She watched in fascination as new hands materialised; slim, delicate, tanned skin coated in dark sticky blood.
Instinct suddenly drove her to scream, something more than an emotion building within that needed an immediate outlet. It forced her mouth impossibly wide and from deep inside her belly a ball of fire erupted that shook the pillars around her, making the timber groan. It was followed by several mouthfuls of boiled blood and bile.
<Hmm…> Looking down at herself, she was wearing what seemed to be a black halter-neck dress but the material over her midriff was a mess of tattered velvet and flesh. Unbothered by the injury, she scowled only at the damage wrought on such a delicately sewn dress.
Debris rained from the collapsing floors above but the Marauder calmly picked her way down the Ranch’s reception steps, familiar with the illusions of astral terrain. Although almost entirely engulfed by the blaze, she could still make out the architecture of the building’s main entrance and the night sky beyond.
Were there figures moving about? Or was it just the natural twinkle of imaginary stars? She couldn’t say for sure but had a vague sense that the unwelcome third presence was somewhere near, hiding behind the enormity of whatever memory she’d been cast into.
<Come along Saint George!> she muttered. <You’ve a dragon to slay!> She took a deep breath and spewed out another long stream of fire. It leapt out in a tight spiral and punched through what was left of the door and beyond into the desert. |
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