[Despite Levi's agreement, that sense of wrongness doesn't go away. It just keeps mounting, ever increasing, especially as his friend brings up the club building. He doesn't know of any club building, but yet, it's important too. Is that where Kotone is?
But he doesn't know where that is, except Aldrip.]
...Levi. [Scott starts, the mutant looking and sounding more uncertain by the second.] Something's wrong. I... I need to find Kotone.
[ Looks like Gilgamesh has decided on the colors for Minato. White, to reflect against the sun. Gold accents, because clearly, what other color is better than gold!? Then, a navy sash. ]
I'm playing hooky.
[ Would you ever imagine the King of Uruk to say hooky out of his mouth? Despite being King, Gilgamesh was still "human," and he did not want to die from overwork by his nation's problems. Having decided on the robes, Gilgamesh pushed Minato by the shoulder to the shopkeep to be taken away and changed. ]
Don't be so surprised. Uruk isn't going to collapse because I'm not working for one afternoon.
Oh! Uh, well, I don't need to know how it works, no. [ A smile and a nod. ]
If you just point me in the right direction with what's broken...I can fix it. Or fix the part that's broken at least. [ A pause. ] Well, it's technically remaking it to a point where it's not broken. As long as I know that...it's an easy fix!
[No one else to hurt...? But what about all the students here? And the teachers?? That's a lot of people that can potentially be hurt! Something indignant starts flaring up inside him, about ready to shove the other teen's hand off his shoulder and maybe tell him off, when he starts noticing it too. The dimmed presence of his friends and teachers, the almost empty hallways now. Despite Scott being able to see everything as it's supposed to be, everything feels dull. Unreal. Like it's not supposed to exist.
It's a different kind of wrongness compared to before and he hates it.]
A dream...?
[Is that what this is? But it feels so real-- at least, it used to and that realization gets Scott's face to immediately drop, something pained crossing it before he shakes his head.] But I'm here with everyone I care about.
Indeed. All things, whether living or not, are mortal. An end will come to all.
[So far as those who study such things know, the Galaxy's natural end is still in the vastly distant future. But it is still there, inevitable. And it is, in Visas' opinion, entirely plausible that the sentient beings who inhabit it may devise a way to give it an untimely death.
She studies his face. She wonders if she wore the same expression when she saw Katarr collapse around her... or when Nihilus forced his view of the futility of all life into her vision.]
And at one time, I thought that meant it was all without meaning.
[He really doesn't seem all that bothered by the other teen's mood. Honestly, it kind of reminds him how he acted when he first arrived at the mansion, angry at everyone and walking around with a blindfold over his eyes. He felt like nothing would get better, even though Alex was trying to support him.
He was wrong and things have improved a lot, not only because of his ability to see, but just finally finding a place to live. Still, he gets that initial grumpiness all too well. It feels like he's dealt with a lot of grumpy people anyway, finding a way for them to fit in. Strange. When did he have that track record?]
Yeah, good luck with that man.
[Between the most powerful telepath in the world and... everything else, Scott doesn't have high hopes for him. Then again, he was the one that 'borrowed' Xavier's car, but totally different!]
And uh, obviously? Haven't noticed the old British air to this place? Not to mention that the Professor is British. [Scott snorts, before waving a hand at one of the cupboards. There's definitely a large selection of tea there.]
[The figure takes in a deep breath, steadying itself. There's no turning back—he'd be a coward to retreat and give up now. He can't allow himself any more weakness.
With a voice that's much more bold, bolstered by all the determination it has left:]
I will break the seal keeping you here. Grant me your power!
[It reaches upwards, the twisting storm of darkness cackling in myriad voices as it descends upon the one who's just made an official vow. With glee, it claims its own promise:]
We shall destroy this endless misery!
[Power surges into the figure, and it screams. Something in the dream cracks, like a lurching feeling of panic, of wrong. The sensation easily calls back to Malai's words earlier—of one lost.
Nevertheless, even after the cloud of black lightning disappears into Onyx, he remains standing just by force of will. Chaos's energy more actively flickers around him, giving him a horned silhouette with a sweep of something like a cape.]
[There's a hand in his and the flames begin to calm, the sight of a blue sky starting to come through. Tsuna has something, someone to focus on, and it helps. That's right, friends, a reason to not give up.]
[Altius turns back to the mutant, a distinct look of sympathy in his eyes. It's clear how much he wants this to be real, even without the way the dream had impressed upon Zekarion that he, too, could be part of this pleasant fantasy. And what a good thing it is to wish for, for all your loved ones to be close, to be safe, in a place where they can be wanted.]
Scott... [After so long in Aldrip—not only must he have grown to accept the community around him truly as his own, but he'd have to be so homesick for those he's left, too. A miserable situation to be in, torn between the two.]
I know how much you must want that. I only wish it were so easy.
there's going to be some more of that on this end in the near future probably
[Though he's still working towards consciousness, her agitated tone and the mention of "letting" her do anything at least reaches him, and his wheezed response comes without any real thought.]
Don't be a fool—
[Any attention drawn to her could be a death sentence, as it nearly was a moment before, as it nearly was for him, lying here in a growing pool of his own blood. Even so, he has to do something—is the thought he has as the world starts to come into focus around him, as the last gunfire of that day rings out and echoes into nothing.
A few more officers enter the building properly to secure the area; orders are barked outside, along with reports of threats being neutralized. The man's amber eyes dart to bullet holes in wood and motionless bodies before they land on Ange, whose arm he still holds.]
We'd need people to write the articles. I'm not much of an editor. [ A warning, because he really isn't - Peter would occasionally lend a hand with checking over spelling and grammar, but the actual content was Betty's domain. He's also not the most reliable, because of Spiderman (but...how is he going to Spiderman out here? Can he? A forty-minute commute...why would he come out here?) ] Don't suppose we do a yearbook, either.
[ Listen, everyone needs hobbies! What does Scott do to unwind?
Peter snorts and shakes his head - definitely not. He'd be a terrible gossip columnist, or God-forbid, an advice columnist. ] If I wrote anything it'd be like, science corner. Not sure anyone would want to read it, though. You sure I can't entice you, Scott? C'mon, there's gotta be something you'd write about.
Peter decides he definitely does not like his new roommate - it's his fault, isn't it, for laying there bored and lonely, wishing he had someone to talk to - even though he knew it was better that no one else was being subjected to this with him. He glares from his position, unable to fix his finger by himself - it'll heal wrong if he doesn't, and he'll have to break it all over again. At least his system is so fucked up that it'll heal slowly - small blessings, he guesses?
"My aunt told me never to swear in front of a lady." Peter tips his head back, tracking her movement around the table, meeting her unerring gaze. He thought he'd been in trouble before, but this was a new level of problem. "Not really sure you count, but she'd be disappointed, so I guess 'shrew' is probably my best curse option, at the moment."
His other hand is clenched into a fist, now, wise to Root's sadistic game. Well, maybe it's not fair to say sadistic - she actually seems terrifyingly polite about it??? - but given that he's serving as the deck of cards in this metaphor, bent and folded from hand to hand, he thinks he's allowed an adjective if he wants one.
"You've gotta be kidding me," Peter groans, thunking his head back against the concrete again, which smarts, but at least it's distracting him from the throbbing in his twisted thumb. "I'm an experiment! They pump me full of drugs and take blood - I don't know anything. What happened to me was an accident, a fluke - "
He's lying. He knows damn well that the secret to stabilizing the Oz formula was his father's DNA - it's why the bite worked for him, and no one else who'd ever taken the serum. Connors, Harry - it was a death sentence or worse, because his father's DNA was the baseline for the spider splicing.
[It feels different, but in a cleansing, pure way. All the anger, all the resentment and bitterness that he's seen in Mystique - it's all gone. This must be who she really was underneath it all. He finds himself nearly speechless faced with her. She's even saying something he always wished he'd heard from her.]
H-hey... It's okay. I get it. You... you must be very busy...
[He goes for her arm... and right into a tight hug.]
But as long as we can... be a family... that's what matters!
[He's practically shaking as he looks up at her. He blinks as he tries to process her words, even if something in him feels resistant.]
A- a dream? But... No... No, that can't be! This is our chance... our last chance to save her!
[He shakes his head, with teary eyes.]
Rogue, this is our chance to fix things! We can fix this family!
[The rumbling intensifies, and the grass beneath them starts to shrivel away, leaving them standing on stone. Their surroundings have shifted - they're now standing on an outstretched stone arm of a giant stone Mystique, that is rumbling and slowly starting to crumble.]
[Kurt cheers as he gets to work! It looks like Quicksilver's tripped up by that vine, so Kurt manages to teleport over and pin him down with a bear hug.]
[Frowning at Oz first in clear confusion—what's with this guy? He can't get a read on him—he turns and leans against the table to get more into her field of view, putting a hand on her shoulder.]
Hey, you alright?
[Observant as Zekarion is, the shift in demeanor for the both of them is concerning, to say the least. The Akane of his memory would have been more than bright enough to notice it, too, but he's taken charge now, and she's always been content to follow his lead in those situations.
[He hisses in response to the pressure, but doesn't try to fight the attempt to staunch the bleeding, too debilitated by stabbing throbs and the awareness slowly coming back to him.
The man's eyes move from Viktor as he takes in shallow breaths, color draining from his face as he catches the flashing lights of vehicles reflected on the ceiling, and so much red in his periphery. He wants to turn and look properly—to see the damage done, to count how many dead, to understand the depths of his failure, but in this moment he's being given another option.
Perhaps it's cowardly of him to look away now. Nevertheless, he returns his attention to the other dreamer.
[ Claude, being himself and someone entirely else, hesitates with something that makes he and the being he possesses to be one: a tendency to be small, scrawny, overlooked, to carry the weight of others' expectations, the others' unkind bullying in the midst of strange and cruel young men. Some part of his heart is telling him that this is right, that this is good, that this is how his mother always has been and always will be, crystalized in moments like these, young (how young he'll only realize once he's old) and beautiful and endlessly kind.
But another part of him sings of something else, an image superimposing upon this kind's woman, of an imperious woman with bright eyes and a ferocious smile, a not unkind hand on his shoulder and a rough voice in his ear: you will never survive if I coddle you. He knew not to turn to her for such things, that the smarting upon his cheek must be born in the sort of stoicism he's never been any good at.
And then he blinks, and the warrior is gone, replaced with -- with this woman. Slowly, staggeringly, he steps forward into her embrace. ]
I'm not supposed to be doing this, [ he whispers into her ear. ] I'm not supposed to be here.
[ The words drag out of his throat, too eager to remain in some sense of comfort. ]
Well, not injured. That's not so bad. But... [ Claude drifts closer, concern written plainly on his face. While he often keeps his cards close to his chest, he sees no point in masking the fact that he's confused, he's concerned, and above all else, he'd like to help if he can. He's not what anyone would call the biggest altruist in the world, but nor is he a monster; he cannot abide the sound of someone crying alone. ]
You're still not all right, I'm guessing. [ He walks beside her, leaning his weight on the desk behind them. ] I'm all right -- from somewhere else, somewhere far away. This doesn't touch me in the same way.
[ That's what he tells himself back home too. This isn't your land. You can be steel where others bend. ]
He's not sure how he became free -- just that he was somehow able to escape from the Palace's oppressive walls, the perpetual eye of allies and foes alike (mainly foes, admittedly), away from all of the pomp and circumstance and bustling economy, and into something new, something different, something exciting. He comes bounding towards Jim, clothed in light linen robes, his beaded braid knocking against his chin, skin dark underneath the beaming sun. He looks somehow both out-of-place and at home here all at once, though his beam can't be tempered.
"Is it dinner already?" Does he belong somewhere here? Aren't they going to kick him out? Even more pressing than that is the fact that there's another kid here. Another one! Not someone serving him, not a noble kid who's been instructed to suck up to him or stop him in his tracks, not another parade of stuffy adults -- another kid!
"I'll come!" He hops over to him, scuffing at his shoulder with his knuckles in a swift, unpracticed motion, as though he's only ever read about people doing it in books. "Will you show me the way? What's for dinner?"
[ Claude scoffs. His beaded braid swings by the edge of his jaw as he leans back in his seat, hands carelessly cushioning his head as he grins at the newcomer -- his new victim, really. He's not such a bad guy, but he's such a chatterbox that many of his wiser classmates know to keep a wide berth if they don't feel like getting battered with prattle. ]
Chess is way more fun. Besides, I can just let the ladies come to me. Hounding them down like that...
[ He considers this. ]
Is very successful for him, actually! There's no accounting for taste. You must not have met him yet, or else he'd already have tried to take a bite out of you. You're new here?
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expiationlogs2025-01-13 12:39 pm
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