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| No Surface All Feeling; 5/22 early evening - Rugby crew + others | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Nov 17 2013, 06:01 PM (575 Views) | |
| White Queen | Jan 29 2014, 05:24 PM Post #31 |
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Top class breeding, darlings.
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Jean was raving. Her mind straining to unravel all around Emma, threatening to sweep the former White Queen away the moment it flew apart. That could not be allowed to happen, but her time was growing short. Jean’s response was somewhat expected. Even in the best of times, Emma knew her presence, particularly in her mind, would agitate her, and this was rather the opposite. Some measure of fear was inevitable for all but the greatest of fools. And Jean could sense that Emma was afraid. There was no hiding it from her. Even in the midst of her breakdown, the cow probably thought that was funny. Given a greater luxury of options, Emma might still have chosen to slap the woman back to some measure of coherence. It was a crude approach, but sometimes it was nice to indulge in the classics. And it was eminently satisfying to feel the impact and see Jean’s cloak ripple from the force of it, to feel the very ground beneath them quake. A moment to savor, given it may also prove to have been a costly mistake. The response from Jean herself was far less overt, and all the more unnerving for it. No expression of pain apart from a focused gaze on Emma. The encroaching psychic maelstrom about them grew suddenly still, as if a door had been shut against it. She’d wanted Jean’s attention, and it appeared she now had it. She would have to remember that, should she come to regret it later. For now, though, things were relatively calm, and the two of them stood, facing each other upon the island Jean had built for them. Perhaps now that she was no longer screaming about Ahab, they might make some progress. Just the three of them. *Is that what you think?* Jean said, smiling in answer, though it was a smile as absent of heat as any Emma had ever given. The blonde telepath held her ground, stoically refusing to wilt under that challenge. That laugh, so full of contempt. Jean paused, then, head tilting to one side as her gaze remained fixed on Emma. *Hmmm... and you’re right, aren’t you? No Phoenix to hide behind. No Madelyne Pryor.* For a moment the world around them seemed to warp, as if the names she spoke might spill the whole thing over like a house of cards. Emma steeled herself, refusing to move that foot that almost ached to take a cautionary step back. Jean rose, discarding the crimson robe from about her shoulders. *Just Emma Frost, and Jean Grey.* The robe sank to her feet like fog, and for a horrible, fleeting moment Emma wondered if Scott had slipped from his focus. It was with no small amount of relief that Emma noticed the red material did not fade, but merely assumed new form, becoming a low plinth beneath Jean, who perched herself upon it, bare legs hanging loose over the edge. Lovely. Apparently the pedestal Scott placed her on was so rooted between them she was erecting it within her own mind. The redhead leaned forward, gazing down at Emma as if studying her. *Would you like to finish this job, Emma?* The walls around them called back in answer. Erase me. No More Jean Grey, A moan of despair, but at the same one of yearning. How tiresomely redundant she insisted on being. Emma looked up at her, cool blue eyes measured and considering. *Mm. Shall I take that as a challenge or a request?* she asked. *You never were one to get your own hands dirty so long as you had someone else to do it for you.* Ripples of psychic energy passed through Emma and her form grew in the spot where she stood. Here within Jean’s mind, she couldn’t afford to manipulate the environment to provide herself with furniture and accessories. The landscape was too unstable to begin with, and she needed to conserve her energy for the task ahead. Changing herself was an acceptable compromise. Tall enough to look at the woman eye to eye. Much better. Or why not a little taller? *I could even do it if I wished, couldn’t I?* she said with the same air she might give about her choice of where to send out for lunch. This woman, who’d nearly destroyed her with the ease one might swat away a bit of dander. Left her in the eternal void of her own mind, slowly clawing her way back. Emma remembered it well. Remembered how small and helpless she’d been against Jean’s power, how lost after facing it. *I suppose you believe I would be doing universe a favor.* And perhaps it would be. For two universes. She arched one elegant brow, a cold smile playing over her lips. *None would thank me for it,* she continued, voice matter-of-fact, *but I have no wish to erase you.* She wondered if Jean would believe that. Emma hardly did herself, but it was true nonetheless. Folding her arms beneath her chest, Emma tilted her head forward, meeting her with an icy blue gaze. *This charade is pointless. You know why I’m here. Are you trying to distract me because you think I’ll fail, or because you’re afraid I’ll succeed?* Either one would come at a cost, so perhaps she could be excused regardless, but Emma preferred she didn't go out of her way to make the process more difficult than it was going to be already. |
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| Jean Grey | Feb 4 2014, 09:02 PM Post #32 |
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Can kill you with her brain.
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The winds on the horizon moaned it, begged it, teased for it, but in the center of her island, fixed lightly on the little plinth that was hers and hers alone, now and forever, Jean Grey was calm, and quiet, holding little but interest as she asked the simple question. Would she like to finish this job? No More Jean Grey. She herself - the shards of herself - hadn’t been enough to do it, but how many shreds and tatters was her mind hanging in now? How much of the jackal, sniffing for blood and weakness, was left in the white woman who’d come here to stand before her? How much did she want it? Not enough that she couldn’t hide it, under a transparent, diamond-hard skin of composure. Looking cool herself, and calm, but then, when hadn’t she? When had Emma Frost ever known real fire? *Mm. Shall I take that as a challenge or a request?* she asked. *You never were one to get your own hands dirty so long as you had someone else to do it for you.* Jean leaned forward a little more, nose wrinkling as her eyebrows flickered upward. *Says the woman who set a minion the task of destroying my mind so that she could own me,* she said in a lone, penetrating voice, before straightening up and gesturing with one arm around her, bringing the winds and the darkness and chaos around them in closer, till there were licking tendrils of dark grey fire lapping at her body, and the edges of the shrinking island. *No, what I’ve done, I’ve done myself, Emma,* Jean told the other woman, who seemed to be trying to grow, *There’s always a choice.* Choice. My choice. I chose. Life and death and consequences, all of them, they’d been hers. Rushed into freely, stupidly, torn at a breaking point or built little by little, every single damn day to never let go. And now... for what? All those choices made, and what had happened? What was changed? What was better? Hurt and pain and suffering, a web that spun out far, far beyond her. Across worlds. *I could even do it if I wished, couldn’t I?* the oversized figure that was Emma Frost asked her, negligent and unconcerned as she stared across the gap with magnified blue eyes. *I suppose you believe I would be doing universe a favor.* Cool, perhaps, but the temptation danced through her thoughts, with no hope to hide in this mental world that wasn’t hers. *Who’s to argue?* Jean asked with a careless smile to curve her lips, feeling younger, freer, than she had in longer than she could remember. *You can tell them I asked you to.* *None would thank me for it,* she continued, voice matter-of-fact, *but I have no wish to erase you.* This time, Jean laughed outright. A brief, silvery thing that she stopped quickly enough, to turn her gaze traveling up and down the other woman from outsize head all the way down to enlarged white feet, then back up again. *My, Emma, how big and strong you’ve grown,* she observed drily, turning one hand over as though to examine her own fingernails. Listening to other people and their thanks, was it? Resisting her baser urges, or turning the other cheek? If only it didn’t look quite so very like an insecure woman, overcompensating for feeling smaller than she wanted to be. *This charade is pointless. You know why I’m here. Are you trying to distract me because you think I’ll fail, or because you’re afraid I’ll succeed?* Do I? asked the voices in the winds, genuinely confused. Jean herself only tilted her head to one side again, taking in the intent gaze and crossed arms with a little flicker of consideration. *Why are you here?* she asked, then smiled again. *Are you the best they have?* Only a little raise of her eyebrows as she leaned in too, but that was all she needed to call the skeptical note into the air as she asked, and sat back once more to watch the pale white woman. *So skilled, and so respected after all. Daddy must be so very proud of his little girl.* Didn’t every little scrap of frost liked to tell themselves they were special, special snowflakes? |
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| Purple Girl | Feb 9 2014, 02:53 PM Post #33 |
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I Can Make You Love Me
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She could feel Hone's eyes on her, but Kara's own were occupied with considering the man there on the other side of the bed. This Scott Summers with the repertoire of nearly unreadable expressions that only seemed to give at all for the tormented woman on the bed. Even then, only by degrees it seemed, and it almost seemed to cause him some kind of pain. Just to show that. Or maybe just to show that to them. Hard to tell for sure and she hadn't really known the one from their own universe. Stronger than anyone, that's what he'd said. About Jean. His wife. The woman on the bed who'd come back broken and hardly knowing which Jean Grey she was. It wasn't anything Kara could really disagree with, on the face of it. Of course she was strong. Maybe she was even stronger than anyone, like her husband insisted. It took a strong person to do what she'd done, out there in that field in Rugby. Only one flaw that she could find there and it was the one that she couldn't get around. Couldn't discount and couldn't help saying out loud. No one was that strong, no one should ever have to be. Out of the corner of her eyes, she caught the brief incline of Hone's head, let Scott Summers take it as he liked. Even if it wasn't really her business and even if she had every idea Cyclops wouldn't like it at all, things like that had never stopped her before. He was in her head, he had to know what she meant, even if he refused to admit it. No one asked you to kill them at the first sign of something going wrong without the idea that that might be something that was actually a thing that might be needed in their mind. “She is,” Scott Summers insisted, apparently not willing to see any point but the one he was standing on. Now probably wasn't the time and Kara knew it, but still... “She just doesn’t have faith in herself.” Purple Girl's brow inched upward as Hone lifted his head from where he'd been watching Jean. That, at least they could agree on. "I wonder why," Kara mused aloud, keeping her tone idle and leaving the man with the visor to interpret that how he liked, too. “You tell her that, mate?” the Maori man asked after a few seconds of maybe trying to glean something from that shuttered expression on the other man's face, but Scott Summers just seemed to look back down at his wife. Answer enough, she guessed. Kiwi Black watched Cyclops a few seconds longer as Kara let out a soft, frustrated breath, rolling her shoulders to try to ease some of the growing tension. Sitting and waiting, it was always the hardest. She'd never been made for sitting and waiting. Neither had Hone and he looked to her and her green, telepathic, teammate as he uttered a frustrated, “Bugger this. There something we can do?” At something of a loss, since anything she could do herself might make it all worse instead of better and things weren't that critical, she didn't think, Kara gave him an impotent look of her own. The impression she had, vague and vaporous as it was, was that Emma wasn't having an easy time of it and Jean wasn't giving her one, but it wasn't so dire that anyone needed taking over. “There are some who would hold their faith in other people,” Mantis answered at more length than usual and nearly as cryptic. Kara frowned at her for a moment, then at Hone, in the mild bewilderment that came with anything Mantis said more often than not. But, then, she thought maybe she understood. "I think I understand," Kara said to Hone and her cryptic teammate. Turning to the two women locked in whatever mental struggle they were having on that other plane. Lightly, the purple hued woman laid a hand on each woman's arm. "Bring us in," she said, voice soft but not too soft to carry, careful with the words and the tone. "Let us help." Not a command, she was very careful about that, but a request. Carmen Miranda aside, Emma would have to excuse the interruption. They might not have a lot to contribute to this, but they certainly had faith in the woman on the bed. |
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| Kiwi Black | Feb 13 2014, 01:27 AM Post #34 |
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International Bloke of Mystery
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She just doesn’t have faith in herself. Well then. "I wonder why," [Purple] mused aloud, and from her tone, that could have been an idle curiosity. Except if you knew her, you’d have to wonder a bit, since Kilgrave wasn’t the sort to start digging into idle curiosity in the midst of a moment like this. Either way, there was a question Hone wanted to ask, hearing that insistence from the bloke in the visor. So he did, but buggered if he got anything of an answer from Summers. Had he told her that? Silence was the answer. That, and a look at his wife. Not much of answer, but then again, it was about enough of one to be telling. Bugger that. That was about what Hone thought of it, and the exhale, and the rolling of her shoulders said that Purple wasn’t that too bloody far off that either. Waiting around, going back and forth over nothing, like a pair of bloody useless buggers. Yeah, but neither of them were made for much of that, even if it seemed like it was the only thing on offer just now. But yeah, bugger that. Was there something they could do? The former chieftain asked that aloud, but meeting Purple’s eyes said about the same as he was feeling - bloody little in the way of anything to be done, and what there was on offer? None of it anything either of them had the skills or power set to do anything about. Buggered you up, things like this, while it was all hovering just on the underside of critical, and you didn’t have anything like a say in how it’d all turn out. Mantis, but, she had something to say again. Though like half the things she said, mint bit of body and soul that she was be buggered, it didn’t make much in the way of sense to Hone. Holding your faith in other people? Now what in bloody hells was that about? "I think I understand," Purple said though, coming through with a clearing expression after a few moments of frowning at the start. Which made precisely one of them, but Hone had seen enough of the woman, today and earlier, to trust her if she looked like she’d got an idea in her head that she trusted. So he raised an eye, but didn’t argue, watching as she stepped in toward the bed, and laid one hand each on Grey (or Summers) and Frost. Like an old faith healing... and hell, was that what it was about, then? "Bring us in," she said, a quiet request to one woman or other, or maybe both, as Hone silently followed her lead and drew in on the other side, placing his own hands on the two women on the other side. "Let us help." Why not, eh? Be a bit of an adventure - new even to him, and he’d seen a hell of a lot in his time. Add another piece to the folklore, and for the only reason that mattered, when it came down to it - taking a shot at giving one of your own something they might need. Koha, that was what it was. Obligation without the need to ask. “Yeah, mate,” said the New Zealander softly, as he joined his hands to the moment, bringing his mana to the occasion. “Ka ora, Toroa. We’re all a bit mad here. But we’re here. Anei tou matou.” Here we are. |
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| White Queen | Feb 15 2014, 03:08 PM Post #35 |
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Top class breeding, darlings.
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Emma could at least say Jean knew who to ask that particular favor of. End it now. End her. A true end. None of that nonsense with surprise resurrections or clones or whatever else had her constantly coming back just when it seemed she was gone for good. Like the proverbial bad penny. Of course Jean would not have forgotten how many times Emma had tried to dominate her in the past. Every time, she had been cowed by Jean's overwhelming power. Now she was dangling it before her like a carrot, just within her reach. For once, Emma was actually capable of accomplishing such a task. It might even be the most pragmatic course, potentially for the better of not one, but two entire universes. Jean seemed to think so, or had simply told herself as much. *Who’s to argue?* the redhead and her near-diaphanous mind almost cooed. The near-euphoric smile on Jean's face was particularly suspicious. Perhaps in college she'd been a fan of Chopin and Plath. More likely it was exactly what it appeared to be. *You can tell them I asked you to.* As if that would make the slightest difference. That was the nature of dangling carrots. They made an ass of whomever followed their lead. Jean could say whatever she liked, tempt Emma in any way she chose, there was nothing altruistic in this. The only peace she cared about, the only peace she sought, was her own. In another time, Emma might even have taken her up on that offer, but not now. She was here to help her, not destroy her. The honest truth, inasmuch as such a term could ever be applied to Emma, was that she didn't want to destroy her, not anymore. Jean laughed. Bright and pretty and mocking from start to sudden, sharp finish. She swept Emma's magnified form in a considering gaze. *My, Emma, how big and strong you’ve grown,* she said, lifting the back of her hand as if she found her own fingernails more interesting. Dismissing her and her claims with disdainful words and gestures. Under different circumstances, in another place, Emma might have warmed to this tête-à-tête. The familiar sniping back and forth between them. It was hard to imagine getting along with the fellow telepath any other way, regardless of the two of them fighting on the same side, toward the same end. At the moment it was far from convenient, and entirely unproductive. Why was she trying so hard to distract Emma from her purpose? Was her agenda driven by a certainty that Emma would fail to patch her mind back together, or a fear that Emma might succeed? Confusion and doubt resonated though the wind surrounding them. The chorus of voices uncertain. All disorganized id. *Why are you here?* Jean asked from her crimson plinth. She met Emma's gaze, seeming to consider the woman once more. She smiled again, as if she'd found out some truth and took idle amusement from it. *Are you the best they have?* It was evident what she thought of that. The scorn. Yes, she was enjoying this inordinately. A slight lift of one red brow, just enough to express her skepticism as she sat back and watched. *So skilled, and so respected after all. Daddy must be so very proud of his little girl.* That miserable, wretched hag! Emma pressed her lips tight, biting her automatic retort into a slightly choked noise. What could she possibly know of that? Even here. It should have been beyond even her to probe that deep into Emma's secrets, not without a struggle. It made no difference as far as how well it struck that particular chord. The thoughts it evoked, memories that chased her even now. *Don't you-* Emma forced herself to close that off before she could finish. Emma's form wavered and began to slowly recede despite her efforts to maintain it. It did not diminish the glare she could not help directing at Jean. So loved by all, who could do no wrong, even when she did the worst things imaginable. Disgusting, really. Still a distraction, however well aimed. It almost worked that time, too, but Emma was not about to be dragged down, to lose control right along with her. Emma's face smoothed out as she looked up at the woman once more. *Sinking to my level, Jean? Who would have thought you had it in you?* Emma smiled enigmatically. *I'm impressed.* Emma gave a light sniff and negligently flicked a hand to brush some hair back over her shoulder. *This isn't helping anyone, Jean. Things have changed. It's time you faced that.* As had Emma. Not much, of course, but it was still true. A hand gently touched Emma's arm, the physical contact light, but filtering into Emma's awareness. If that idiot Summers was trying to restrain her to save his precious Jean she really was going to flay his mind apart. "Bring us in," a careful voice brushed Emma's ear. Kara's. "Let us help." She sensed her mind opening toward her, skirting at the edge. “Yeah, mate,” Hone said next. Another energy floated toward them. Not the same sort of psychic energy one found in a telepath, but strong and focused. “Ka ora, Toroa. We’re all a bit mad here. But we’re here. Anei tou matou.” Well, if Emma couldn't persuade Jean to cooperate, perhaps this might. The blonde lifted a brow and looked up at Jean. She must also have noticed. *I am the best, since you ask* she said coolly. By all accounts she was likely the most powerful telepath remaining on the planet. Power was not the issue, however. Jean had to know that as well as Emma. *But I'm not alone.* She reached out, tendrils of telepathic force coiling up the tethers she'd rooted in place, building a path through the chaos of Jean's mind. Carefully. Should any of them weaken, or Jean lash out against her, they could be lost, helpless to whatever the winds outside brought. Once they were secure, Emma reached for them, bringing them in, trusting them to do their part. Now, perhaps, they might actually begin. |
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| Jean Grey | Feb 17 2014, 09:26 PM Post #36 |
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Can kill you with her brain.
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Oh look... a hit. Watching the other woman’s grimace with a detached interest, taking in that funny little noise she made, Jean tilted her head back to the other side, swinging her legs idly over the edge of the pillar she rested on. *Don't you-* said Emma Frost, still Daddy’s littlest girl after all these years, but unfortunately, she clamped down and never finished that sentence. A pity, really. Jean did think it might have been interesting to know whether the White Queen had been preparing yet another order, or a plea instead, but all she did was shrink back to a more ordinary size. You could see why she’d made such a habit of this sort of thing herself though, couldn’t you? It wasn’t that she was an insecure, petty little woman after all. Though she might still be that too, it wouldn’t have been worth the effort. No, this pastime, this game of words and barbs was just all so deliciously distracting. No need to think, no need to feel, just plant your banderillas and watch what happened afterward. This time, Emma managed to return her expression to something more like her normal smooth, pale mask. *Sinking to my level, Jean? Who would have thought you had it in you?* Emma smiled enigmatically. *I'm impressed.* *Why?* Jean asked, wrinkling her nose and smiling with a mild sympathetic look down at the pale-haired woman. *You didn’t think it was difficult to do, did you?* And why not? All the things Emma Frost thought that of as her level, all those things that she’d done, but what were they? I killed my daughter. I hunted down my best friend, and gave him to the Sentinels. The whole world burned because I lived. Even Emma Frost, who liked to kidnap children and remold them into her slaves was above her touch. I did that too. I broke his mind apart just to suit myself. But no, she was Jean Grey, wasn’t she? Even Emma wanted her to be Jean Grey, to be placed on high and envied and held as something else, some standard they all wanted her to be. *This isn't helping anyone, Jean. Things have changed. It's time you faced that.* Sober now, Jean looked back at the other woman. She let the crimson plinth dissolve; she didn’t want to be dangling over there anymore. Instead she put herself on the ground opposite Emma, spread a path of red bricks on the ground between them, still watching the woman’s cold blue eyes, and wrapping her arms loosely around her own waist, as if to ward off a chill. *Everything’s changed,* was all she said, in a small, numb voice. Voices. There were other voices. Voices she thought she’d known, once. But not one. Not his. He’d said he’d be here. He’d said he’d stay. Oh god... oh god, why was Emma talking again? *I am the best, since you ask* she said coolly. The best. The one sole little white poppy, now that all the taller ones had been sheared through. Was she proud of that, Emma Frost? Did it matter? She could be the best, if she wanted to be. Who would want that? *But I'm not alone.* *I am,* Jean whispered, hugging herself more tightly. Closing her eyes, and stepping away from that red road, sinking down to her knees as the world got darker, and darker, and colder. Where was he? He’d said he’d be here. He’d said she wouldn’t be alone. He’d promised he’d do everything he could not to see that happen, back on that day in the camp. And he’d been wrong. He’d been wrong, and she’d known it then, and she knew it now, and she was alone. Alone, and alone and alone, with too many memories and a head all full of holes yet again. *Walk on by,* Jean whispered to herself, heedless of what was going on outside, or even inside her mind, aside from the one tiny corner that was still her own voice. *Walk on by!* Again, louder this time, and more urgent. Something was coming, but they couldn’t help her, and she should stop them, stop them, stop them, but she couldn’t remember how. She couldn’t remember how to do anything but howl. *Walk. On. By!!!!* “Well, bugger me,” remarked a voice, that Jean barely heard, even though it was in her own mind, “I thought we brought you in to help her.” |
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| Purple Girl | Feb 19 2014, 09:56 PM Post #37 |
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I Can Make You Love Me
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Whether Emma or Jean would honor the request, or even acknowledge it, had yet to be seen, but if it would help the storm raging between the two telepaths, Kara was willing to at least try. Unsurprisingly, Hone was, too. He moved to the other side, hands going to both women as well. Scott Summers likely wasn't going to be happy with any of this, but Kara didn't bother looking his way to confirm it. Instead, she carefully asked - not commanded, but simply asked, because she wouldn't force this unless there was no other choice and they hadn't reached that yet - one or both women to bring them in. Let them help in whatever way they might. “Yeah, mate,” said the New Zealander softly, as he joined his hands to the moment, bringing his mana to the occasion. “Ka ora, Toroa. We’re all a bit mad here. But we’re here. Anei tou matou.” They were heard by one, at least, and after a moment there was that familiar odd feeling of being displaced. Drawn from one place to another without moving. Anchored and pulled through a mind in turmoil, through the mental maelstrom to the eye. A chill, dark place. Path of red bricks there between the two women. Emma standing, with Jean Grey on her knees, hugging herself as if to keep herself from flying apart. Despair. That was the tableau they entered into. *Walk. On. By!!!!* Those words were familiar and Kara took a moment to get her bearings, looking to the blonde telepath briefly, then back to Jean. Hone was nearby and understandably unimpressed with the scene. “Well, bugger me,” the Maori man remarked, “I thought we brought you in to help her.” Yes, Kara herself had hoped Emma would have had more luck than this, but she also wasn't quite as surprised that she hadn't. History there was an impediment. Leaving Emma to answer that, or not, Kara approached the woman kneeling on the ground, chill are raising goose bumps on the skin of her mental body as she crossed that small expanse. Knelt down next to the redhead. "No," Kara told her gently, reaching toward the other woman carefully to lay a hand on her arm. She might well lash out, but it wouldn't be the first time anyone had ever done that. She'd visited mental scenes more strange than this and Goblyn certainly hadn't trusted her at first. "We won't leave you like this. We won't let you fight this battle alone." Just like the physical one a short time before, this was no different. Whatever came, she wouldn't have to face it alone. No one should have to ever do that, either. |
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| Kiwi Black | Feb 23 2014, 04:55 PM Post #38 |
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International Bloke of Mystery
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He’d taken a lot of journeys in his time - over land, across the oceans, through the air. Never one quite like this, though. Fell somewhere between picking your way up a glacier with a dodgy ice axe and crossing the Roaring Forties in a clipper that had seen its best days twenty years back. One false move - a wave coming broadside, a crack in the ice you hadn’t seen - and you were square goner, so all you could do was not be a bloody idiot, hand over yourself to your guide or your captain, and trust them to see you right. Had some kind of feel of Frost about it, the touch that brought them on through the chaos. Cool and precise. Focused, where everything else around was churning and howling like No Man’s Land while the artilleries were going at it. And then something cleared, enough to reveal a dank grey landscape - not much more than a low tide island sticking up out of a mudflat. Picture of a mind, then? Figures of the two women there - Frost at one end of a path of ruby red bricks, Grey - redheaded again - huddled just beyond the other end of it, scrunched down into a little ball, and hugging herself. *Walk. On. By!!!!* she screamed, or at least her voice did, echoing everywhere through the mindscape, like a waiata for all the loss and desolation one body could hold. Just like she’d been there at the end, at Rugby, collapsing into Rankin’s arms. ‘Cept for the absence of a giant bloke with wings, there wasn’t much to pick between them, in fact. Hone glanced toward Frost, to Kara and Mantis, even to the silent figure Summers made there, just a wee bit apart from the rest of them, and then went back to the blonde telepath. []“Well, bugger me,” he remarked mildly, “I thought we brought you in to help her.” Not exactly seeing a lot of evidence of that having happened here, but on the other hand, of course, what did he know? Wouldn’t be the first thing he’d seen that didn’t have to get broken worse before it could get put back together, but personally he’d feel more than a wee bit better if he knew Frost actually had some plan she was working along here. Purple didn’t hesitate, but - strode across the ground, or the surface, or whatever the hell that was that they were all standing on, heading for the redhead. "No," she said gently, making contact, hand to shoulder, "We won't leave you like this. We won't let you fight this battle alone." Not a bad effort, and though Grey Ginger never looked up, you couldn’t see her flinch away either. Hone had to think that was a good thing - or he did, right up until the point where a ragged sob seemed to escape from the huddled form of the woman. Then and there, darkness began to gather - first around her, but spreading outward, swallowing them all in squid ink blackness before there was time to even raise a bloody shout. “Bugger,” Hone said, or tried to, but he couldn’t hear his own voice, just like he couldn’t see any buggered thing. Couldn’t feel anything like a body, his own or anyone else’s. Just dark, like the bottom of a big deep pit, or a hole. Nothing at all, in fact, till he heard someone’s voice again. “Jeaaann!!” Summers. No doubt of that identity, though it was raw with emotion like the New Zealander had been beginning to doubt the man was even capable of. “No, don’t do this Jean. Don’t do this,” the man’s voice pleaded in the midst of the blackness, the only thing Hone could hear. Or maybe it was commanding, not begging, as it continued. “I love you. I fucking need you, Jean.” Something happened then - a lift in the blackness, to something more like just the dead of night, rather than the bottom of a cave that had never known day. “I love you,” Summers repeated, steadier now. Something like a glow of red, threading through the blackness now, like Maui’s ropes being cast to catch a disappearing sun. “I love you.” Brighter again, redder. “I love you.” Something like silhouettes appearing again in front of him, if that was still a direction - you could just about make it out, if you squinted your imagination, something like the two of them on their knees side by side. “I love you.” And then the world - or the mind, or whatever this was again - spun once again, and the blackness dissolved, and there was sight and sound. Bright sights, in fact, nothing like that world of grey mud and desolation. Hone glanced around, finding himself seated at some sort of long picnic table, amidst a field of greens and reds and yellows. Kara seated across from him, dressed up like Marlene Dietrich in a purple striped suit and a dented bowler hat. Frost next to her, all white brocade and fur, a crown on her head - the White Queen of bloody diamonds - then Summers, in clanking silver armor. The former chieftain turned his head, finding Mantis on his left, looking for all the world like a bloody caterpillar... ...complete with Hookah. “Oh, bugger this,” Hone declared, recognizing the scene. Better chance a look at himself, then - and for bloody hells, she’d given him fur, striped like a bloody brindled tabby cat. And there, at the end of the table, with two or three clear seats between herself and them on either side, sat Jean Grey, all done up like a green and red version of Alice, and smiling blankly. “Alright then,” she said calmly, like they were having a conversation. She'd forgotten the teapots, though. “Shall we all do this together?” |
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| White Queen | Mar 8 2014, 03:49 AM Post #39 |
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Top class breeding, darlings.
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Did Jean honestly think Emma would have even been considered for this particular task if she were not the absolute best the Resistance had available? The best the world had available for that matter. It was not a boast, merely a statement of fact, and not one Emma drew any particular pride or satisfaction from. Not that there was any shame in rising to the top via attrition. That was a time honored practice, after all. Such distinctions had long since lost their significance and much of their appeal. Jean could scoff and mock as much as she pleased, but Emma would not be distracted from her purpose. And as much truth as there was in her choice of taunts, she was directing them at an Emma that existed largely in the past. The former White Queen certainly had much in common with that echo of herself, but she had, in fact, changed in certain respects over the past five years, and while she was her by herself at the moment, she was not alone. It seemed those words had touched upon an unintentional nerve in return. *I am,* Jean replied, seeming to have withered since her last attempt to turn Emma from her course. She stood on the ground, hugging herself like a miserable, lost child, a path of red bricks between her and Emma, and with those words took a few steps away and sank to her knees. A heavy shadow fell over them, bringing a chill with it that Emma could not ignore. This was not good. Jean was starting to crack again, the hollow sense of abandonment radiating from her like poison gas. *You're mistaken, Jean,* Emma said. She could feel the others moving through the weaves she'd erected even now, but they were only a small part of the reason Jean was so wrong. *Walk on by,* Jean said as Kara and Hone and the rest arrived. The words were a whisper, divorced from everything around her, but there was that inescapable contradiction. The need to push away even as she sank further into her own feelings of isolation. *Walk on by!* More urgent this time. Raving. Panicked. No, something else was wrong. Emma could feel it building, sense the note of warning in Jean's mind. What-? *Walk. On. By!!!!* “Well, bugger me,” Hone said, steady and composed despite the obvious look of being out of his element. “I thought we brought you in to help her.” "And the state I found her in was far worse than this," Emma snapped. The Maori Chieftain could express whatever criticisms he had with her performance after the work was done. Then, catching sight of Purple Girl laying a hand on Jean's shoulder, uttered a more urgent, "Kara, don't!" Too late. Kara had meant well, Emma was sure, but her attempt to reach out had been like grasping at a soap bubble. It burst almost immediately in the form of a great, tortured sob from Jean, and then the darkness came. Surrounding Jean in its inky embrace before erupting from the center and enveloping them all in the bat of a hummingbird's wing. Emma threw up what mental defenses she could for herself and the others, but it was like trying to fend off sunlight with a strip of cheesecloth. And then they were gone. All of them, yet not. Emma tensed from the strain of fighting against it, lest they all be completely consumed, but she could feel the strands of her own mental network snapping one by one. “Jeaaann!!” Scott. Calling out to his wife. It shouldn't have been possible. Even Emma couldn't form words, physically or psychically, in any perceivable sense at the moment. But the man made himself heard all the same. Perhaps it was the emotion behind those words that brought them through, for it was there, well beyond anything he'd hinted at possessing before. “No, don’t do this Jean. Don’t do this,” he said, and it was hard to tell if it was a plea or an order, but it was something to focus on. The only current in their new oblivion. “I love you. I fucking need you, Jean.” The surrounding void softened in response. Just enough to register, though there was still nothing to be sensed except for Scott's voice. “I love you,” repeated, over and over again, each time bringing a deeper wedge through the darkness. A sliver of red, growing slowly, and in the center, two figures next to each other, both on their knees. “I love you.” The world spiraled around Emma once more, but into control rather than out of it. Everything rushed back into focus, colors vivid and full of life. Perhaps a bit too bright. Emma gasped, eyes widening from the sudden release of pressure. The lifting of the weight she'd been struggling to keep from hammering down. Blinking as she settled back into herself a breath later, she looked around, taking in their new surroundings. Well. No real challenge to interpret this particular scenario. All of them seated around a picnic table, sans the teapots for some strange reason, ringed by colorful flowers. Costumes to fit their roles, or their roles as Jean saw them. Hatters and knights and caterpillars and queens. To the woman's credit, it did speak of a certain appreciation for the classics, even if the context was rather blunt. Emma supposed she should be grateful they weren't in some stone maze with Scott decked out like David Bowie. “Oh, bugger this,” Hone the Cheshire Cat uttered as he put the scene together himself. At the head of the table, several empty seats away from the rest of them, sat Jean herself. The expected blue and white replaced with green and red, but unmistakably Alice all the same. In her current state of mental duality, Emma might have suggested quite a different pair from the stories, but this was her mind. It stood to reason she'd place herself in the starring role. “Alright then,” Jean said, calm, a blank smile on her face, like a hostess at a country club. “Shall we all do this together?” We're all mad here, as the saying went. About time Jean decided she was ready. There was still a piece missing, but they could get to that once it was appropriate. Emma's hands clasped a scepter on her lap, about as ridiculous as the crown on her head, but she rubbed the pad of her thumb along it slightly as she nodded toward the redhead. "Yes, let's begin," she said. Perhaps the choice was appropriate in more than just it's symbolic element. A looking glass, of a sort, might very well be inspiration for how they could resolve the problem itself. Much of that, however, would depend on just what Jean intended to do and how willing she was to allow herself to be helped. Emma remained wary, her mind alert. Prepared to move when she was needed, or to respond to any new surprises. If one thing had been proven beyond question so far, it was just how quickly things could turn on them. |
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| Jean Grey | Mar 11 2014, 12:11 AM Post #40 |
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Can kill you with her brain.
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Who in the world am I? And what was a life, in the end, but the sum of all the stories told about it? Spun together into thread, into a person, into dream and hope and fear and despair and love until it broke, strands going everywhere, fraying apart to somewhere dark and close and safe from having to hear or think or feel or remember. Fear. Fear and guilt and hurt and pain and- ...and love. Love and want and need, shattering through the backness of the hole that was everything inside her head and everything out of it too. Three from three, splicing back the fleeing strands of stories people told about someone that hadn’t want to be. “You're mistaken.” “We won't leave you like this.” “I love you.” I die, I die - I live, I live. Who in the world am I? Ah, that’s the great puzzle. I don’t much care where- Then it doesn’t matter which way you go. So why not go nowhere at all? One more story. One old story. A story that wasn’t hers, best of all, but she knew it, and she could drape herself in it, and all the rest of them too. Summon a table, sit them down. Dress them up - you shall go to the ball! No, not that. That was wrong, that was someone else’s story again. This one had been hers though, hers and not hers, ever since she could remember, sliding the words and the poems and the nonsense in her head. And now... now they were in her head too, so let them all eat cake and join the story. “Oh, bugger this,” the striped cat swore, as she noticed that she’d forgotten the cake. There really should have been cake. “Alright then,” she said calmly, all the same, smiling along the table and no one and nothing in particular. “Shall we all do this together?” The Queen of Diamonds looked at her, and nodded her heavy crowned head. "Yes, let's begin," she said. No. She frowned, just slightly, brow creasing downward, watching her hands fold and twist up in the green check pattern of her dress. That wasn’t right. “Now, come then, Emma. That’s not your line.” Smooth away the frown though, there’s a good girl, you’re much prettier when you’re smiling. You’re hottest when you’re angry, Red. No, not that, that wasn’t right either, she didn’t want to think about that. Smile at the Queen of Diamonds, encouragingly. Like a school teacher smiles to encourage his special pupil “Off with her head,” she prompted, lifting one hand to gesture toward her. “Go on - Off with her head! That’s your line.” “Jean-” warned the White Knight, but she didn’t like that, so she frowned, and waved her fingers, dropping his visor shut with a clank, so no one would have to hear that name. “Begin at the beginning,” intoned the Caterpillar, who knew her lines properly. That was pleasing, and she turned her smile toward her and waved her onward, “And go on till you come to the end-” “-then stop,” she finished, over top of the Caterpillar, cutting that off with a wave of her hand. “We’ve been having such a lovely chat, Emma and I,” she told them all, warmly and brightly and blankly, looking all the way down the table at each in turn, then added, as one would recite a poem only imperfectly committed to memory, “She is here to help me.” She told me so. The Queen of Diamonds wouldn’t lie - don’t draw her though, she’ll beat you if she’s able - no, that wasn’t right, that wasn’t this story either. She only wanted to have one story, but even in her mind, the other strands wouldn’t stop flitting back. Jean sighed, drawing her knees up to her chest and hugging them loosely as she leaned back on her chair. “I'm never sure what I'm going to be, from one minute to another,” she quoted solemnly. |
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| Purple Girl | Mar 13 2014, 11:56 PM Post #41 |
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I Can Make You Love Me
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A worse state than this? Kara lifted a brow, looking from Jean to Emma and back again. Gods, what had they done, putting this poor woman through this, however unintentionally? Maybe there hadn't been any choice, but that didn't really excuse it did it? No, this was on them. What would Michael have called it? A debt of honor? And so leaving Hone and Emma to what they would for the moment, Purple Girl moved herself toward the woman sitting to the side of that red path. Laid a hand on her arm and assured her she wasn't alone here. That they wouldn't allow her to face this alone. "Kara, don't!" Emma called out, but the purple skinned woman ignored her. Perhaps she shouldn't have, or perhaps what happened next would've happened regardless. No way to know and there was no time to turn back as Jean Grey let out a broken sob and the darkness came. Enfolding Jean first, Kara had no time for more than lavender eyes going wide - surprise and the beginnings of instinctive, unstoppable panic. No time for more than a half-attempt at gaining her feet before the blackness took her too. Close. Too close. Squeezing around her. Suffocating, or it seemed so. Ephemeral, inescapable walls closing around her and the panic rose. Familiar. Too familiar, even after years of absence. Clawed at her like a living thing. No. No!. Her mouth opened to scream, that was instinctive, too. Hands tried to raise to push against what felt like a dark, invisible coffin. But there were no words, no sounds, nothing to push at or away. No air when she tried to gasp for that. Like being buried alive. Trapped. “Jeaaann!!” That filtered through the panic she'd never had any control of, gave her something to latch onto other than the dark and the silence and the oppressive, suffocating nothing. “No, don’t do this Jean. Don’t do this,” Pleading, more emotion than she'd guessed Scott Summers could be capable of if she hadn't seen the way he was looking at his wife earlier. Kara concentrated on that, let her awareness slowly shift, pushing the panic back bit by bit. “I love you. I fucking need you, Jean.” The blackness surrounding them lightened. Not much, but enough. Enough for Kara to take that breath. Close her eyes and then open them to find something lighter than the blackness behind her eyelids. “I love you,” Summers repeated, steadier now and something like the barest hint of sunrise that came from everywhere and nowhere now. “I love you.” Then a little brighter still and Purple Girl felt the sharper edges of that gnawing dread in her gut dull to something close to bearable. “I love you.” Sudden vertigo, but the dark was gone. Replaced by bright light and colors, sights and sounds. A complete contrast to what had come before. And familiar, Kara realized, as she took in the scene. Something from her childhood that she's only imagined in her own head, but here it was. The bright colors - all reds and yellows and greens - The striped cat that was Hone, complete with fur across from her. Next to her, fittingly enough, the Queen of Diamonds, Emma complete with Tiara. Mantis the Caterpillar, next to Hone and complete with hookah. Scott Summers as the Knight to the other side of Emma. And herself... Before she looked, Kara knew what she would see, but she did it anyway. Purple striped suit, the hat on her head. A slow, wry smile spread over her face. Mad as a Hatter it was. “Oh, bugger this,” Hone declared as Kara's attention shifted to the end of the table, where Jean Grey sat in a green and red dress as Alice, empty smile on her face. “Alright then,” [Jean/Alice] said calmly, like they were having a conversation. She'd forgotten the teapots, though. “Shall we all do this together?” "Yes, let's begin," Emma agreed from next to he and Kara noted that they were missing at least one guest. Perhaps they should've thought to bring in another person to complete the set. “Off with her head,” [Jean] prompted, lifting one hand to gesture toward [Emma] with something like encouragement. “Go on - Off with her head! That’s your line.” Though it wasn't. It was for the Red Queen, but it might be better if she didn't point that out. “Jean-” warned the voice of Scott Summers, but he got a frown and his visor shut for his trouble. Then Mantis joined in. “Begin at the beginning,” intoned the Caterpillar who was Mantis and who would, of course, know her lines, “And go on till you come to the end-” “-then stop,” their Alice finished, cutting off Mantis with another wave of her hand. “We’ve been having such a lovely chat, Emma and I,” she told them all, warmly and brightly and blankly, looking all the way down the table at each in turn, then added, as one would recite a poem only imperfectly committed to memory, “She is here to help me.” Purple eyes moved to Emma briefly, then across the table to Hone. Down the rabbit hole, it was. After such a fall as this, I shall think nothing of tumbling downstairs. Their troubled Alice sighed and drew herself into a ball. A lost, broken little ball, sitting in a chair at the head of the table. Somehow, they had to fix this. At least as much as possible for it to be fixed. “I'm never sure what I'm going to be, from one minute to another,” she quoted solemnly and Purple Girl didn't doubt the truth of that at all, whatever the setting. "Well, the entire world is in ruin," Kara began matter of factly, flicker of a smile passing over her face despite the circumstance she looked across the table to Hone again, "and poor Chessur is off his tea." Then, turning to Jean, she told the other woman with quiet sincerity, "You've lost your muchness." "There's butter in the works," added Mantis the Caterpillar. Kara wasn't sure she could've said it any better herself for once. |
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| Kiwi Black | Mar 15 2014, 01:37 PM Post #42 |
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International Bloke of Mystery
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Bloody hell - he had whiskers, didn’t he? Could just about feel them moving, stirring the air up over his cheeks and making his fur ruffle. His bloody brindled fur. Hone had too much self respect left to check to see if she’d given him a tail though, but it even that was a nearer thing than he’d have liked, before Jean Grey and her wee checkered red and green outfit called them to order, smiling like a dressmaker’s mannequin, an expression that never got close to touching her eyes. All surface, nothing like real feeling. "Yes, let's begin," agreed Frost from across the table, nodding that bugger of a crown, but that only brought a ghost of a frown shadowing across the redhead’s face, and a wee bit of gentle chiding about ‘remembering her lines’. Off with her head, though? Summers’ attempt to remonstrate didn’t do the bloke a bloody bit of good either, earning himself nothing but enclosure within the visor of his own armor, whatever else he might have said muffled more than any metal ought to have allowed. Bugger this all over again, Hone was in the business of thinking too himself, one semi-paw-like hand reaching up mostly unconsciously and running along his whiskers. What was this then, by Emma Frost’s standards? A worse state or a better? Better than that bloody blackness, that was a no-doubter, but as for the rest... well, it didn’t take much in the way of brains to spot an escapist fantasy when somebody plonked you down right inside it, dressed up to fit the parts. Only question was - what were they supposed to do about it? Play along, or try to snap her out of it? “Begin at the beginning,” Mantis intoned beside him, provoking a smile from the woman at the end of the table that was only a wee bit more reassuring than the displeasure that had crossed her face when her husband had used her name. “And go on till you come to the end-” “-then stop,” the redhead finished for her, waving that away with one hand and already moving on. “We’ve been having such a lovely chat, Emma and I,” she informed the table, too bloody brightly to have done a decent job at being convincing, but she didn’t seem much like bothered about that. “She is here to help me.” Hone spotted Purple’s expressive eyes moving then, under that bloody hat, first toward Frost and then across the table at him. He wrinkled his nose, as if to say ‘yeah, no bloody clue here either’, felt his whiskers twitch, and frowned at that, which only made the bloody buggers twitch worse, but never mind that - by the time he’d got his hand back down away and safely on the table, the redhead had drawn her knees up into a little loose ball in her seat at the head of the table. “I'm never sure what I'm going to be, from one minute to another,” she quoted solemnly. Bloody hell - either she was warning them off here, or she just knew those books too damn well by half. Or both, actually - couldn’t really exclude that possibility now, could you? "Well, the entire world is in ruin," Kara began matter of factly, and sheat least was half-smiling, so that made one of them, then two when the longtime New Zealander and sometime striped-cat shrugged and decided to trust her to go wherever she thought she was going, playing along like this, "and poor Chessur is off his tea." “Too bloody right he is,” Hone muttered, though truth be told, he wouldn’t have minded a cuppa here and now, had one been offered. The table stayed resolutely clear of teapots though, their Alice’s attention seemingly fixed fully on the guest she’d dressed up as her Hatter, while Purple continued calmly, without a trace of accusation, frustration, or anything other than quiet observation, "You've lost your muchness." "There's butter in the works," Mantis added prosaically. Yeah, that was about right, wasn’t it? Gummed up and sticking where it shouldn’t be, sliding off where it should. “I can’t go back to yesterday,” the redhead told Purple, sounding a wee bit closer to something genuine, a wee bit less like a bad actor with a mechanical smile, than she’d done since they’d all found themselves seated at this table, “I was a different person then.” Sounding wistful on it too... ...the hell had they set in motion here, calling on her to take that mission? No one else who could have done what she’d done today, there wasn’t even a bloody doubt of that, but... this? Yeah, he had a debt here. Bloody great big one. “We’re all mad here. You must be,” Jean Grey accused, looking intently over each of them in turn, and flipping up her husband’s visor once more as she came to him, “or you wouldn’t have come here.” Hone snorted lightly, a grin - Cheshire or not - forming on his face as he leaned back on his chair, shifting a little for comfort’s sake, and... hell, yeah, there was tail after all. How in bloody hell did Tigra and Wagner deal with one of these things day in and out? “Let me tell you something, mate,” the former chieftain said though, turning his head to meet the sadness in the redhead woman’s green eyes, “the best people usually are, eh.” |
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| White Queen | Mar 16 2014, 05:57 AM Post #43 |
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Top class breeding, darlings.
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Despite the outwardly whimsical appearance of their new environment, there was just as much potential peril in this situation as there had been in the eternal void they'd only so recently escaped or the psychic maelstrom Emma had found Jean amidst. The former White Queen remained wary and watchful. Should things go wrong, should they fail to bring Jean back to herself, she may remain trapped in this fantasy forever. And all of them with her. Not everyone cared for the characters Jean had assigned them. Hone seemed particularly bothered by the whiskers. And there was one particularly notable absence in their number. The hostess seemed oblivious to all of this. Far too pleased with the arrangement, like a child whose dragged out her favorite dolls for a bit of make-believe, the smile on her face far too empty, not to sort of smile one could trust. It was, however, well past time they began. It was the reason they were all here. Of course, Jean's idea of what they were all to do might be quite different from what the rest of them expected. Emma's careful answer didn't please the redheaded woman. There was a hint of a frown on her face, and her hands shifted, gathering up clutches of her own dress. “Now, come then, Emma. That’s not your line.” Jean protested, her smile returning as if painted on with a Sharpie pen. Patient but demanding as she spoke to Emma as if she were a directing a child in a church play. “Off with her head,” she instructed, gesturing her way with one hand. “Go on - Off with her head! That’s your line.” Only in Jean's warped version of the story. And were they all, then, to act out their parts? Was that what she had in mind? “Jean-” her husband said, a note of warning in his voice. That displeased her even more. Her frown returned, and with a wave of her fingers the visor of his white knight's armor slammed down, muffling anything else he might have wished to say. “Begin at the beginning,” Mantis said, which caused Jean to find her smile again. Jean urged her to continue with a wave seeming perfectly oblivious to the fact that the King had spoken those words, not the Caterpillar. “And go on till you come to the end-” “-then stop,” Jean said, silencing the rest of the quote from Mantis with another wave. “We’ve been having such a lovely chat, Emma and I,” she continued, magazine perfect-smile, warm and hollow, bestowed on each of them in turn. “She is here to help me.” Kara's eyes flicked Emma's way, and the blonde woman hastily mouthed 'play along.' They would have to, at least for the moment. Jean was still in far too unsteady and conflicted a state. Her own performance began to crack around the edges as she sighed and curled herself into a ball, arms around her knees in a loose hug. Miserable and lost, the sadness almost palpable as it radiated from her. “I'm never sure what I'm going to be, from one minute to another,” she said, and there was no doubting the truth of that. Nor did it lesson the troubling aspect of all this. Kara chose to pick things up, then. "Well, the entire world is in ruin, and poor Chessur is off his tea." There was a brief moment's agreement from Hone before Kara turned purple eyes back to Jean and continued. "You've lost your muchness." And so she had. At the same time, she was suffering from rather an excess of muchness. "There's butter in the works," Mantis added. Well, at least there was no shortage of suitable quotes with which to define the problem. “I can’t go back to yesterday,” Jean said, sounding more like herself and less like the pretend role she had assumed. “I was a different person then.” Emma lifted her eyes to Hone and Kara, frowning slightly. There was sympathy in their eyes, a determination to mend the damage in any way they could, but could they truly appreciate what Jean was going through? Not the way Emma could. She'd had her own yesterday she'd never been able to go back to, thanks to Astrid. "It's a poor sort of memory that only works backwards," Emma replied. If she must quote from the stories, she could at least start with the proper Queen. She'd found her own way to adjust to the mark left on her in that encounter. And now, her she was, in a position to make use of that lesson to help a woman who had once been her most bitter foe. “We’re all mad here. You must be,” Jean said, her tone full of accusation as she looked at all of them with fierce eyes. Scott's visor flipped back up as her gaze fell upon him. “or you wouldn’t have come here.” A soft snort of amusement issued from the Maori chieftain, who grinned very much like his character might be expected. Leaning backward against his chair, he said, “Let me tell you something, mate, the best people usually are, eh.” Emma looked to Jean, wondering how she might respond to that. He'd gone off the script slightly, but only as far as a few nods to his own style, and the older woman seemed to have fallen into going through the motions more than trying to force the lines. Still, if by chance she was inclined to object still, there were other ways to express Hone's words within those bounds. "Consider what a great girl you are. Consider what a long way you've come to-day. Consider what o'clock it is. Consider anything, only don't cry." |
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| Jean Grey | Mar 18 2014, 10:09 PM Post #44 |
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Can kill you with her brain.
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I have a world of my own now, and all of it is nonsense. Here it is, a bright shiny shell, covering all of it like the enamel at the end of a manicure, protecting all the tears and cracks so they couldn’t grow any further, or catch on anything. Her very own story, hidden away beneath the trappings of someone else’s, and she... ...and she... ...would feel safer with her arms around her knees, hugging the world out and bits and pieces in, the same way she’d spent whole days at a time back lives and years and worlds away, when she was a different person. Or was it all the same person? There wasn’t really a way to be sure, unless you were sure. And she wasn’t... one minute to the next and who was she, really? The white knight would have given her an answer, if she’d let him, but she didn’t want that answer. His visor would stay closed, and she wouldn’t have to think about that. Not yet. Not yet. Did the Queen of Diamonds think she was being very subtle, turning her head and only mouthing her words, inside someone else’s mind? No matter though, because the Hatter - her very own Hatter, who’d promised to look after her, to help her if it was too much and she turned out to be the threat was looking right toward her, nearly as at home in someone else’s mind as she was in her own purple skin. "Well, the entire world is in ruin," [she] began matter of factly, even with a smile for the striped Cat, who disappeared his smile, instead of the rest of him, "and poor Chessur is off his tea." A cat could look at a king. And he could swear at one too, or at a tea party, and there he went doing that, but that was all so much stuff and noise and nonsense. No tea though... no tea for him, or for anyone, for that was what mothers did when they couldn’t find any other way to show they cared, to help you put yourself back together. She wasn’t ready for that. The enamel wasn’t dry, it wasn’t set, and it would all be smudged and broken all over, no help for it but to wash, wash, wash away. The hatter again, and she was looking right down the table at her, speaking as she always did, calm and quiet and honest, "You've lost your muchness." I used to be much, much, muchier. "There's butter in the works," said the Caterpillar. From the end of the table, she nodded, just once, looking only at the Hatter. “I can’t go back to yesterday,” she said sadly, “I was a different person then.” I was me, and now, and now, and now I’m someone with too many pieces, too many shattered sharp edges, and I don’t think there’s enough glue around to hold them all together. "It's a poor sort of memory that only works backwards." The White Queen. Of course she would find a way to make this into a judgement that could be failed. The woman at the end of the table tensed, drawing her arms more tightly around her legs, and looking down to see whether she could see them through her knees. She couldn’t though. Just herself, and that was all around too, if you knew how to look for it, look through the enamel of scenery and tables and costumes. Her, and five other minds seated with her. Playing along. “We’re all mad here. You must be,” she accused them, looking to each in turn. The Caterpillar, the Cat, the Knight and the Queen and the Hatter, arranged at her table, playing along. “Or you wouldn’t have come here.” Who would willingly walk into the mind of a broken person, one which didn’t work? Mad, mad, mad. All of them were mad, and here they were... “Let me tell you something, mate,” said the Striped Cat, meeting her eyes like any cat would, even though she narrowed her own in return, “the best people usually are, eh.” Face haunted by a hint of a frown, she looked at him, and didn’t like him, and his answers. That was the line from the story, but even the story confused it all over again, didn’t it? The best people are mad, but so are the worst people, and if you don’t know who you are, it doesn’t mean anything, anything at all. The Queen though, she had other things to say. "Consider what a great girl you are. Consider what a long way you've come to-day. Consider what o'clock it is. Consider anything, only don't cry.” Orders to impart, in fact. Of course she did - no suggestions for her, she was a Queen, and everybody would simply have to know it. Only don’t cry. Would she like it very much if there was no way to follow her orders? “I wish I hadn’t cried so much-” said the woman who’d been called Red once, twice, a dozen times and more, but who had ended in grey and black and eyes that had dried once there was nothing left inside to hold onto, until someone had gone and built her back all over again and let all of it well up. “I shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own tears.” “Jean-” warned the Knight all over again, but this time, ‘Red’ only looked at him. ‘Play along’ she mouthed, and let him stew on that as she turned back toward the Queen of Diamonds, unfolding herself from her knees and tilting over to place her elbows on the table top, leaning her weigh atop them. “You think you know what I’m going through.” A statement, not a query. It was her mind, and she was allowed to know what the other minds inside it were thinking, if she wanted. And if she wanted to say that as a statement of fact, a cold grey facsimile of the Queen of Diamonds and her crisp, emotion-free observations, she could do that too. But there were shivers round the edges, fractures and smudges rippling past in the overly bright sky above them. “Let’s see if you do,” said Red, widening one of those holes and letting the grey and black of rips and tears pour down and enfold the Queen, wrapping her in a coat that was soft as a lover’s kiss in a small empty room full of bunks where there was no hope left. “Let’s see if you know how it feels to be Me.” But it wasn’t then that she’d given the Queen of Diamonds. Oh no. It was after. Alone, and alone, and alone again, except not alone, because there was a life. A small one, bright and innocent, one she’d known already, when it had begun to grow. Love and hope and guilt, and all around a despair that grew and grew and grew because she’d made that hope, that love, condemned it to join her in her prison, and she couldn’t, couldn’t couldn’t find the strength to take the knife he’d offered and do what she knew was the only way to free it. Love, and hope. Just a small, little piece of them. The very last thing left in the world that had mattered. Do, you, Emma? Did you know how this feels? |
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| Purple Girl | Mar 21 2014, 09:20 PM Post #45 |
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I Can Make You Love Me
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Briefly, Kara couldn't help but wonder if this might be how Mantis' mind worked all the time. A world in her head full of bright colors and symbols and dialogue that made much more sense in that context than it would outside it. Maybe. It would explain a lot of things about her teammate. Regardless of whether or not that was the case, though, for once Kara felt herself agreeing with the green telepath wholeheartedly. Butter in the works. It summed it up as well as anything. “I can’t go back to yesterday,” Jean told her, more of something real in those words than just the rote citation of lines. “I was a different person then.” Explain that, would've been the next line but it would be pointless here. They didn't need an explanation, they knew the explanation and the adventure wasn't one to repeat, either. Instead, Kara nodded and spoke a soft, "I know." What it was like to have someone else, someone else who was also you in your head, maybe not. But to find yourself suddenly someone different from one moment to the next, someone you weren't sure that you knew at all? Yes, she did know what that was like. "It's a poor sort of memory that only works backwards," Emma replied picking her line from the corresponding character this time. "Is that the way you manage?" Kara asked curiously, turning her eyes briefly to the White Queen, though it wasn't a Hatter's line “We’re all mad here. You must be,” Jean Grey accused, looking intently over each of them in turn, and flipping up her husband’s visor once more as she came to him, “or you wouldn’t have come here.” Perhaps she was right in a way, but this was hardly strange territory in a lot of ways, at least for her. Possibly not for Emma, even if her costume didn't seem to meet with her approval. As for Hone, he let out a light snort, smile on his face suiting his fur and tail. “Let me tell you something, mate,” the former chieftain said though, turning his head to meet the sadness in the redhead woman’s green eyes, “the best people usually are, eh.” Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Bat. How I Wonder Where You're At. "Just so," Purple Girl agreed with the flicker of something that was almost a smile again as her attention turned briefly to Hone and she reached up to straighten her bowler hat a bit where it was trying to tilt off her head. With a considering look to their Alice, the White Queen added, "Consider what a great girl you are. Consider what a long way you've come to-day. Consider what o'clock it is. Consider anything, only don't cry." Easier said than done, Kara knew. So much more easily said than done, when you'd suddenly lost who you thought you were. “I wish I hadn’t cried so much-” replied Jean/Alice, sounding bleak and lost and gods, what could they do to begin repairing this? “I shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own tears.” “Jean-” the White Knight said again, now that his visor was raised so he could. Jean Grey turned to him and mouthed 'Play along', just as Emma had done to her moments before. Her forehead furrowed and Kara looked toward Emma again, briefly, then back to Hone. He might've gotten through to his wife before, but Scott Summers seemed to have lost the knack of doing anything but sounding like he was trying to scold a disobedient child since. Out of his depth, maybe? Or was this his idea of 'believing in' his wife? Jean turned toward Emma straightening in her seat and elbows on the table as she leaned forward. “You think you know what I’m going through.” A statement, not a query and there was something ominous to it. “Let’s see if you do,” the red haired woman continued and a rift opened overhead, something thick and grey with patches of black wrapping up Emma Frost. “Let’s see if you know how it feels to be Me.” "Curiouser and curiouser," Mantis spoke up, and Purple Girl shot another quick, concerned look to Hone. Then, not quite sure what to do that may or may not make it worse, turned back to Jean, regarding the other woman in her modified dress of a little girl. "She won't understand," Kara decided on, saying the words quietly. "I'm not sure she can." Emma surely thought she did, but there was too much history there, she suspected, for Jean to ever trust her, or believe her. And they weren't going to help by ordering her to stop this or by trying to make her feel guilty for something that hadn't been her choice. “If I had a world of my own," the purple skinned woman added, semblance of a wry smile making it's way onto her face as the words of the movie she'd watched a million times as a little girl came to the front of her mind, "everything would be nonsense.” Nothing would be what it is because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary-wise; what it is it wouldn't be, and what it wouldn't be, it would. It was how she'd felt at thirteen, and for a long time after, when her own world had turned into something completely different in the blink of an eye and she'd become someone she hadn't been the day before. It was the best way she'd ever heard it explained. |
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3:33 AM Jul 11