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xp_logsThe morning after Forge's drastic attempt at gaining some control over his life proves fruitless, he has breakfast delivered - and surrenders another bit of control. WARNING: possibly disturbing imagery
Forge cracked his eyes, the morning Florida sun just starting to creep in through the window. The clock said he'd been asleep for four hours - practically lazy by his standards. Idly he wondered which classes he had today -
Oh yeah, he reminded himself. Forgot where I was for a moment.
Running a hand through his hair, he paused, feeling the uneven shortness between his fingers. Slowly he recalled the feeling of the box cutter in his hand, and watching his ponytail drop to the floor, light as a feather. He'd grown it out, despite the inconvenience in the lab, to remind himself that he did indeed have a life outside the workshop.
That probably wouldn't be the case much longer. Sniffing the air, he perked up. Pancakes. And the sound of bare feet. Definitely not Lorna's kitchen shoes. Or Malice's. Whoever. As much of a cold steel bitch as Lorna had turned into, apparently the mind control hadn't hurt her culinary talents in the slightest.
"Lorna?" he asked, walking out into the lab.
Yellow eyes practically sparked behind dark blue lids, framed in dark crimson hair. Definitely not Lorna.
"I could be," Mystique responded in a perfect imitation of Lorna's voice, untainted by Malice's flat inflection. Tinging her hair green in horrible contrast, the shapeshifter laughed deep in her throat, low and husky. "No, she's in going three rounds with Sabretooth. I do believe she's got herself an obsession."
Setting the tray of pancakes down on an empty table, she pulled a chair over, smiling at Forge as her hair crawled back to its normal form and color. Frowning at his hesitation, she snapped her fingers. "Eat. Because when you're done, I'm going to fix that abomination you call your head."
Forge choked back a yelp of shock. "Fix my... like you guys did Lorna?" He was surprised by the rolling laughter in response. Apparently the Brotherhood thought he was the funniest thing since South Park, he guessed.
"Your hair," Mystique pointed to Forge's uneven melange of curls and hacked-off locks. "You're going to eventually have to go out in public, and believe me, right now Toad wouldn't be seen with you. Or maybe he would, that atrocity would make him look almost stylish."
Unable to resist a smile, Forge slid down at the table, digging into the pancakes as Mystique pushed a carafe of orange juice toward him. "So Erik says you're our big hope. The edge we need over Xavier's little puppets. He said the same thing about the last kid he brought in. Should I believe him this time?"
Accepting the juice, Forge washed down a sticky mouthful of pancake. "Last kid? Oh, you mean John. I... I don't know. He thinks this will work. I..." he took a deep breath. "I can make the Neutralizer work. That's as far as I can guarantee."
Mystique nodded, sliding off the edge of the table to crouch with her back against the wall behind Forge, studying his hair. "You're honest. It's cute."
Forge almost choked on his orange juice. "It's what?" That was unexpected.
"It's endearing," Mystique repeated sweetly, but firmly. "It'll also get you killed. You're transparent, Forge. You're not doing this because you want to help us. You're doing it because you hope you can make a deal for Lorna." Forge turned to say something, but Mystique fixed him in place with a cold stare. "It's okay, I won't tell. When you've been in the game as long as I have, you learn to read people. You'd trade yourself for her, it's why you want to be useful, isn't it?"
Forge stammered, then looked at the tile floor. "She... she has people who care about her. Her... Alex. She means the world to him. She vanished, and he's probably scared shitless. I don't know if grabbing her was some ploy to get me or... she's not his daughter, is she?" he asked bluntly. "I've done the research."
Mystique smiled slightly, amusement showing in her eyes as her scales rippled in a sort of silent laughter. "Go on, detective. Tell me all."
Counting off on his fingers, Forge leaned down, his breakfast forgotten. "One. Erik Lensherr had two children by his wife, Magda. Twins, about thirty years ago. Two. Magda died between that time and when he began working with Charles Xavier. The Professor said he was never the same after that. Lorna's only in her mid-twenties. Magneto and Xavier were working together by that time. Xavier would have known. Ergo, he's bluffing."
"The million dollar question," Mystique asked, closing her eyes. With a series of small ripples, her face took on the contours of Magneto's, then Lorna's. "Does it matter? She has family now. Her boyfriend? She'll learn to move on."
Forge pondered that. "She had family. Friends. People she was close to, people she argued with, people she loved. Whether she's his daughter or not, what right did he have, any of you have, to take that from her?"
In a flash, Mystique stood, moving close enough to back Forge against the table. "Do not presume to lecture me on rights, Forge," she hissed. "You've never seen the horrors that are out there for our kind. Everything you've felt or seen, it's nothing. Erik has lived it. His family, machinegunned down in front of him as he watched their bodies fall into the pit, just because of their circumstances of birth and belief. He lived through that. And when he says he sees it happening again, I believe him. I believe in him, Forge."
She took a half-step back, composing herself. "He has a belief and he is right. And you've seen what that strength of conviction can do. He will do what is right, even if it hurts him to do so. I know... I know part of him still considers Charles his friend, even through the betrayal. It hurts him to do this, but he knows it's the right thing." She looked at Forge, gauging his reactions. "You know what that's like, don't you?"
Closing his eyes, Forge nodded. "And it hurts." He wasn't sure who said that, him or her. But it was true. "I want... I want..."
"You want her." The voice shocked Forge's eyes open. Her voice. Forcing his head to move, he looked to his side. The golden hair. Those eyes, the ones he couldn't meet directly without feeling that flush all the way from his chest to his ears. The smile, confident and shy at the same time. That barely perceptible touch of Kentucky to the accent. Everything he loved, everything he wanted.
"You're not her," he said flatly, but the touch of hesitation in his voice betrayed him. Everything he knew to be true just kept battering at him like a hammer. Every moment since she came out of that isolation room, the time in the lab, birthday picnics, that one time he kissed her and thought she knew what it meant. The pressures, the laughter, all of it. Every time he saw a smile on her face.
And because he had done the right thing, to give her the one thing that could make her happy, he had guaranteed that it would never be him. That was the hard truth.
"I can be," was the only thing she said, as her hands went to his shoulders. Tugging at his shirt, running through his hair.
It's not her. It's not real. It isn't the truth.
I can settle for the lie.
The whispered "Yes" was lost somewhere in a tangle of hands and mouths, skin on skin on metal, touches grazing and then firmer. It was no longer a question of real, of true, or of right. For once, it would be about want.
Nothing else mattered in the moment.
Forge cracked his eyes, the morning Florida sun just starting to creep in through the window. The clock said he'd been asleep for four hours - practically lazy by his standards. Idly he wondered which classes he had today -
Oh yeah, he reminded himself. Forgot where I was for a moment.
Running a hand through his hair, he paused, feeling the uneven shortness between his fingers. Slowly he recalled the feeling of the box cutter in his hand, and watching his ponytail drop to the floor, light as a feather. He'd grown it out, despite the inconvenience in the lab, to remind himself that he did indeed have a life outside the workshop.
That probably wouldn't be the case much longer. Sniffing the air, he perked up. Pancakes. And the sound of bare feet. Definitely not Lorna's kitchen shoes. Or Malice's. Whoever. As much of a cold steel bitch as Lorna had turned into, apparently the mind control hadn't hurt her culinary talents in the slightest.
"Lorna?" he asked, walking out into the lab.
Yellow eyes practically sparked behind dark blue lids, framed in dark crimson hair. Definitely not Lorna.
"I could be," Mystique responded in a perfect imitation of Lorna's voice, untainted by Malice's flat inflection. Tinging her hair green in horrible contrast, the shapeshifter laughed deep in her throat, low and husky. "No, she's in going three rounds with Sabretooth. I do believe she's got herself an obsession."
Setting the tray of pancakes down on an empty table, she pulled a chair over, smiling at Forge as her hair crawled back to its normal form and color. Frowning at his hesitation, she snapped her fingers. "Eat. Because when you're done, I'm going to fix that abomination you call your head."
Forge choked back a yelp of shock. "Fix my... like you guys did Lorna?" He was surprised by the rolling laughter in response. Apparently the Brotherhood thought he was the funniest thing since South Park, he guessed.
"Your hair," Mystique pointed to Forge's uneven melange of curls and hacked-off locks. "You're going to eventually have to go out in public, and believe me, right now Toad wouldn't be seen with you. Or maybe he would, that atrocity would make him look almost stylish."
Unable to resist a smile, Forge slid down at the table, digging into the pancakes as Mystique pushed a carafe of orange juice toward him. "So Erik says you're our big hope. The edge we need over Xavier's little puppets. He said the same thing about the last kid he brought in. Should I believe him this time?"
Accepting the juice, Forge washed down a sticky mouthful of pancake. "Last kid? Oh, you mean John. I... I don't know. He thinks this will work. I..." he took a deep breath. "I can make the Neutralizer work. That's as far as I can guarantee."
Mystique nodded, sliding off the edge of the table to crouch with her back against the wall behind Forge, studying his hair. "You're honest. It's cute."
Forge almost choked on his orange juice. "It's what?" That was unexpected.
"It's endearing," Mystique repeated sweetly, but firmly. "It'll also get you killed. You're transparent, Forge. You're not doing this because you want to help us. You're doing it because you hope you can make a deal for Lorna." Forge turned to say something, but Mystique fixed him in place with a cold stare. "It's okay, I won't tell. When you've been in the game as long as I have, you learn to read people. You'd trade yourself for her, it's why you want to be useful, isn't it?"
Forge stammered, then looked at the tile floor. "She... she has people who care about her. Her... Alex. She means the world to him. She vanished, and he's probably scared shitless. I don't know if grabbing her was some ploy to get me or... she's not his daughter, is she?" he asked bluntly. "I've done the research."
Mystique smiled slightly, amusement showing in her eyes as her scales rippled in a sort of silent laughter. "Go on, detective. Tell me all."
Counting off on his fingers, Forge leaned down, his breakfast forgotten. "One. Erik Lensherr had two children by his wife, Magda. Twins, about thirty years ago. Two. Magda died between that time and when he began working with Charles Xavier. The Professor said he was never the same after that. Lorna's only in her mid-twenties. Magneto and Xavier were working together by that time. Xavier would have known. Ergo, he's bluffing."
"The million dollar question," Mystique asked, closing her eyes. With a series of small ripples, her face took on the contours of Magneto's, then Lorna's. "Does it matter? She has family now. Her boyfriend? She'll learn to move on."
Forge pondered that. "She had family. Friends. People she was close to, people she argued with, people she loved. Whether she's his daughter or not, what right did he have, any of you have, to take that from her?"
In a flash, Mystique stood, moving close enough to back Forge against the table. "Do not presume to lecture me on rights, Forge," she hissed. "You've never seen the horrors that are out there for our kind. Everything you've felt or seen, it's nothing. Erik has lived it. His family, machinegunned down in front of him as he watched their bodies fall into the pit, just because of their circumstances of birth and belief. He lived through that. And when he says he sees it happening again, I believe him. I believe in him, Forge."
She took a half-step back, composing herself. "He has a belief and he is right. And you've seen what that strength of conviction can do. He will do what is right, even if it hurts him to do so. I know... I know part of him still considers Charles his friend, even through the betrayal. It hurts him to do this, but he knows it's the right thing." She looked at Forge, gauging his reactions. "You know what that's like, don't you?"
Closing his eyes, Forge nodded. "And it hurts." He wasn't sure who said that, him or her. But it was true. "I want... I want..."
"You want her." The voice shocked Forge's eyes open. Her voice. Forcing his head to move, he looked to his side. The golden hair. Those eyes, the ones he couldn't meet directly without feeling that flush all the way from his chest to his ears. The smile, confident and shy at the same time. That barely perceptible touch of Kentucky to the accent. Everything he loved, everything he wanted.
"You're not her," he said flatly, but the touch of hesitation in his voice betrayed him. Everything he knew to be true just kept battering at him like a hammer. Every moment since she came out of that isolation room, the time in the lab, birthday picnics, that one time he kissed her and thought she knew what it meant. The pressures, the laughter, all of it. Every time he saw a smile on her face.
And because he had done the right thing, to give her the one thing that could make her happy, he had guaranteed that it would never be him. That was the hard truth.
"I can be," was the only thing she said, as her hands went to his shoulders. Tugging at his shirt, running through his hair.
It's not her. It's not real. It isn't the truth.
I can settle for the lie.
The whispered "Yes" was lost somewhere in a tangle of hands and mouths, skin on skin on metal, touches grazing and then firmer. It was no longer a question of real, of true, or of right. For once, it would be about want.
Nothing else mattered in the moment.
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Date: 2005-10-13 03:59 am (UTC)Someone needs to just paint a giant 666 on your forehead at this point.
(Of course, LOVE, but. SIXSIXSIX!)
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Date: 2005-10-13 04:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-13 04:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-13 04:10 am (UTC)Fabulous log.
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Date: 2005-10-13 03:03 pm (UTC)And yes, loved the log as well. :)
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Date: 2005-10-13 04:59 am (UTC)On the fifth read, it still sends cold shivers down my back.
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Date: 2005-10-13 05:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-29 06:11 am (UTC)