Tommy, Yvette - Thursday afternoon

[x-penance.livejournal.com]

Speaking of poetry... Yvette ventures to the library, and encounters Tommy.



One of the first places Yvette memorised how to get to alone was the library. She loved it - the hundreds of books, the hush, the various nooks and crannies where you could go and be alone if you needed. The only drawback was her mutation; with the sharpness of her skin and the awkwardness of the talons, the library was very much a 'look but don't touch' place unless she asked someone to get something down and turn the pages for her - even with Mr. Forge's miracle cloth, she suspected it was going to be difficult to manipulate pages. It was a frustration, but given she was alive and free and in such a place with so many books, she tended to be philosophical about it.

On this particular afternoon she found herself wandering the poetry section, looking longingly up at the volumes of Keats and Browning and Wordsworth and Yeats. Her English was still textbook, but improving in leaps and bounds and any parts she couldn't understand she could take to Mr. Haller or Mr. Dayspring for help. Then her eye was caught by a flash of sandy-blonde hair catching the sunlight streaming in through the window - Tommy, sitting alone with a pile of large books that looked scientific. He looked busy, but she hadn't had the chance to thank him for his gift. Only he looked busy... Caught with indecision, she peered out from around the corner of the shelf at him, hoping that he might see her and make the decision for her.

If Tommy looked busy, it really was just him staring at a page of the chemistry book in front of him, trying to figure out why he couldn't get liquids to work. He'd gone over it a million times in his head, how it should theorically work just like solids. But for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what was wrong! With a soft groan, he laid back his head on the top cushion of the sofa he was sitting on, his eyes closed as one gloved hand come up to rub his temples. Why didn't it work?

With another soft sigh, he picked his head up and replaced the Chem book on the stack. It was obvious he wasn't going to go any further today and moved to pick up the paperback on the table in front of him. It was the original text of Frankenstien and it was probably somehow ironic that he liked it so much. As he reached forward, he noticed the glowing blue eyes peering at him from behind a book shelf. He frowned slightly then caught a flash of red and breathed a sigh of relief. "Yvette, what are you doing here?"

"Looking," came the shy reply, and she edged around the shelf a little further. "At the books. They are so many..." Her skin was still too hard for the normal facial expressions, but there was definite longing in her soft, accented voice. "Also, I want to be thanking you. For the gift." She ducked her head a little. "It was very pretty."

He knew that longing. He'd felt the same way in Xavier's libaray, since the FOH weren't so big on thier children being up on literature. Nope, it had been strictly monitored reading material for him. Of course, then, he wouldn't have dreamed of even having this conversation with someone like her.

"They're nice aren't they?" He added, looking around wistfully. Tommy had detected the longing and had to think of a polite way to ask about it. "Have you gotten to read any yet?" And in response to the gift, he just nodded to her with a small smile. "I wanted to apologize for scaring you. I didn't mean to, I just reacted badly."

"I was... confusing," she admitted with another duck of her head, a shuttering of those glowing eyes. "Such a strange place to wake up in, after so very long a time..." Not to mention she didn't really remember much of what had happened to her whilst she'd been 'asleep'. "And I did not mean to make frighten to you. But I like it here, very much. And the books are... how you say? Awesome, dude?" Obviously she'd been reading the journals. "I do read, maybe one or two, but it is difficult and I must ask for help." She held up her hands, voice sounding a little wistful. "I must look, but not touch, until I have Miss Clarice's gloves."

Tommy's thoughts turned inward and sad as he decided not to explain why he was startled probably more so then most. She didn't know...and he kind of liked it that way. He hoped it stayed that, but he knew that was too much to hope for. "It's okay, really. All in the past now right?" He gave her a smile, hoping to put her at ease about it.

Ignoring the 'awesome dude' as he was in too good a mood to be reminded of Dogbreath Kyle, Tommy considered her problem. "Is there anything you want to read right now? I'm pretty much done here, so I can help you if you want." He shoved two of the books into a backpack sitting next to the couch along with the paperback before clasping his gloved hands on his knees.

"Past, yes." That got an emphatic nod, followed by a widening of her eyes at the offer. "You are not being busy?" she asked, hopefully. "There is an English poet. His name is Keats. We study a little, back home in Kosovo, a translation." Unable to properly smile yet, she clapped her hands carefully together, the long talons rattling against each other. "You like poetry, yes?"

Talons aside, the look was kind of cute. Something was definatly short-circuiting in Tommy's brain, but he didn't care. "Keats...yes, I do believe I have heard of him though I am not familiar with much of his work." Then he smiled softly at her excitement. "Yes, I like poetry, classical poetry especially." After a careful look around the library to make sure it was pretty empty, he stood up. "Why don't you show me which book you want help with and maybe we can read it together?"

The blue glow of her eyes intensified for a moment. "I am very much thanking you, Tommy," she said, her English getting slightly mangled in her pleasure at finding someone else who liked poetry - many of the students seemed to be science types. She beckoned him towards the shelves, skipping a little as they went. "I am wanting to ask you a question, but I do not wish to be rude," she said as they went, her voice dropping shyly but perhaps not as shyly as before.

She may not have noticed but Tommy froze in fright for a moment, afraid of her question. He hoped that he wasn't about to prove himself right... that making friends here was impossible, but at least Terry would believe him now and leave him alone. Somehow, he managed a small smile. "Sure, ask away." He said softly as he followed her.

"I cannot help noticing... you are wearing the gloves?" Yvette hadn't noticed his sudden discomfort, focussing more on the prized Keats. Reaching the shelves, she peered up, trying to find the right book again. "Your hands... they give you trouble?" She looked over her shoulder at him, somehow managing to convey concern even if her expression was as blank as always.

Oh. Tommy breathed a small sigh of relief, his smile relaxing. "Kind of. I transform things at a touch." Looking around, he ducked down to pick up a pencil someone had dropped. He showed it to her as he pulled off one of his gloves with his teeth. Then he touched it with his ungloved hand and it turned automatically into lead, still the easiest for him, then held it out to her. As he replaced the glove, he added, "I'd hate to accidentally do that to someone because sometimes I do it without thinking."

She cupped the pencil gingerly in her hand, poking at it with one talon. The soft lead parted like butter under the touch. "Accidents are bad," she agreed with a soft sigh. "Mr. Forge, he helps me with clothes I cannot cut, but always I must be so careful not to hurt..." Then she looked up at him, eyes glowing brightly. "But you understand this. You are like me. That makes me... happy, I think. Not... alone?" She shook her head. "I cannot say the words in English. I am sorry."

Alone. Yvette had no idea why he felt so alone, but yet... what she said oddly comforted him. To know that, in some sense, he wasn't alone. Yes there were other mutants who had the same problems, Marie for one, but Tommy had never felt connected to any of them like he did this small red taloned girl. "No I understand perfectly. You don't want to accidentally hurt anyone, the same reason I wear these gloves. And it's comforting to not be the only one who feels that way." He nodded with a small smile. "It is nice not to feel alone. And if you ever need something changed so it won't break, I can help you. The necklace I made for you, you should be able to wear it without breaking it."

Then Tommy looked up at the books, suddenly feeling slightly uncomfortable at all the emotions going through him at the moment. "So which book is it?"

She couldn't smile, or reach out and touch him in a gesture of friendship. But she could nod, her eyes flaring blue and point at a small, leather-bound volume entitled Poems by John Keats. "That one, please, Tommy."

That nod was enough. Tommy reached over to take the book off the shelf then led her back to the couch, sitting on the floor so she could sit next to him and not risk the furniture while he could lean back against it. "Do you have a particular poem in mind or shall we just pick one?" He asked her as he opened up to the table of contents.

She sat carefully, glad for the suit that allowed her to not cut up the carpets, although she still had to be careful with her feet. "This one?" she suggested, indicating with a talon tip a poem called "To Hope". "My teacher, she used to read it to me, before I was taken out of school."

Tommy nodded as he flipped the pages of the book to the indicated poem, glancing over at Yvette for a moment as he wasn't sure what to do. When he found the poem, he angled the book so she could read it easily, not wanting to accidentally insult her or something by asking if she wanted him to read it for her or what.

In a small, almost whispering voice, Yvette started to read, hesitating a little over some of the words: "When by my solitary hearth I sit, When no fair dreams before my "mind's eye" flit, And the bare heath of life presents no bloom; Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed, And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head..." She paused, and looked at Tommy. "You like?"

He nodded with a small smile. "It's beautiful." He paused before adding. "If you need help with a word, just point it out."

"Thank you," she said, ducking her head a little. "My English... it is not so good. But I try hard. Help is good." She went through the rest of the poem, pausing now and again to ask for help with pronounciation or a word's meaning, and when she reached the end, gave a happy little sigh.

Tommy couldn't help but smile as well. It was clear how much she enjoyed the poem and he felt... satisfied in helping her, something he hadn't felt in a long time. Since before the rally really, maybe a couple times with Terry. "You did very well. Let's try another one hmm?" He asked softly.

"You choose this time," she told him, with more than a hint of a smile in her voice. "I would like to hear you read, please." Again that shy head-duck. "I like how you sound when you talk. Not loud, not scaring, like sometimes out there..." She waved a hand at the window, meaning the mansion and perhaps the world at large. "Too many people are being angry. It makes me sad."

Tommy couldn't help a small snort of amusement at the thought of everyone in the mansion being more angry then him as he turned to the table of contents again to pick out a poem. He had grown up being taught to be angry at those very people and the odd part was... he really wasn't anymore. He had to bite the inside of his cheek not to say anything along those lines. "I was angry for a long time. Now, I just want to be left alone so I tend to be more on the quiet side." He said as honestly as she could as he held out the book so Yvette could see the poem he had choosen. "This one okay?"

"Quiet is good. Alone... sometimes it is not so good. The doctor, the one who makes me to be frightened, and the good Professor and Mr. Haller, they think why I am like this is because I try to hide, to be alone in a bad place. But now I am, how you say? Stuck." There was a small note of resignation in her voice, but then she brightened, looking at the poem. "'Robin Hood'? He is the famous English robber, yes? Take from the rich and give to the poor?"

It continued to amaze him how much in common he had with this red, taloned girl, for Terry often said the same thing about him. And he was stuck, but not in a mutation. He was stuck between his want of not being alone, with his fear of hatred from the other students, which he wouldn't have blamed them. But Tommy pushed all that away as he smiled as Yevette clearly brightened. "Yes that's him. Would you like me to read about him or choose something else?"

"Read, please?" Yvette folded her hands carefully in her lap, watching him with an expectant air. "I would very much like to hear about Mr. Hood."

Giving her a fond smile, Tommy began to read in his soft, deep voice, just forgetting himself and his worries in the classical poetry.