Log: Kyle and Sam
Jul. 21st, 2009 07:07 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsSam returns from his days out. He didn't calm down like he wanted to. Madness ensues.
Sam had been standing in the Danger Room for quite some time; for him an eternity. His right hand was occupied by a small, short nosed .38 revolved he had originally purchased for farm use. The buck knife in his left hand was another familiar tool from the farm. He felt the coziness of these tools would be helpful, when he had heard about people doing these things they always had a method they used every time. He had one more fall back as well; a gas can sat at his feet and a 'strike anywhere' match sat between his teeth. If nothing else, perhaps being able to distance himself from the act (to start the events in motion and then walk away) would be what he'd need.
In front of Sam's feet, just past the gas can, sat the hologram of a nondescript young woman. He didn't want to make this easy on himself. He didn't need to visualize someone he could take revenge on, he didn't need to rationalize or create a sense of justice. The farm boy wanted to prove that he wasn't weak, that he wasn't incapable. Samuel Guthrie needed to prove to himself that he could kill, even if it was just a simulation.
Kyle's scheduled Danger Room run had been interrupted by two things. First, the 'occupied' light, and second the flashing red indicator that said someone had taken the safeties off. A glance into the observation room found the room empty, and the screens showing Sam being, in Kyle's not-at-all-professional opinion, damn weird.
He'd thank himself later for putting his jacket back on as he walked back down to the Danger Room.
"Dude. What the hell?" The words were out before he had the doors fully open. "Tell me that you have a hell of a good reason for this so I don't run my ass down to Scott's office and rat you out for being fucking nuts."
"Is it nuts, Kyle?" Sam hadn't bothered to turn yet, he kept his eyes on the scenario he had set up. "Is it!?" His face reddened and the tendons on his neck stood up as he yelled. "I'm no idiot, Kyle. I know what the killers among us think and what they say. They think they're better than us; that they have something we don't. I see it in their eyes." The Southerner turned to face the guy he helped rescue so long ago. "I don't think they're better than us. They see weakness where there's strength and, once I make sure, I'm going to set them straight. They're going to stop pushing us around Kyle. They're going to stop threatening us and pushing us around every time we step out the door because they're going to know we have something they lost. They're going to be glad that we forgive them for it."
"What?" Kyle wasn't sure exactly who Sam was talking about, and he was pretty sure that 'nuts' was a much more accurate diagnosis than he'd originally thought. "Um. Dude, you might wanna be more specific. Killers like Logan and Nate, or like Jean-Paul, or like the folks in New York, or what? Because we've got a lot of people who killed people. I mean, hell, I came pretty close to killing whatshisface, Doc Moira's stalker."
"No, not the people that have killed; the killers. The ones that make their livelihood on it. The ones that hold it against us. The ones that think we don't have what it takes." Sam sighed, slipping the buck knife back in it's sheath to run his fingers through his hair. The match flicked between his teeth as he spoke. "I know I'm not the only one that sees it, it's right
there. Everytime Logan calls someone a kid. Every time the Snow Valley crew calls someone a boy or threatens them. It's on the tip of all their tongues but they all pay lip service to the idea they see at as the great burden it really is. They see it as a badge of honor and that ain't right. It has to change. They're going to see X-Men don't kill because it's wrong, not because we can't."
"Dude, are you off some meds that you should be taking that none of us know about?" Yeah, Sam was crazypants. "Logan's like eight thousand years old. Everyone's a kid to him. And the folks over at Snow Valley are all crazy." Kyle liked Amanda, and Morgan and even Jubilee, but he had no illusions about their sanity. "Nobody thinks we can't. Fuck, I'm pretty sure half of them know we damn well can because some of us have! Nate? Jean-Paul? Dude, did you hit your head and forget what Nate used to do for a living?"
"Why isn't anyone listening? Why does everyone think having one person like Nate trying to make things right means that everyone's had that awakening? I ain't crazy and neither are they. They know exactly what they're doing and they look down on us for knowing better. You're letting them! You and yours writing them off as crazy instead of puffing up, standing square with them, and telling them they ain't right." Sam was nearly screaming, teeth clinched, match splintering against his lips. "That's the shit that makes them think they're right and it's going to stop."
"Dude. I'm saying I don't think they look down on us. I mean, for fuck's sake, Sam, Angelo and Amanda are dating and have been for like, ever. They were all here for like a month after the city blew up. Doug and Forge are friends." Kyle had been moving closer, in the hopes of getting the knife, or the gun, or the gasoline away from Sam - and was really starting to regret the part where he hadn't shut things down as soon as he saw Sam being crazypants. "Look, just because Morgan dumped you doesn't mean they're all stuck up dickheads over there. What the ass is your problem?"
"That's not what this is about and I'm tired of people writing me off. I'm tired of people and their weak deflections when it's right in their face. You want to know what my problem is!? Choosing not to kill don't mean I'm just somebody's fucking puppy dog." Sam held up the revolver in his hand, showing the profile of it to Kyle. "You wouldn't walk up on a killer with a gun in their hand, would you Kyle? What makes you not give me that same courtesy? Think about it. You're part of their world, staying in your place, and you need to step out of it. You need to listen with some sort of levity. I'm not playing whipping boy today."
"So, this isn't about Morgan dumping you and you being all crazy over at the Brownstone, this is about... Morgan dumping you and you being crazy here." Kyle crossed his arms and glared at Sam. "Dude. Get the fuck over yourself. First of all, I've been shot before. It just pissed me the fuck off. Second, so what, you're gonna win Morgan back by shooting some hologram to prove you're a badass? For fuck's sake! Listen to the shit you're saying!"
"Yeah, you ain't interested in listening either, are you?" Sam stepped up as Kyle crossed his arms and glared, dropping the revolver. "I'm not someone people ought to listen to because I'm just a dumb hillbilly, right? Couldn't be have some insight into the way of things. You think you have me all pinned down just like everyone else. Well, how about you get out of here or I get you out of here?"
"What. The. Fucking. FUCK? For fuck's sake, I'm listening to you, and nothing you're saying makes any goddamn sense. You're about as much a dumb hillbilly as I am a dumb white trash kid and you fucking know it. If anybody here knows you're not a dumbass it's me, you're a third the goddamn reason I want to teach!" And Kyle realized he'd gone and let the damn cat out of the bag again, but fuck it, if people thought he was too dumb to teach they could say so. "Dude, get some goddamn therapy or something. Go get drunk. Whatever. Fuck, I'll pay for it if it'll get you to stop being looneytunes."
"I'm not crazy!" Sam yelled it loud enough his throat turned raw. He ran his fingers through his hair again. "If I thought you were dumb I wouldn't explain. You're not dumb, you're just not looking at what's happening and that's just perpetuating it. Now, get out."
Yep. Crazy. Sam wasn't doing a lot to convince Kyle that he was holding onto anything like sanity. "Okay, dude, you start making sense, and I'll leave. Otherwise, man, you are not making sense and I'll go get Scott or something. I'm trying to listen here. You think people think you're a dumb redneck, but dude, I don't get why you think that. And who the fuck cares what the Snow Valley people think, if they even think that!"
"You're not listening again and I'm about to be taken seriously." Sam squared himself to Kyle and stepped forward again. He was tired of explaining himself and he didn't have to. This was becoming another example of someone not taking him seriously and it was about to be the last time. "You're being told to get out of here one last time."
"Dude, I just want you to talk to me. I don't get why you think any of this stuff." The anger was starting to be a little contagious and Kyle was obviously working to keep the growl out of his voice. "I said I'm listening. You're not explaining. Come on, I mean, at least give me something more than "The Snow Valley people think I suck.""
"I don't owe anyone any explanations and right now this isn't your business." Kyle's anger fed Sam's as well and he stepped forward, puffed up to intimidate. "This is your chance to walk right the hell out of here and stop pushing on me or I'm going to push right back."
"You're in the Danger Room with a gun and a big ol' thing of gasoline! It's damn well everyone's business because you're too pissed off to not blow the place up!" Any control Kyle had over his voice was shot to tell, and the words came out loud and angry. "There's upset and then there's acting like a nut, and you're doing the second one!"
"I'm not crazy!" Sam was off in a flash, fist clinched, near breaking the sound barrier by the time he closed the distance to Kyle and threw a punch at the other man's ribs. He had been told he was being crazy over and over and it was time to end it. He wasn't crazy and he wasn't weak; he saw how people saw him and he knew full well that no one would question one of the 'tough guys' or talk to them like this if they were in his place right now.
The only things that kept Kyle's ribs from being shattered into a million tiny lung-piercing pieces were his agility and the padding in his jacket. He had just enough time to block Sam's arm, doing more to shove himself out of the way than actually move or stop the other man. The punch glanced off his side and he heard the cracks before the pain of the broken ribs hit him. He dropped to all fours, claws scraping against the floor and barked out a harsh expletive.
Sam's anger faded when he realized how much force he produced. Sam couldn't remember the last time he actually tried to hurt someone; he even grappled the baddest of the bad. He didn't really want to hurt people and even though he knew he could intellectually, it had just become far to real.
"I'm sorry!" Sam rushed to his friend's side. He knew it was a bad injury instantly. "I'm sorry Kyle, I was just so mad..." His apologies stopped; they wouldn't be worth anything now. Maybe he had been right about how he was treated but now he realized what the opposite would truly be and he knew that he didn't want that. He hadn't realized how happy he had been with who he was. He wanted to take it all back.
Kyle couldn't breathe deeply, and because he couldn't breathe right, he couldn't talk clearly. He tried to push himself up right, failing as the broken ribs shot pain up his side and chest. "Later." He finally got out. "Medlab." He wasn't coughing blood, and he could breathe, if barely. He knew it was bad, but not life-threatening, but the sooner he got the ribs looked at and taped up, the sooner he could figure out just what the fuck had happened.
Quickly, Sam scooped Kyle up to carry him to the medical bay as fast as he could. He knew the fall out from this was going to be bad. He could only hope that he didn't do any permanent damage and that he could be forgiven some day. Mostly he hated that he had been given such a huge compliment only moments earlier and he betrayed that trust because he didn't realize what he had until he saw the split second where it slipped away.
Sam had been standing in the Danger Room for quite some time; for him an eternity. His right hand was occupied by a small, short nosed .38 revolved he had originally purchased for farm use. The buck knife in his left hand was another familiar tool from the farm. He felt the coziness of these tools would be helpful, when he had heard about people doing these things they always had a method they used every time. He had one more fall back as well; a gas can sat at his feet and a 'strike anywhere' match sat between his teeth. If nothing else, perhaps being able to distance himself from the act (to start the events in motion and then walk away) would be what he'd need.
In front of Sam's feet, just past the gas can, sat the hologram of a nondescript young woman. He didn't want to make this easy on himself. He didn't need to visualize someone he could take revenge on, he didn't need to rationalize or create a sense of justice. The farm boy wanted to prove that he wasn't weak, that he wasn't incapable. Samuel Guthrie needed to prove to himself that he could kill, even if it was just a simulation.
Kyle's scheduled Danger Room run had been interrupted by two things. First, the 'occupied' light, and second the flashing red indicator that said someone had taken the safeties off. A glance into the observation room found the room empty, and the screens showing Sam being, in Kyle's not-at-all-professional opinion, damn weird.
He'd thank himself later for putting his jacket back on as he walked back down to the Danger Room.
"Dude. What the hell?" The words were out before he had the doors fully open. "Tell me that you have a hell of a good reason for this so I don't run my ass down to Scott's office and rat you out for being fucking nuts."
"Is it nuts, Kyle?" Sam hadn't bothered to turn yet, he kept his eyes on the scenario he had set up. "Is it!?" His face reddened and the tendons on his neck stood up as he yelled. "I'm no idiot, Kyle. I know what the killers among us think and what they say. They think they're better than us; that they have something we don't. I see it in their eyes." The Southerner turned to face the guy he helped rescue so long ago. "I don't think they're better than us. They see weakness where there's strength and, once I make sure, I'm going to set them straight. They're going to stop pushing us around Kyle. They're going to stop threatening us and pushing us around every time we step out the door because they're going to know we have something they lost. They're going to be glad that we forgive them for it."
"What?" Kyle wasn't sure exactly who Sam was talking about, and he was pretty sure that 'nuts' was a much more accurate diagnosis than he'd originally thought. "Um. Dude, you might wanna be more specific. Killers like Logan and Nate, or like Jean-Paul, or like the folks in New York, or what? Because we've got a lot of people who killed people. I mean, hell, I came pretty close to killing whatshisface, Doc Moira's stalker."
"No, not the people that have killed; the killers. The ones that make their livelihood on it. The ones that hold it against us. The ones that think we don't have what it takes." Sam sighed, slipping the buck knife back in it's sheath to run his fingers through his hair. The match flicked between his teeth as he spoke. "I know I'm not the only one that sees it, it's right
there. Everytime Logan calls someone a kid. Every time the Snow Valley crew calls someone a boy or threatens them. It's on the tip of all their tongues but they all pay lip service to the idea they see at as the great burden it really is. They see it as a badge of honor and that ain't right. It has to change. They're going to see X-Men don't kill because it's wrong, not because we can't."
"Dude, are you off some meds that you should be taking that none of us know about?" Yeah, Sam was crazypants. "Logan's like eight thousand years old. Everyone's a kid to him. And the folks over at Snow Valley are all crazy." Kyle liked Amanda, and Morgan and even Jubilee, but he had no illusions about their sanity. "Nobody thinks we can't. Fuck, I'm pretty sure half of them know we damn well can because some of us have! Nate? Jean-Paul? Dude, did you hit your head and forget what Nate used to do for a living?"
"Why isn't anyone listening? Why does everyone think having one person like Nate trying to make things right means that everyone's had that awakening? I ain't crazy and neither are they. They know exactly what they're doing and they look down on us for knowing better. You're letting them! You and yours writing them off as crazy instead of puffing up, standing square with them, and telling them they ain't right." Sam was nearly screaming, teeth clinched, match splintering against his lips. "That's the shit that makes them think they're right and it's going to stop."
"Dude. I'm saying I don't think they look down on us. I mean, for fuck's sake, Sam, Angelo and Amanda are dating and have been for like, ever. They were all here for like a month after the city blew up. Doug and Forge are friends." Kyle had been moving closer, in the hopes of getting the knife, or the gun, or the gasoline away from Sam - and was really starting to regret the part where he hadn't shut things down as soon as he saw Sam being crazypants. "Look, just because Morgan dumped you doesn't mean they're all stuck up dickheads over there. What the ass is your problem?"
"That's not what this is about and I'm tired of people writing me off. I'm tired of people and their weak deflections when it's right in their face. You want to know what my problem is!? Choosing not to kill don't mean I'm just somebody's fucking puppy dog." Sam held up the revolver in his hand, showing the profile of it to Kyle. "You wouldn't walk up on a killer with a gun in their hand, would you Kyle? What makes you not give me that same courtesy? Think about it. You're part of their world, staying in your place, and you need to step out of it. You need to listen with some sort of levity. I'm not playing whipping boy today."
"So, this isn't about Morgan dumping you and you being all crazy over at the Brownstone, this is about... Morgan dumping you and you being crazy here." Kyle crossed his arms and glared at Sam. "Dude. Get the fuck over yourself. First of all, I've been shot before. It just pissed me the fuck off. Second, so what, you're gonna win Morgan back by shooting some hologram to prove you're a badass? For fuck's sake! Listen to the shit you're saying!"
"Yeah, you ain't interested in listening either, are you?" Sam stepped up as Kyle crossed his arms and glared, dropping the revolver. "I'm not someone people ought to listen to because I'm just a dumb hillbilly, right? Couldn't be have some insight into the way of things. You think you have me all pinned down just like everyone else. Well, how about you get out of here or I get you out of here?"
"What. The. Fucking. FUCK? For fuck's sake, I'm listening to you, and nothing you're saying makes any goddamn sense. You're about as much a dumb hillbilly as I am a dumb white trash kid and you fucking know it. If anybody here knows you're not a dumbass it's me, you're a third the goddamn reason I want to teach!" And Kyle realized he'd gone and let the damn cat out of the bag again, but fuck it, if people thought he was too dumb to teach they could say so. "Dude, get some goddamn therapy or something. Go get drunk. Whatever. Fuck, I'll pay for it if it'll get you to stop being looneytunes."
"I'm not crazy!" Sam yelled it loud enough his throat turned raw. He ran his fingers through his hair again. "If I thought you were dumb I wouldn't explain. You're not dumb, you're just not looking at what's happening and that's just perpetuating it. Now, get out."
Yep. Crazy. Sam wasn't doing a lot to convince Kyle that he was holding onto anything like sanity. "Okay, dude, you start making sense, and I'll leave. Otherwise, man, you are not making sense and I'll go get Scott or something. I'm trying to listen here. You think people think you're a dumb redneck, but dude, I don't get why you think that. And who the fuck cares what the Snow Valley people think, if they even think that!"
"You're not listening again and I'm about to be taken seriously." Sam squared himself to Kyle and stepped forward again. He was tired of explaining himself and he didn't have to. This was becoming another example of someone not taking him seriously and it was about to be the last time. "You're being told to get out of here one last time."
"Dude, I just want you to talk to me. I don't get why you think any of this stuff." The anger was starting to be a little contagious and Kyle was obviously working to keep the growl out of his voice. "I said I'm listening. You're not explaining. Come on, I mean, at least give me something more than "The Snow Valley people think I suck.""
"I don't owe anyone any explanations and right now this isn't your business." Kyle's anger fed Sam's as well and he stepped forward, puffed up to intimidate. "This is your chance to walk right the hell out of here and stop pushing on me or I'm going to push right back."
"You're in the Danger Room with a gun and a big ol' thing of gasoline! It's damn well everyone's business because you're too pissed off to not blow the place up!" Any control Kyle had over his voice was shot to tell, and the words came out loud and angry. "There's upset and then there's acting like a nut, and you're doing the second one!"
"I'm not crazy!" Sam was off in a flash, fist clinched, near breaking the sound barrier by the time he closed the distance to Kyle and threw a punch at the other man's ribs. He had been told he was being crazy over and over and it was time to end it. He wasn't crazy and he wasn't weak; he saw how people saw him and he knew full well that no one would question one of the 'tough guys' or talk to them like this if they were in his place right now.
The only things that kept Kyle's ribs from being shattered into a million tiny lung-piercing pieces were his agility and the padding in his jacket. He had just enough time to block Sam's arm, doing more to shove himself out of the way than actually move or stop the other man. The punch glanced off his side and he heard the cracks before the pain of the broken ribs hit him. He dropped to all fours, claws scraping against the floor and barked out a harsh expletive.
Sam's anger faded when he realized how much force he produced. Sam couldn't remember the last time he actually tried to hurt someone; he even grappled the baddest of the bad. He didn't really want to hurt people and even though he knew he could intellectually, it had just become far to real.
"I'm sorry!" Sam rushed to his friend's side. He knew it was a bad injury instantly. "I'm sorry Kyle, I was just so mad..." His apologies stopped; they wouldn't be worth anything now. Maybe he had been right about how he was treated but now he realized what the opposite would truly be and he knew that he didn't want that. He hadn't realized how happy he had been with who he was. He wanted to take it all back.
Kyle couldn't breathe deeply, and because he couldn't breathe right, he couldn't talk clearly. He tried to push himself up right, failing as the broken ribs shot pain up his side and chest. "Later." He finally got out. "Medlab." He wasn't coughing blood, and he could breathe, if barely. He knew it was bad, but not life-threatening, but the sooner he got the ribs looked at and taped up, the sooner he could figure out just what the fuck had happened.
Quickly, Sam scooped Kyle up to carry him to the medical bay as fast as he could. He knew the fall out from this was going to be bad. He could only hope that he didn't do any permanent damage and that he could be forgiven some day. Mostly he hated that he had been given such a huge compliment only moments earlier and he betrayed that trust because he didn't realize what he had until he saw the split second where it slipped away.
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Date: 2009-07-22 03:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-22 01:53 pm (UTC)