Wow it feels good to post again...

[x-havok.livejournal.com]

Two quick ficlets to set up a bit to the big HFC party and Alex rescue.

The first one was written by Andrew and the second by myself.

Set Sometime in early January...


A grey February dawn in New York City, and a black
Lexus with tinted windows cruises like a hungry shark
through the streets of Brooklyn. Selene, the Black
Queen of the Hellfire Club, is on her way home from
one of her occasional late night hunts. On nights like
this, she prowls through the city's poorest
neighbourhoods, feeding on the energies of mutants who
won't be missed. But tonight's hunt was a
disappointment. She only found two mutants, and both
were so malnourished and sick that they had little
energy to offer her. Thus, even though the sun is
rising, Selene still has her wits about her, and she
has instructed her driver to go slowly through the
city. She may yet feed.

As the Lexus coasts through one particularly desolate
neighbouhood, Selene glances about her with sudden
agitation. There's something out there. Something
strong. A huddle of mutants, perhaps? Tunnel dwellers?

No. It's a single presence. An Alpha mutant, then.
Young, under-developed, but the power is there, she
can sense it.

"Stop the car," she orders her driver. The car brakes
in front of a boarded up house. Selene steps out onto
the sidewalk, a sinister figure dressed head to toe in
black leather, wrapped in a black velvet cowl pinned
with a silver crescent moon. She strides up the steps
of the house and presses a hand to the rotten wooden
boards across the door. The timbers crumble into dust.
The door itself disintegrates. She steps in.

There's little light in the building, but Selene has
no need of the light. She steps lightly through the
wreck of the house, following the scent of power. She
can feel the mutant's mind. Sleeping, somewhere in the
basement. A broken bed and two grey, infested
mattresses block the stairs heading down, but with a
wave of her hand Selene turns them all to dust and
continues down.

There he is, huddled in a filthy blanket in the
corner. A young Apollo beneath the grime. It takes
Selene a moment to realise why she recognises both his
features and his power signature. Then it falls into
place. One of Emma's students. He visited Selene's
home during the winter solstice festival last year.
She noticed him then, a child so rich with energy that
he could feed her for months, possibly even years. At
the time, Selene wondered why Emma would wave this
little treat in front of her like that. Was it a
threat or a promise? It doesn't matter now. The child
is out from under Emma's wing, and that makes him fair
prey.

"Oh boy," Selene calls out, pricking at his mind,
prodding him awake. "Wake up, boy. You shouldn't sleep
here. You aren't safe here."


Set right before the party, but gives some background of what's been happening...


he sat in the window sill of the tiny window, legs hugged tightly to his chest. It was the only place in the room he felt alive, even the slightest bit free. It was high up, for the room was in an attic of sorts, or so he thought, and he could see most of the grounds. The window was taunt, for he had always been an outdoor person and hated being trapped indoors, and a painful reminder of the freedom he couldn’t have. A monster didn’t deserve freedom.

The room was small and cold, but he didn’t notice, though he was clad only in a pair of gray sweatpants clinging to his thin form, leather cuffs around his ankles and wrists and a braided leather collar about his neck. A collar he had put on himself. he was never cold, not anymore, for the draining of his power only seemed to make it fill him more and his skin radiated with a slight heat from it. The tiny room was about as bare as he was, the only other two features being a small cold fireplace and a bed. he hated the bed, with it’s confining chains hanging from the four posts. That was where She always bond him when She played with him, for she claimed he had no control over his body as the power was released so it was safer with the chains. Safer or no, he still hated it. Draining, playing, made no difference to Her.

The bed was where he had spent the first days (weeks? months?) in this room, the entire time chained to four posts by the cuffs on his wrists and ankles. But then it didn’t matter, for She kept his mind clouded to the truth. Half the time, when he was asleep recovery from a drain or throwing up what little was left in his stomach, he didn’t know where he was, nor did he care, it was constant happy that nothing could break. Slowly, She had brought him down off that happy, slowly weaning him to the pain that went with the draining off of his power and to where he was. It was when he had gotten to the point She wanted that She began to ask questions. he responded telling Her more and more, though he hadn’t wanted to, but something made him. he told Her about what had happened at the mansion, about the deaths in Hawaii, about blowing away half the living room, even the plane crash that haunted his nightmares.

That had been the first time She had offered the collar. She had told him that if he would only serve Her, She could take all his fears away. If She drained his power, he wouldn’t risk hurting people ever again. But that meant staying here…forever. At first he had refused and thus she had drained him completely dry, which was more painful, and without masking the pain. He had slept for three days straight, or so She had told him and couldn’t keep down solid food for two more.

When She came again, it was days later. She told him how She didn’t have to drain him dry every time, but it was less painful for him and he got over it better. But She had to drain him more often, which was inconvenient but see how much She cared for him? See what good care She would take of him, if he only willingly accepted her offer. She hated taking what She wanted and keeping him chained up all the time, or so She said, for She saw that it hurt him. And as corny as Her reasons, something inside him made him agree. With a nod of his head, the chains on his wrists were released and She handed him the collar which he then buckled around his own throat, much to Her delight.

That was when he’d resigned himself to this fate, the fate of a slave, which was what he was. The routine was the same: She came ever three days for Her playtime as She called, he was chained to the bed and drained of his power. he’d wake up a day later still in the bed but no longer tied and proceed to throw up into a bucket which was changed by the servant who brought him his food. The lack of keeping food down was why he’d become much thinner, but now that he was getting used to the forced draining, he could keep food down easier.

But right now, his stomach turned at the thought of eating. he was much more inclined to watch what was going on outside for it seems She was getting ready for a party, a rather large one in fact. A hand fingered the leather around his throat as it often did, reminding him what was his reality. She had shown him that the outside world was no place for him that only pain and lose could be found there. Here he was sheltered and safe. Murderer or slave…it was no choice but a choice all the same. And the collar showed his choice. he would not hurt anyone anymore and if he had to give up his freedom for that…so be it.

he knew She was outside the door before it even burst open. “Come here, my young Apollo.” He was relieved by the name, for that meant She was in a gentle mood. It was the days She came in calling him Havok that made him shiver. That meant She was in a playful mood and for him that was never a good thing. Silently he crept from the window to his knees at Her feet.

“Yes my Queen…”