please just save me from this darkness
Oct. 24th, 2006 08:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
singlewordRandom X-Men ficlet. OFC. Pretty much just an excuse to equalise an equation.
"So what do you do?" Bobby asked.
She only shrugged.
"You're here for a reason, aren't you?" Idly, he huffed a small disk of ice into existence and began turning it between his fingers like a coin.
The girl nodded, but said nothing.
Rogue, two desks away, was looking for a distraction.
"You could ask for her name first, Bobby."
He had the grace to look chagrined, but only for a moment. "What's your name, then?"
Her voice, when she spoke, was very soft. "Stone."
Bobby frowned. The ice disk stilled. "No real name?"
A shrug.
"Another mystery girl, Rogue. Like you. How about that?" Bobby flashed a smile, determined to be friendly. Rogue considered telling him he was probably wasting his time. The girl seemed about as responsive as rock.
"What do you do, Stone? Are you strong, or something?"
She looked up, finally. Brown eyes, almost black hair, a smattering of faded freckles. She folded her arms on the desk. "I withstand."
"Withstand?"
She said nothing more. Rogue found herself smirking. Bobby eventually subsided, and Stone remained - the proverbial immovable object. Withstand, indeed.
Rogue had thought Stone's claim half a joke. A non-answer, something to frustrate Bobby and make him leave her alone. She hadn't realised it was actually true.
There was a fight on the terrace. Impromptu 'lessons' were Wolverine's speciality, and any student scuffle was liable to become an exercise in serious combat techniques. He especially liked testing the mettle of new students.
Professor X interviewed everyone on their joining the school, ensuring all professors were aware of student's capabilities and weaknesses. Wolverine, however, didn't quite believe Stone's story. She could withstand anything? Yeah, right. How about adamantium?
Which is why he was circling her on the terrace, claws out and flashing in the afternoon sunlight. A wide circle had formed around him and Stone - but there were no cheers or yells. Most people looked confused. Stone wasn't moving. She seemed to jump back and avoid every strike of the claws, but others were swearing that Wolverine was only punching her, that he was knocking her around. He couldn't be clawing her - she wasn't cut.
Wolverine himself was slowly being convinced. He swung his right fist to slash her bare, upraised arm, and only batted it to the side. His left came up under her defences and he felt cloth tear, but there was no give in her skin. She stumbled back a few steps to the terrace railing, glanced down at the rips in her shirt, and sighed.
He stood upright, frowning. Stone looked back at him with the air of a patient teacher waiting for a student to grasp a difficult concept. Her hands spread, and she shrugged. Of all things - apologetic.
Wolverine snarled and threw himself forward, for a moment simply angry. Stone didn't move, didn't change expression. He threw his arm forward in a blow that would run through anyone else - instead he felt his claws forced back through his skin, felt the blades painfully aligning themselves again to the bones in his forearm. His knuckles slugged into the girl's stomach - and she went backwards over the terrace rail.
Some girls screamed. The watching crowd surged forward, leaning over the edge and searching, people waving and calling out. Shadowcat sank through the floor and emerged two stories below, running into the garden. Rogue gripped the stone rail, feeling the grit even through her gloves.
Wolverine swung over and dropped, rolling as he hit the earth.
There was a Stone-shaped indent in the ground a short way away, Shadowcat was crouched beside it. He thought insanely of Wily Coyote, and shook his head. Blinked. Stone was climbing out of the hole, seemingly unharmed. She brushed grass and soil from her shoulders, smiled faintly at them both. Glanced up at the crowd. Looked back to him, and shrugged.
"Sorry about the hole, sir."
"You're not hurt?"
"No, sir. Nothing dents me. I dent other things instead."
He stepped forward, taking her arm and resting one unsheathed claw against her skin. She watched it. She almost looked sad. Wolverine pressed down, and her whole arm moved. Holding it still with his other hand, he tried again. It was like trying to slice another piece of adamantium.
She sighed. "You know, I can't even feel that."
"Really?" Shadowcat watched with wide eyes.
"I can't feel anything."
The other girls in the dorm stepped quietly around Stone that evening. Which Rogue thought was insane. They were treating her like she was fragile, when she was stronger than Colossus.
Shadowcat had recounted what Stone had said, whispering like it was some dirty secret. Rogue had to admit she was intrigued. Nothing made any imprint on her - might it be that ... ?
No, it was selfish to think that. Stone wasn't something to be tested.
The girl in question was sitting crosslegged on the next bed over, combing her hair with her fingers. It fell dark, mostly straight, but with an odd curl at the ends. A long fringe fell across her eyes.
"Yes, the same also applies to my hair." She spoke quietly with little expression. Rogue flinched. "And no, I don't know why. I suppose it might have been due to panic."
She had to ask. "How do you mean?"
"I was hit by a train. The mutation stepped in to save me. The train derailed." All expression was gone.
Across the room the other girls were absorbed in their own conversation. Jubilee was braiding Shadowcat's hair, pausing now and again to tickle her playfully.
"What kind of train?"
"Freight. Only the driver on board, and he was unharmed." Brown eyes turned to hers. "Luckily."
"Was it an accident?"
"No."
"Oh." Rogue pulled her knees up to her chest, hugged herself. Took a deep breath. "Do you know what it is I do?"
"No."
"I take from people. With humans it's life. With mutants I also take their powers. That's what I can't touch people."
Stone blinked. Looked away. Then stood, abruptly.
"Come for a walk with me."
Moonlight gleamed across the fountain, highlighted the gardens and trees in silver. The Stone-shaped hole was a shadow. Passing it, Rogue couldn't stifle a chuckle.
Stone glanced at her. "Great way to earn a reputation."
Rogue went suddenly quiet. "At least you didn't almost kill someone."
"I think, now and again," Stone murmured, "about the train. I'd been standing on the station platform for an hour, trying to get the courage to step off. Every train that came up, I saw people lining up to get on it. And I was distracted. Little things. A young mother wrestling a toddler and a pram."
Rogue listened, arms wrapped around herself.
"When the freight train came screaming around the bend, no one moved. Everyone ignored it. No one was waiting for that train ... but me." Stone pushed her hair back out of her eyes, looked up. "I'm grateful. If I'd stepped in front of a passenger train and it had derailed, I could have killed any number of people."
"Why did you want to die?" The question was out before Rogue could stop it. Stone turned to her, brown eyes dark and sad. Her face seemed pale. Her mouth curved - she smiled, and it was empty.
"Because I couldn't feel anything anyway."
Something stirred in Rogue, an old impulse she struggled every day to suppress. Her hand - ungloved - lifted, and she brushed fingertips against Stone's cheek.
The other girl's eyes flew open, she gasped. Rogue flinched back, stammering an apology, cursing, but Stone caught her hand in both of hers. Skin to skin. The contact tingled, but there was no pull, no rush, no draining of life and heat. Only skin, uneven, textured, subtly different from one inch to the next. Rogue traced the smooth inside of Stone's wrist, entranced. Stone was staring at her, amazed, silent.
The wind stirred the ends of Rogue's hair. The night air was cool, the grass on her bare feet was damp. Stone felt only the whispers of Rogue's fingertips. All else was blank, grey, numb. She stepped closer to the other girl, resting her palm against the side of her neck. Here was warmth, finally, and she almost had to stifle a sob.
Rogue blinked, looked up. Stone's eyes were closed, her face downturned. Tears darkened her eyelashes. Rogue took her face in her hands, revelling in the warmth, the texture, the contact of another living thing. Nerves and electricity. She pulled Stone's mouth to hers, and kissed her, remembering dimly the light of a child's bedroom and the smell of a boy's cheap cologne. This was softer. This was not unsure. This was the sound of Stone's breathing ragged and loud and the drag of Rogue's lips across Stone's mouth, to her jaw, her neck, her pulse.
"I'm not - I'm not hurting you?"
"No," Stone gripped - carefully - at Rogue's shoulders. She shivered.
"Are you cold?"
Stone laughed. Rogue, startled at the sound, looked up. The other girl was smiling, shaking and trembling, but smiling.
"Nothing like."
"So what do you do?" Bobby asked.
She only shrugged.
"You're here for a reason, aren't you?" Idly, he huffed a small disk of ice into existence and began turning it between his fingers like a coin.
The girl nodded, but said nothing.
Rogue, two desks away, was looking for a distraction.
"You could ask for her name first, Bobby."
He had the grace to look chagrined, but only for a moment. "What's your name, then?"
Her voice, when she spoke, was very soft. "Stone."
Bobby frowned. The ice disk stilled. "No real name?"
A shrug.
"Another mystery girl, Rogue. Like you. How about that?" Bobby flashed a smile, determined to be friendly. Rogue considered telling him he was probably wasting his time. The girl seemed about as responsive as rock.
"What do you do, Stone? Are you strong, or something?"
She looked up, finally. Brown eyes, almost black hair, a smattering of faded freckles. She folded her arms on the desk. "I withstand."
"Withstand?"
She said nothing more. Rogue found herself smirking. Bobby eventually subsided, and Stone remained - the proverbial immovable object. Withstand, indeed.
Rogue had thought Stone's claim half a joke. A non-answer, something to frustrate Bobby and make him leave her alone. She hadn't realised it was actually true.
There was a fight on the terrace. Impromptu 'lessons' were Wolverine's speciality, and any student scuffle was liable to become an exercise in serious combat techniques. He especially liked testing the mettle of new students.
Professor X interviewed everyone on their joining the school, ensuring all professors were aware of student's capabilities and weaknesses. Wolverine, however, didn't quite believe Stone's story. She could withstand anything? Yeah, right. How about adamantium?
Which is why he was circling her on the terrace, claws out and flashing in the afternoon sunlight. A wide circle had formed around him and Stone - but there were no cheers or yells. Most people looked confused. Stone wasn't moving. She seemed to jump back and avoid every strike of the claws, but others were swearing that Wolverine was only punching her, that he was knocking her around. He couldn't be clawing her - she wasn't cut.
Wolverine himself was slowly being convinced. He swung his right fist to slash her bare, upraised arm, and only batted it to the side. His left came up under her defences and he felt cloth tear, but there was no give in her skin. She stumbled back a few steps to the terrace railing, glanced down at the rips in her shirt, and sighed.
He stood upright, frowning. Stone looked back at him with the air of a patient teacher waiting for a student to grasp a difficult concept. Her hands spread, and she shrugged. Of all things - apologetic.
Wolverine snarled and threw himself forward, for a moment simply angry. Stone didn't move, didn't change expression. He threw his arm forward in a blow that would run through anyone else - instead he felt his claws forced back through his skin, felt the blades painfully aligning themselves again to the bones in his forearm. His knuckles slugged into the girl's stomach - and she went backwards over the terrace rail.
Some girls screamed. The watching crowd surged forward, leaning over the edge and searching, people waving and calling out. Shadowcat sank through the floor and emerged two stories below, running into the garden. Rogue gripped the stone rail, feeling the grit even through her gloves.
Wolverine swung over and dropped, rolling as he hit the earth.
There was a Stone-shaped indent in the ground a short way away, Shadowcat was crouched beside it. He thought insanely of Wily Coyote, and shook his head. Blinked. Stone was climbing out of the hole, seemingly unharmed. She brushed grass and soil from her shoulders, smiled faintly at them both. Glanced up at the crowd. Looked back to him, and shrugged.
"Sorry about the hole, sir."
"You're not hurt?"
"No, sir. Nothing dents me. I dent other things instead."
He stepped forward, taking her arm and resting one unsheathed claw against her skin. She watched it. She almost looked sad. Wolverine pressed down, and her whole arm moved. Holding it still with his other hand, he tried again. It was like trying to slice another piece of adamantium.
She sighed. "You know, I can't even feel that."
"Really?" Shadowcat watched with wide eyes.
"I can't feel anything."
The other girls in the dorm stepped quietly around Stone that evening. Which Rogue thought was insane. They were treating her like she was fragile, when she was stronger than Colossus.
Shadowcat had recounted what Stone had said, whispering like it was some dirty secret. Rogue had to admit she was intrigued. Nothing made any imprint on her - might it be that ... ?
No, it was selfish to think that. Stone wasn't something to be tested.
The girl in question was sitting crosslegged on the next bed over, combing her hair with her fingers. It fell dark, mostly straight, but with an odd curl at the ends. A long fringe fell across her eyes.
"Yes, the same also applies to my hair." She spoke quietly with little expression. Rogue flinched. "And no, I don't know why. I suppose it might have been due to panic."
She had to ask. "How do you mean?"
"I was hit by a train. The mutation stepped in to save me. The train derailed." All expression was gone.
Across the room the other girls were absorbed in their own conversation. Jubilee was braiding Shadowcat's hair, pausing now and again to tickle her playfully.
"What kind of train?"
"Freight. Only the driver on board, and he was unharmed." Brown eyes turned to hers. "Luckily."
"Was it an accident?"
"No."
"Oh." Rogue pulled her knees up to her chest, hugged herself. Took a deep breath. "Do you know what it is I do?"
"No."
"I take from people. With humans it's life. With mutants I also take their powers. That's what I can't touch people."
Stone blinked. Looked away. Then stood, abruptly.
"Come for a walk with me."
Moonlight gleamed across the fountain, highlighted the gardens and trees in silver. The Stone-shaped hole was a shadow. Passing it, Rogue couldn't stifle a chuckle.
Stone glanced at her. "Great way to earn a reputation."
Rogue went suddenly quiet. "At least you didn't almost kill someone."
"I think, now and again," Stone murmured, "about the train. I'd been standing on the station platform for an hour, trying to get the courage to step off. Every train that came up, I saw people lining up to get on it. And I was distracted. Little things. A young mother wrestling a toddler and a pram."
Rogue listened, arms wrapped around herself.
"When the freight train came screaming around the bend, no one moved. Everyone ignored it. No one was waiting for that train ... but me." Stone pushed her hair back out of her eyes, looked up. "I'm grateful. If I'd stepped in front of a passenger train and it had derailed, I could have killed any number of people."
"Why did you want to die?" The question was out before Rogue could stop it. Stone turned to her, brown eyes dark and sad. Her face seemed pale. Her mouth curved - she smiled, and it was empty.
"Because I couldn't feel anything anyway."
Something stirred in Rogue, an old impulse she struggled every day to suppress. Her hand - ungloved - lifted, and she brushed fingertips against Stone's cheek.
The other girl's eyes flew open, she gasped. Rogue flinched back, stammering an apology, cursing, but Stone caught her hand in both of hers. Skin to skin. The contact tingled, but there was no pull, no rush, no draining of life and heat. Only skin, uneven, textured, subtly different from one inch to the next. Rogue traced the smooth inside of Stone's wrist, entranced. Stone was staring at her, amazed, silent.
The wind stirred the ends of Rogue's hair. The night air was cool, the grass on her bare feet was damp. Stone felt only the whispers of Rogue's fingertips. All else was blank, grey, numb. She stepped closer to the other girl, resting her palm against the side of her neck. Here was warmth, finally, and she almost had to stifle a sob.
Rogue blinked, looked up. Stone's eyes were closed, her face downturned. Tears darkened her eyelashes. Rogue took her face in her hands, revelling in the warmth, the texture, the contact of another living thing. Nerves and electricity. She pulled Stone's mouth to hers, and kissed her, remembering dimly the light of a child's bedroom and the smell of a boy's cheap cologne. This was softer. This was not unsure. This was the sound of Stone's breathing ragged and loud and the drag of Rogue's lips across Stone's mouth, to her jaw, her neck, her pulse.
"I'm not - I'm not hurting you?"
"No," Stone gripped - carefully - at Rogue's shoulders. She shivered.
"Are you cold?"
Stone laughed. Rogue, startled at the sound, looked up. The other girl was smiling, shaking and trembling, but smiling.
"Nothing like."
