A/N: Whoo-hoo! After a veeerrrry long hiatus, i'm finally back! Er, does anyone even remember me...? Probably not. Bleh. Oh, well. Anywho, i'm simply in love with sirens, and i have very specific notions as to what they're like that kinda contradict the classic siren sterotype, so expect to expect the expected unexpected. Heh heh heh. This is just the prologue, i'll write more if i get some reviews! Umm i have no idea when this story takes place, but it's sometime before HeX Factor because i just KNOW i'd screw up Wanda and make her all OOC-y, and because i never got to see the Day Of Reckoning eps. I gave the new mutant kids a big-ish part in this because Bobby and Sam and Jubilee are just so coool, but i don't think i'm even gonna put Berzerker in this because i don't like him and he's lame. Nyaaahhh. I've some ideas on where i'm going with this, but they only go to the middle-ish part of the fic, so i'm always open to suggestments! X-men belong to Marvel, blah blah, you know the drill. Diana and Alina are mine, ALL MINE!! I stole the title from a very fitting Sugabes song that everyone should listen to, hee. Ahem. Okay. Here we go...
Suggested Music for This Chapter:
-- My Orphanage by Rasputina
-- Sleep to Dream by Fiona Apple
-- My Favorite Mistake by Sheryl Crow
* * * * * * * * * *
I always get blamed for things others do wrong.
That's the way it always has been. Growing up back home, I was the ugly duckling with an attitude problem. All seven of my brothers and sisters were either incredibly good-looking or incredibly sweet and talented. Unfortunately, being the youngest, I'm made up of the scum that was left at the bottom of the gene pool. And, since every family has a scapegoat, I got blamed for problems that weren't my fault in any way, shape, or form.
"Mother would have a job if it wasn't for you, Alina."
"Father would still be alive if it weren't for you, Alina."
"You're the reason our family's fucked-up, Alina."
Alina, Alina, Alina. Always my fault, because I'm not perfect. Fine. Two can play at this game. I stopped speaking to them when i was ten, and ran away when I was fourteen. Too bad i hadn't waited longer-- because, like all ugly ducklings, it was a phase. If they could only see me now. A gorgeous, sexy, sixteen-year-old stripper.
It wasn't just my family, either. There's all this mutant business going on, and I get in trouble because I have powers. Not mutant powers, but powers nonetheless. Powers that I'm proud to have, but I am forced to hide, for fear of being hunted down as something I'm not.
Even when I tell people that I'm not a mutant, I'm still discriminated against for what I am. A siren. They hear I'm a siren, and the immediate reaction is, "You sang to make me fall in love with you! None of this is real!" The reputation sirens have is all because of those Italian sirens, who have ruined it for us all with their beauty and pride and sadism.
The sirens from the Sicily and the Adriatic are the most famous. They're the ones who sing to sailors to make them fall in love with them, become so obsessed with them that the poor men would drown trying to get to them. This is what those sirens thought was a good time.
So sirens are all gorgeous, sadistic, Sicilian women who sing to seduce men into suicide, right? Wrong.
First of all, not all sirens are beautiful women. Men and children can be sirens, as well as some of the ugliest people on the planet. Sirens are like human beings-- some are good, and some are evil. Some are humble, some are vain. It all depends on the siren.
Not all sirens sing, either. Sirens are a species, and they inhabit different parts of the world; mostly Europe. Each race of sirens has a different talent. The Italian sirens are singers. The Chinese sirens are cooks. British sirens are writers. Italians from the Alps are painters. In the heart of the US, they're inventors, and in California, they're actors. I'm from the middle-east, and I'm a dancer.
Ever wonder why Shakespeare was such an incredible playwrite? Why the Mona Lisa is so fascinating? How Thomas Edison thought up so many incredible new gadgets? Why almost everyone seems to love that greasy Chinese food? Why bellydancers always seem to be so sexy and fascinating? Why Hollywood is the entertainment capitol of the world?
Well, now you know.
But do you know the most important thing about sirens? The most annoying misconception? The one thing everyone should know about us?
Our power has nothing to do with seduction.
When we perform for someone-- when they see us dance or try our cooking or hear us sing or watch us do whatever our talent may be-- it opens up their minds to us. We can see everything they see, know everything they know. We can make them do whatever we want. And if you're not careful, if you don't have enough control, five seconds of this can be too much, and you can go insane. Or you can be consumed by the power and manipulate people's lives to better your own. That's what happened to the Sicilian sirens, and look at them now. They're well near extinct.
I can't use my power without being accused of being a mutant. Then when they find out I'm a siren, I'm accused of being a manipulative seductress. And the ones who know me for who I am, the ones who know better than anyone that things aren't what they seem, shun me. And for what?
For being an ugly-fuckin'-duckling. Shit.
The whole mutant situation kind of strikes my interest. They are the only beings who seem to accept me, to some extent. But from what I've heard, they're terrorists. Angry at the world that they're different, like me. And I know I shouldn't believe what people say, but it scares me sometimes to think that someone could pick me up and hurl me across the room when I can't even see them.
But it doesn't just scare me; it angers me. It pisses me off that, just as I'd expect, I'm getting shit on because some genetic freaks are destroying the planet. And I know it's a cynacle and bitter thought, but these people who are supposed to be helping-- these "superheroes"-- don't seem to be helping much at all.
My friend, Diana, is pretty much my complete opposite. She's a siren, too-- from the Adriatic. She's not ashamed to be one, but ashamed of what her ancestors have done, and tries to make up for it by being a do-gooder. Now, she's gotta be one of the sweetest girls I've ever met, and I really admire her for the time she spends in school and doing community service, but she's just so incredibly naive. I don't know why she thinks that helping these people is going to make them like us anymore. They're never going to accept us.
Do you know why people cry at a happy ending? Why the best movies are the ones where the main guy dies? It's because, deep down, we all have this sadistic desire to see the hero in pain. It makes us feel better about not being as good as them.
Diana is obsessed with these X-men people. I swear, she has GOT to have a crush on one of them, but she keeps insisting she doesn't. She's got an entire wall of our apartment covered with pictures and newspaper articles that have anything to do with them. It's pretty annoying, seeing as our apartment doesn't have too many walls. Not as annoying as her crappy jazz records, though. If I hear Billy Holiday sing "Stormy Weather" one more time today, I'm going to strangle someone. Rasputina, on the other hand, is real quality music from an awesome band, but I couldn't pay Diana to listen to it for longer than a minute.
So, our thoughts on mutants and the X-men certainly differ, as do our thoughts on people in general; she's a sweet, naive little girl and i'm a bitchy, cynacle stripper; she goes to school and volunteers non-stop, while I'm out working my ass off seven days a week to put food on the table and keep us off the streets; she's a singer who can't dance, and I'm a dancer who can't sing. And to top it all off, we listen to complete polar-ends of the music spectrum. So, I hear you asking, "How could you two possibly stand to be in the same room, let alone live together?" Well, you know what they say.
Opposites attract.
* * * * * * * * * *
A/N: Okay, the prologue's over! Now flame, FLAME!! Er... i mean.... review, REVIEW!!!!
Suggested Music for This Chapter:
-- My Orphanage by Rasputina
-- Sleep to Dream by Fiona Apple
-- My Favorite Mistake by Sheryl Crow
* * * * * * * * * *
I always get blamed for things others do wrong.
That's the way it always has been. Growing up back home, I was the ugly duckling with an attitude problem. All seven of my brothers and sisters were either incredibly good-looking or incredibly sweet and talented. Unfortunately, being the youngest, I'm made up of the scum that was left at the bottom of the gene pool. And, since every family has a scapegoat, I got blamed for problems that weren't my fault in any way, shape, or form.
"Mother would have a job if it wasn't for you, Alina."
"Father would still be alive if it weren't for you, Alina."
"You're the reason our family's fucked-up, Alina."
Alina, Alina, Alina. Always my fault, because I'm not perfect. Fine. Two can play at this game. I stopped speaking to them when i was ten, and ran away when I was fourteen. Too bad i hadn't waited longer-- because, like all ugly ducklings, it was a phase. If they could only see me now. A gorgeous, sexy, sixteen-year-old stripper.
It wasn't just my family, either. There's all this mutant business going on, and I get in trouble because I have powers. Not mutant powers, but powers nonetheless. Powers that I'm proud to have, but I am forced to hide, for fear of being hunted down as something I'm not.
Even when I tell people that I'm not a mutant, I'm still discriminated against for what I am. A siren. They hear I'm a siren, and the immediate reaction is, "You sang to make me fall in love with you! None of this is real!" The reputation sirens have is all because of those Italian sirens, who have ruined it for us all with their beauty and pride and sadism.
The sirens from the Sicily and the Adriatic are the most famous. They're the ones who sing to sailors to make them fall in love with them, become so obsessed with them that the poor men would drown trying to get to them. This is what those sirens thought was a good time.
So sirens are all gorgeous, sadistic, Sicilian women who sing to seduce men into suicide, right? Wrong.
First of all, not all sirens are beautiful women. Men and children can be sirens, as well as some of the ugliest people on the planet. Sirens are like human beings-- some are good, and some are evil. Some are humble, some are vain. It all depends on the siren.
Not all sirens sing, either. Sirens are a species, and they inhabit different parts of the world; mostly Europe. Each race of sirens has a different talent. The Italian sirens are singers. The Chinese sirens are cooks. British sirens are writers. Italians from the Alps are painters. In the heart of the US, they're inventors, and in California, they're actors. I'm from the middle-east, and I'm a dancer.
Ever wonder why Shakespeare was such an incredible playwrite? Why the Mona Lisa is so fascinating? How Thomas Edison thought up so many incredible new gadgets? Why almost everyone seems to love that greasy Chinese food? Why bellydancers always seem to be so sexy and fascinating? Why Hollywood is the entertainment capitol of the world?
Well, now you know.
But do you know the most important thing about sirens? The most annoying misconception? The one thing everyone should know about us?
Our power has nothing to do with seduction.
When we perform for someone-- when they see us dance or try our cooking or hear us sing or watch us do whatever our talent may be-- it opens up their minds to us. We can see everything they see, know everything they know. We can make them do whatever we want. And if you're not careful, if you don't have enough control, five seconds of this can be too much, and you can go insane. Or you can be consumed by the power and manipulate people's lives to better your own. That's what happened to the Sicilian sirens, and look at them now. They're well near extinct.
I can't use my power without being accused of being a mutant. Then when they find out I'm a siren, I'm accused of being a manipulative seductress. And the ones who know me for who I am, the ones who know better than anyone that things aren't what they seem, shun me. And for what?
For being an ugly-fuckin'-duckling. Shit.
The whole mutant situation kind of strikes my interest. They are the only beings who seem to accept me, to some extent. But from what I've heard, they're terrorists. Angry at the world that they're different, like me. And I know I shouldn't believe what people say, but it scares me sometimes to think that someone could pick me up and hurl me across the room when I can't even see them.
But it doesn't just scare me; it angers me. It pisses me off that, just as I'd expect, I'm getting shit on because some genetic freaks are destroying the planet. And I know it's a cynacle and bitter thought, but these people who are supposed to be helping-- these "superheroes"-- don't seem to be helping much at all.
My friend, Diana, is pretty much my complete opposite. She's a siren, too-- from the Adriatic. She's not ashamed to be one, but ashamed of what her ancestors have done, and tries to make up for it by being a do-gooder. Now, she's gotta be one of the sweetest girls I've ever met, and I really admire her for the time she spends in school and doing community service, but she's just so incredibly naive. I don't know why she thinks that helping these people is going to make them like us anymore. They're never going to accept us.
Do you know why people cry at a happy ending? Why the best movies are the ones where the main guy dies? It's because, deep down, we all have this sadistic desire to see the hero in pain. It makes us feel better about not being as good as them.
Diana is obsessed with these X-men people. I swear, she has GOT to have a crush on one of them, but she keeps insisting she doesn't. She's got an entire wall of our apartment covered with pictures and newspaper articles that have anything to do with them. It's pretty annoying, seeing as our apartment doesn't have too many walls. Not as annoying as her crappy jazz records, though. If I hear Billy Holiday sing "Stormy Weather" one more time today, I'm going to strangle someone. Rasputina, on the other hand, is real quality music from an awesome band, but I couldn't pay Diana to listen to it for longer than a minute.
So, our thoughts on mutants and the X-men certainly differ, as do our thoughts on people in general; she's a sweet, naive little girl and i'm a bitchy, cynacle stripper; she goes to school and volunteers non-stop, while I'm out working my ass off seven days a week to put food on the table and keep us off the streets; she's a singer who can't dance, and I'm a dancer who can't sing. And to top it all off, we listen to complete polar-ends of the music spectrum. So, I hear you asking, "How could you two possibly stand to be in the same room, let alone live together?" Well, you know what they say.
Opposites attract.
* * * * * * * * * *
A/N: Okay, the prologue's over! Now flame, FLAME!! Er... i mean.... review, REVIEW!!!!