"All of us are trapped in our skins and drowning in gravity. Physics is unforgiving. Nature is predatory. We do not walk through a passive landscape." - Richard Siken
No one's mind is the same. Charles knows this better than anyone. The concept applies tenfold to mutants. With Cerebro, there really was no explaining the range of minds he'd touched, but there was one in particular that stood out. One that was less human than others- jumbled, feral, confused. Hurt. Begging for help in a series of long, mewling, screeches.
Charles staggers away from the machine, panting, hand going to his temple to massage away a headache rather than to communicate.
And that's how they ended up outside of a shabby little house in the middle of nowhere in the Everglades.
"I'd be howling in agony, too, if I had to live in a place this moist," Erik remarks dryly, frowning at the squelching of the ground beneath his shifting feet.
"Now is hardly the time for jokes," Charles rebukes even as a smile tweaks at his lips. He strolls up to the crooked door, knocking furtively.
There's no answer. It's their last stop on the taxing road trip, and Charles had been hoping it would go well. There's no telling what's on the other side of the door- Charles couldn't get a clear read on the mind. It could be dangerous. But whatever it was needed them.
Erik apparently feels the same sentiments, albeit more impatiently, as he extends a hand with the click of a lock and the door swings open.
The first room is dark and musty, worn furniture set up like an afterthought. Lived in, but not frequently. The floorboards creak under their feet, and Charles is half convinced they'll give under their weight. Erik tugs experimentally at the metal on the property, coaxing out a low keen from the far room.
"It's the mutant," Charles confirms. "I can feel it. Curious… Confused… Not afraid. It… Smells us. It's giving us the benefit of the doubt."
The door to the room is heavily secured by a series of locks that don't deter Erik for more than a few seconds. Click, click, click, a small tinkle, and the door flies open anticipatorily.
The first thing Erik notices is her eyes. Golden-green and wide with wonder. Inexplicably pleased.
Charles notices the ears first. Dark- almost black with the slightest tint of red- poking out at an angle from the top of her head. Then the tail, twitching inquisitively.
The fact that she's entirely naked, body slim and dangerously sleek at the same time, and chained excessively (wrists pinned together, arms immobile in the air, a thick collar, her toes barely grazing the floor) to the wall is a secondary observation for both of them.
"Are you here for me?" She asks, voice soft and light in a way that is wholly unexpected considering the bruises and dirt smeared across her bared skin.
"Indeed we are," Charles answers without the slightest clue as to what he should do in the face of such a paradoxical sight. A girl who is literally bright eyed and bushy tailed tied up like a beast? The heavy ring around her neck leaving angry red welts on the very same olive skin that hides strong, toned muscles that are so lax and trusting?
The shackles fall away noisily, startling the girl into a defensive crouch. "How-?"
"We're like you," Erik murmurs. His eyes are practically sparkling at the pleasure of their new discovery- fascinated. "Different."
She bounces on her toes, clearly undeterred and unembarrassed at her current state of undress. "Yeah? Cool." She's all but squealing, blinding smile splitting her face and cheeks pinkly pleased.
And what is it that you precisely do? Charles projects into her mind, making her fingers twist excitedly at the tip of her tail.
If they had blinked they would have missed the transformation- her face narrowing out into a slivery black snout, nails sharpening into claws, fur sprouting thick and smooth, entire form shrinking until all that's left is a charmingly excited silver fox blinking up at them.
"Fascinating," Charles breathes. "You know that the silver fox gets its appearance through melanism? How wondrous that your mutation itself is mutated. Can you do anything else?"
The creature triples in size, turning into a hulking magnification of a fox that stands level to Erik's hip. The corners of her mouth quirk up proudly.
"Beautiful," Erik remarks, in a way that sounds synonymous with powerful.
"And clever," Charles hums, touching her mind as she shifts back into naked, lean flesh.
She laughs, an easy caressing sound, and stands tall a fraction too-close to Erik. "I've met others before, but none like you two. You are…" Her mind runs through a few phrases that, while nearly making Charles flush, are thought in a clinical, matter-of-fact way. "Fantastic."
"Erik," the German introduces in response, slipping his brown leather jacket off his broad shoulders to thrust it at her exposed form.
The young woman stares at the jacket for a beat, as if confused by its purpose, before begrudgingly slipping it on and zipping it up to a point that's just barely decent. "Sasha."
This is just a teaser/prologue thing for a story that's been swimming around in my brain. If you happen to be familiar with my other stories, fear not that I have abandoned American Dream. It's still going to be finished, life just came out of nowhere and carted my brain off in a million different directions. Anyway, I'm kind of obsessed with mutants. Even more obsessed with creating my own and inserting them into pre-existing comic book movies. I'm sure you've noticed this much if you're familiar with my work. Drop me some feedback and I'll love you forever.
