Author's Note:
So, hi! If you're coming here because of "Nightshadow", welcome! If you aren't, welcome!
So, this starts kinda around the time that Mystique poses as Xavier and the Institute blows up…but like, before Mystique poses as Xavier. So the Prof's still the Prof. And just to let you know, I'm kinda throwing some of the stuff that happens in the series out the window. Like, I'm keeping a lot of the general storyline, but I'm replacing bits and changing bits and sometimes getting rid of parts altogether. So, it's a lot of me thinking up stuff. But like, some of it's based off of what happens in the show. It is fan fiction, am I right? So, anyway, on with the show!
One and Only Disclaimer because it's a Fan fiction Site so We Really Don't Need Them: I only own my OC.
Powers of Animation: Chapter One:
Of Meetings and of Brewing Things.
~First Person POV~
The wind ripped through the trees outside. Rain pounded endlessly against the large glass windows without rhyme or rhythm. It was so dense one couldn't see anything but rain, rain, and more rain. The only sounds were the pounding of the rain on the windows and pavement, the howling of the wind, and the drone of the teacher standing in the front of the darkened room.
A storm was brewing in Bayville.
It was odd, because it didn't usually rain this hard around here (as far as I knew, at least). And according to the news this morning, the worst was yet to come. I pulled my cardigan tighter around me and turned my attention back to the teacher. He was a sub, and was going on and on and on about the PowerPoint that no one could see entirely because he only pulled the projector screen down halfway. Tuning in, I discovered he was now talking about the effects of electro-magnetic shock on psychopaths. From the slide showing behind him, he should have been talking about the proper way to analyze fingerprints. See, it was supposed to be a forensics class, but Mr. Long term Sub/ "I-have-a-degree-in-forensics-and-psychology" didn't know what the hell he was talking about.
Forensics class my ass.
I let my eyes wander to the students sitting in gloom around me. I began to play a game, trying to match names with faces, but it was proving difficult. Partially because I could barely see two rows of identically mundane desks in front of me. But partially because I had just moved to Bayville a few weeks prior. I didn't even know why I was in that forensics class, I hadn't been in it at my old school before the capital M Move.
It was guessing it was a filler class, for a mix of students surrounded me – from wide-eyed, furiously note-taking freshmen to the Kings and Queens that were Bayville High's seniors. My deduction was proven correct when the boy in front of me turned around and asked me to pass a note to the girl on my left in a German accent. He had black hair and dark eyes, and even in the almost complete darkness I could see a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Kurt. I mentally reminded myself of his name before obliging to his request. The girl on my left, I discovered, had long, brown hair pulled into a ponytail and a pair of the bluest eyes I had ever seen.
Kitty. I thought as I handed her the note. I didn't have to be discreet, Mr. Sub (for he never told us his name) had turned all the lights off – even though with them on we could see the screen perfectly fine – so the only savior from the darkness was the blaring white light from the projector. I heard kitty stifle giggles with her hand before scratching down a response and refolding the paper.
"Hey, uh, it's Analeigh, right? Can you, like, hand this to Rogue?" Kitty asked me in a sorry excuse for a whisper. Mr. Sub must've not only been blind but deaf as well, because he didn't even notice. I nodded my response before taking the paper and glancing around the room. Panic boiled up inside me. Who the hell is Rogue? I searched around the room to see if it was obvious. I assumed this Rogue was a she, and that she had to sit close by or else Kitty would've told me to pass it along to someone else instead of to Rogue.
"Oh, wait, you're like, new here. So sorry! Should've told you where she was. She's diagonally behind you." Kitty said with an apologetic smile. I felt myself flush a little, but not as bad as it would've been if I had to have asked her. She's nice. I decided as I turned around and handed it to Rogue. Now that I had looked at her, I could recognize her Goth style and white strips right away.
Rogue grunted a 'thank you' before snatching it out of my hand. Listening around the pounding rain, I heard a faint chuckle come from her direction. Then the paper landed back on my desk with the words 'give to Evan Daniels' written in sloppy handwriting on the front. Thankfully, I knew Evan. He was in my math class. I quickly scanned for his blonde head. He was sitting with his head lying in his hand two seats in front of me. I was about to tap Kurt's shoulder to have him hand it to Evan when a soft snore rumbled from him.
Shit. Shitty shit shit. I thought, retracting my hand away. I paused for a moment, listening to the rain – which hadn't let up, by the way – before deciding that between it and Mr. Sub, no one would be able to hear me.
Praying that in the dark room no one could see what I was doing, either, I stretched out my fingers and let my hand hover over the paper. Concentrating hard, I screwed my eyes shut and pictured the paper growing little legs and walking over to Evan. I focused particularly on Evan's appearance, to make my instructions clear. I opened my eyes and moved my hand away to reveal the folded square now had sprouted little cartoon-ish stick legs and feet.
"Go to Evan's desk." I whispered to it. It jumped from my desk, waddled across the floor, and paused at the leg of Evan's desk. I took a moment to mentally face palm before spreading my fingers wide so my palm obstructed my view of my little paper-man. With a slight twitch of the wrist, paper-man grew little paper arms and fingers. I watched in my usual fascination as he deftly climbed up the desk leg and ended up next to Evan's elbow. Satisfied that it had reached its destination, I closed my outstretched hand into a fist. My paper-man lost his life, and fell onto the desk with a soft crinkle. I let a smirk play its way across my face as Evan picked it up, read it, and laughed before passing it the long way back to Kitty. Mission accomplished.
She was about to pass it back to Rogue when the end-of-day bell cut through the droning background noise like a knife. I picked up my books and hurriedly rushed out of the room, expecting to have to blink in the change of light. But to no avail, for the hallway was just as dark as the room I had just left. I began slipping my way through the throng of people getting ready to face the hurricane winds and pelting rain outside.
"Hey, hey wait!" I heard a girl call from behind me, but I thought nothing of it. After all, there were plenty of people shouting at one another over everyone else's heads. I had reached my locker with surprising ease and began to open it when the girl called again, this time right next to me:
"Hey, Analeigh, right?" she asked. I turned around to see none other than the flaming hair of Jean Grey. With a jolt, I realized she sat \in the back row of forensics – next to Rogue. That meant she sat right behind me.
Shit. She could've seen. Why didn't I look back there, too? Ana, you dumbass. I scolded myself. I knew, in just my month and 6 days of living in Bayville, that Jean was a total goody-goody. There was no way she wouldn't have been watching her classmates pass a note, if not just to inform the teacher which student was really at fault if the other got caught.
"I saw what you did, Analeigh." She spoke quietly, gently, but I still cringed a little at the mispronunciation of my name. Jean had butchered it in the worst way possible – not only had she given the "A" and "Ahh" sound, like in "Anne", but she turned "leigh" into "lei" (like the Hawaiian necklace thing) instead of "lee". Altogether, she called me "Anne-lei" instead of "Ahn-a-lee."
But anyway, enough with pronunciations.
"What did you see, Jean?" I asked innocently, making sure every syllable was enunciated carefully and precisely. Jean took an involuntarily step back, and my subconscious smirked. Works every time.
"You gave-" Jean's voice dropped down to a whisper, before continuing, "You gave a piece of paper arms and legs. Then you had it walk over to Evan."
"Did I?" I asked. Jean's brow furrowed in frustration.
"Yes, you did." She snapped. I smirked. She was getting really angry now.
"What are you saying, Jean? Am I a mutant?" I shot right back, my voice low and sinister. She took another step back, before bending her lanky form so that we were nose-to-nose.
"There's someone I would like you to meet." She said, just as vicious as I had. Before I had a chance to react, Jean had grabbed my books and jacket out of my locker, slammed it shut, and was dragging me through the crowd of kids preparing to brave the rain.
"Scott! Scott!" Jean called into the crowd, her hand still clamped in a vice-like grip on my upper arm.
"Yeah?" Scott seemed to materialize right in front of us, his red-tinted shades obstructing me from figuring out if his annoyed tone was genuine or just a front to get on Jean's nerves. Probably genuine. He has the hots for her, obviously. My subconscious piped up, and I mentally nodded in agreement.
"This is Analeigh-"
"Ahn-a-lee."
"Yeah, yeah. This is Analeigh, and I want to take her to meet the Professor. She made paper walk!" Jean stressed the last sentence into a strained whisper so it sounded like she was constipated. I was trying not to laugh at how serious she was being, but Scott gave me a startled look. Obviously, he was going to be just as a goody-goody as Jean. Great.
"Alright, let's go, then!" Scott grabbed Jean's hand and guided her through the students. I was dragged behind, so I only caught bits and pieces of their conversation after that. But it involved waiting for "the others", "the Institute", and "does she even want to go?" I decided to put in my two cents after I heard the latter.
"No, not really. I don't appreciate being whisked off by some stranger to meet some Professor guy. It's not the nicest thing for someone to do." I piped up, but if Scott or Jean heard me, they didn't acknowledge it.
Before I knew it, I had not only gone out of the building and gotten drenched by rain; but I had also been shoved into the back of a car and driven all the way up the winding driveway to the Xavier Institute. I had heard of it before. My Aunt Spencer told me about it. She said the people there were nice. So far, I wasn't so sure about nice. More like 'confusing' or 'strange'.
"C'mon, out you go." Scott said as he pulled open the door. We were inside the giant garage of the Xavier house. I began to take in my surroundings. I had counted two large black vans, six cars, a motorcycle, and a pick-up before Jean re-clamped her hand on my arm and dragged me inside.
The place was frickin' gigantic.
I mean, like, high ceilings and glass chandeliers and staircases that made the New York Public Library ashamed. It was huge. And fantastic. I could've just stood there taking in every last detail for hours if Jean hadn't kept dragging me behind her – and I mean dragging. I had tripped once or twice, and she didn't even notice.
"Jean, Scott. You were looking for me?" A calm voice asked from the shadows to our left. Jean stopped abruptly, and I almost smacked into her. From the shadows came a bald man in a fancy wheelchair wearing a rather smart suit – no wrinkles. My mind began to wander on possible ways that there were no wrinkles in his pants even when he sat in that wheelchair all day. I was so deep in thought that I almost missed introductions.
"This is Analeigh. She's in my forensics class. I thought you might like to talk to her." The way that Jean said the word 'talk' sent a chill down my spine. What the hell is this guy gonna do? Interrogate me?
"Hello, Analeigh. My name is Professor Charles Xavier, and this is the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters. Would you like to step into my office?" The man – His name is Xavier – was so serious, but in a calm way. Totally unlike Jean's outburst. Which, now that my arm was no longer in her grasp, I realized was a rather un-like her thing to do.
"Uh, sure. That's if you're not busy or anythin'." I responded, and then silently cursed at myself for the slip-ups in my speech pattern. You're trying to leave that behind, Ana. Don't get caught up in it.
"No, no, of course not. Follow me." I followed the Professor to his bookshelf-lined study. He gestured for me to sit down, so I chose one of the chairs in front of his desk and sat.
"Jean has told me that she believes you are a mutant." He stated, quite plainly, once I had gotten settled. I pinched the bridge of my nose for a moment, before turning my gaze to meet his.
"Yeah, she's told me that, too." I replied with a little chuckle. I had hoped he would laugh, but instead the corners of his mouth just twitched. That would have to do. At least I had discovered that he wasn't totally serious all the time.
"She says that you made paper walk." I rubbed my hand on the back of my neck, trying to find the right words. The observant part of my mind was trying to get me to focus on how he could have been told this when I was with Jean the entire time, but I pushed it aside. That was a question to be mulled over later. Right now, I had to get out of this situation – and fast.
"Nope." I informed him, emphasizing the "p" so it made an almost popping sound.
"No? So you're saying Jean imagined it?" He asked incredulously, his hands lacing together in front of him in a way that could only be described as naturally.
"Yes." I nodded as I spoke, as if to emphasize my point.
'Now, Analeigh, you and I both know that's not true.' The Professor said, but it sounded…echoic. With a jerk I became conscious of the fact that his lips had not moved. Then it hit me: He's a telepath.
'That I am. Now that I've told you the truth, will you tell me?' I nodded numbly.
"Good." Xavier said, aloud this time.
"Yeah. I made the paper walk. Rogue asked me to give it to Evan, but Kurt was asleep, so I gave it little legs and it jumped down and went over to Evan's desk and then I gave it little arms and it climbed up to Evan and before he noticed…I killed it." I spoke the last three words as if they were one, but Xavier caught it, anyway.
"You killed it?"
"Well, I made it lifeless again. That's what I do. I concentrate and picture in my mind whatever the inanimate thing is, only with life. Then I give it a job. Then it stays "alive", so to speak, until one of three things: it completes the job, it gets destroyed, or I kill it." I kept my eyes on my feet the entire time I mumbled my explanation.
"Well, you're not alone. Xavier Institute is full of people with a mutated X-gene, just like you. If you would like to, you can join us. With your parent's permission, of course." I looked up at his words, and he smiled. Slowly, I nodded my head, smiling as well.
"Sure, Professor. Lemme call them right now…I don't wanna go back out in the rain." I interjected my last thought before he said anything else. With a smile, he made a "go right ahead" gesture, and I began dialing the phone. I figured that it would be easier to explain if Xavier was feeding me details that I wouldn't know on my own.
As I waited for Aunt Spencer to pick up, I listened to the rain outside. Thunder had now joined it, but the noises sounded farther away. The logical part of me knew that it was just because we were deep inside this huge mansion. But part of me couldn't help but think that I had finally found a place to truly call home.
So that's chapter one. Yeah. So, send a review if you want. That's cool, I suppose. If you don't want to, don't feel obliged.
Don't worry if you hate author's notes, not all of them are this long, I just wanted to do a little…is explaining the word? Yeah, explaining, before I got too far in.
Happy Writings,
Vid.
PS -A little note on OC's: I know a lot of you hate them. Sometimes I hate them too. I don't blame you. Sometimes it's just terrible. But I find that whenever I think of a TV show, I always have an OC in mind. And so I use them. I have recently seen a lot of people ranting about how much they hate OCs, and that's cool. You can rant. I will listen. But I find that OCs are a way to take all the characters we know and love (and keep them the same) while still bringing in the author's own personal style and bringing in even more creativity. OCs make it, in my opinion, more original.
PPS-Sorry about that mini-rant on OCs. I just felt that it needed to be addressed before I got a rather angry and hurtful anonymous PM about it. Plus, I wanted to make my opinion known to the people who have cared enough to read down this far. I thank you.