SHE LOOKS A LOT LIKE HER
Ava sat on her stool, her head resting on the table. Her hands fell lazily in her lap, and her body relaxed. It was times like this she wanted to go back to bed. She'd woken up in a terrible mood, much like every day, and as of yet it hadn't subsided. If anything, coupled with the casual arguments she'd had since she'd got up, her mood had intensified. She stared blankly at the toaster. Someone, she'd forgotten who, was waiting on their toast, but they'd long since left the kitchen. Ava didn't know why they couldn't have just done it themselves; they did have the ability, after all.
The toaster popped, thrusting two slices of slightly charred bread into the air. Steam began rising, rolling up the wall and across the ceiling. It was a lot of steam for two slices of toast, Ava noted. Maybe the toaster had finally corked it. She wouldn't have been surprised; it had been going for several years with about ninety uses every day. It was a resilient toaster, but everything has its day.
"Shit!" Ava raised her eyebrows. The someone who'd left their toast had returned.
"Why didn't you call me, idiot?" Ava guessed that comment was aimed at her, but she wasn't really inclined to care.
"Hey! Ava! Are you listening?" Ava looked up, blinking a few times, letting her eyes adjust. She recognised the girl. Of course she did. Sometimes she just forgot. India.
"I am," Ava mumbled, waving lazily at India. Pretty girl. Long, poker-straight ebony hair. Piercing green eyes. Strong features.
"My toast is burnt!" India screeched, making Ava's ears twinge, "Weren't you watching?!"
"Was I supposed to?" Wasn't told to.
"Common sense!" Not really.
India ended up leaving the toast where it was. She dithered for a while, making high pitched noises before storming off. Spoiled child. Ava recalled that she was new. Sort of. She'd only been at the school for a few weeks, maybe more. India had come from a rich household, a miracle child. Parents unable to have children, finally have one. India was used to having her own way, and Ava was neither surprised nor bothered. These were the things that Ava knew.
Perhaps it was time to get up. Maybe. She'd have table-hair. Flat, but only on one side. She lifted her head, catching sight of herself in the randomly placed mirror on the wall. Hated the way she looked. Very long brown hair. Not an interesting shade of brown, just brown. Dull blue eyes, always one highlight short of life. The one redeeming feature was her incredible cheekbones. High and sharp. People told her she looked like Jean Grey. Whoever that was. People told her that was why he, Wolverine, had taken a shine to her. Wolverine. What was his name again? Why was she so terrible with names? Logan.
She sneered at her own reflection, turning away with a flourish and drifting out of the room. She welcomed the mahogany tone of the hall from the lino glare of the kitchen. Ava looked at a few of the people lounging around against the expensive panelling, working, chatting, living. She felt like joining them, but, probably, they'd reject her. Reject. The label suited her. Gave substance to her being. An outcast in the land of outcasts. Too mutant to be a Mutant.
Ava chuckled. She assumed that was how most people saw her. It was definitely how she saw herself. She thought she could see it in their eyes, always wondering what she was. Wondering if she knew how damn crazy she was. She was only crazy when she was alone. More often than not then.
"Ava?" She turned. Logan was peering out of the office, surprised to see her, "You okay?"
"Yeah..." she answered dreamily, a smile crossing her expression, "What day is it?"
Logan laughed, sounding relieved, "It's Thursday. How's...you know..." He gestured to his neck.
Ava thought for a moment, testing herself. "It's okay," she said after a few moments, "Not too much."
She hated it when Logan asked her about that. That being her insatiable thirst for blood. Blood-sucker. Vampire.
