Summary: Camilla had more than enough going on in her life. With both of her parents in the military and currently deployed on away missions, she was left state-side taking care of her home and her little sister along side her older brother. Being seventeen and almost out of high school, she'd long since passed the deadline for mutation and-since no one else in her family showed signs of mutation-she figured she was lucky to not have the added stress on top of her constant moving and heavy responsibilities. So, imagine her surprise when she finds herself at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. Though she thought she'd be kept around only till the injuries she'd received from an infamous mutant villain had healed completely, she finds out that there's more to the redhead than meets the eye. But how can she fit in within the walls of a school for mutants when she doesn't even believe in these supposed powers and even the Professor with Cerebro cannot see her as a mutant?
Camilla stares at the floor as she walks through the halls of her school, clinging tightly to the set of books in her arms. Only enrolled in the school for a few weeks, the red-headed high school student was still a little nervous around the strange new environment. She hadn't really made any new friends yet, but this wasn't particularly new to her. She was often considered the wallflower and—with her parents in the military—tried not to make too many friends, as she tended to move often. Besides, she wasn't the most social person in the world. She was fairly fond of being on her own. She wasn't against friends by any stretch of the imagination, but she didn't mind being on her own; in fact she was quite used to it. However, as quiet as she was, it took a while for her to make friends.
"Cammie!" Then again, there was one person in this school that seemed to notice her. Whether he was considered a friend or not depended on if he was feeling particularly…pushy that day or not.
Bam!
This was going to be one of those days. Camilla lifted her eyes from the floor and looked up at the tall blonde before her, who was leaning heavily on his left hand; currently pressed against the lockers beside them. He smirked down at her.
"Hey cutie~!" The military brat rolls her eyes and tries to slip by him, but he stepped in front of her path and put a hand on his hip. Stopping, her eyes fall to the floor and lock on the tiles between them. She's always had a hard time keeping eye contact with people; whenever she did she always seemed to make the people uncomfortable, so she avoided it as often as she could.
"Let me by, John." She says firmly, though her voice itself is fairly quiet. He just huffs at her.
"How rude! I just came by to ask you to teach me-" Raising her hand, she cuts him off mid-sentence.
"My answer hasn't changed." She says. "Now let me through, please." He gives her a pathetic pouting look and steps closer, making the girl take a step back.
"Don't be mean, Cammie!" He sighs dramatically, steadily walking towards her and effectively backing her into the lockers. The teenaged girl's grip tightens on her books and she tenses when she feels the solid metal of the lockers press into her cotton covered back. The blonde puts his arm on the lockers above her head leaning down towards her, as he's a fair bit taller than the girl—who's already tall.
"I said no, John. I'm not qualified. Go find a dojo around here." The red-head huffs, leaning as far from the man as she can, pressing firmly into the metal, and glares at the tiles at their feet. The man lets out a puff of air, his breath caressing her cheek and making her bangs dance lightly.
"I don't care. I want you to teach me." He purrs, making the girl roll her eyes yet again. John was a good friend…when he wasn't trying to make some lame excuse to ask her out on a date. The blonde was known as a player—a fairly nice man otherwise—and had yet to get a no; until Camilla. Or so she was told. Personally, she thinks he just enjoys getting a raise out of her, particularly since she'd flipped his overly muscled ass when they'd first met.
"Don't you want to…teach me?" That was the last straw. Snapping her eyes up to meet the blue eyes of the teenaged man, who's smirk falls, the woman straightens and gets in the man's face.
"Now get this out of your head, John! I've had enough of your crap! I'm not going out with you! I'm not interested!" She snaps, making the man straighten and take a half step back. "You can either be my friend or be gone." She huffs, glaring up at him. The blonde stares for a while before bursting out in laughter, his shoulders shaking and his face turning red, much like the red-head's own cheeks as she glares at the man.
"'Be gone'?!" He wheezes between laughing fits. The comment has the red reaching to the girl's ears and she gives an indignant huff before turning sharply and walking away. The sound of John's not so subtle footsteps is the only warning the girl gets before there's an arm around her shoulders and a—still laughing—man hanging off of her. She huffs but continues to walk as the blonde follows, attempting to apologize between laugher.
Despite herself, the red-head smiled softly at the man's antics. He was a breath of fresh air in the stuffy, oppressing, environment that made her long for the freedom and sunshine of the island she'd moved from.
Finally. She mentally sighs as she makes her way to her out-of-town home. It'd been a long day, full of studies she really didn't care to learn and that wouldn't be useful to her in the future. Where are the mandatory classes on finances, child raising, or government? Why weren't they talking about the recent debates about the mutant 'problem', particularly when the debates were going on in the schools anyway—often along the lines of how scary or disgusting mutants were—without any sign of intelligent discussion or insight? These kids seemed to only be repeating what they'd heard online or from their parents with no opinions of their own and it was kind of awful. Did they really think all mutants were mean? Did they think the 'mutation' was a bad thing simply because of the word that was used? Where they just scared? What did Shakespeare or integers matter when there were bigger, more pressing, and more important things to address? This unrest will continue until people become smart enough to formulate their own opinions based on fact instead of fear and the misguided voices of the masses.
Camilla sighs as she shakes the thoughts from her head. This isn't the first time she's thought of this, and though she's often voiced these thoughts and opinions, they were usually met with defensive arguments that quickly looped or outright dismissal; thinking she was only speaking these opinions to make herself look intelligent. She'd often been mocked for them as well, so she's since learned to keep the thoughts to herself and would rant about them at home with her siblings and parents; whenever the latter were available for skype as they were serving overseas.
When you walk my way, you won't-click!
Camilla holds her phone to her ear, shaking her head and smiling at the ringtone her brother had hacked into her phone to download for when he calls.
"Hey, Michael." She says answers as she walks. Michael—yes like the angel—was older than Camilla by three years, already in college though he'd moved with them and transferred schools in order to keep an eye on her and their younger sister while their parents were both away on deployment. He was a good older brother, strict and firm when needed but usually just a big dork that'd play video games with his siblings.
"Did you get the milk and cereal?" He asks, his voice light and comforting as it always was. Camilla smiles and glances at the plastic bag of milk and her younger sister's sugary cereal in her free hand.
"Yeah, and I'm headed home." She says simply, giggling when she hears her sister squeal happily in the background. Her older brother shushes the girl before speaking to Camilla again.
"Good. Be careful, okay?" The red-head rolls her eyes; her brother ever the worry-wort, not that she could blame him considering he was in charge of both her and her sister while their parents were away.
"I will. See you when I get home." She states, bidding him goodbye before hanging up. Her brother was wonderful, but she often worried about his health due to the stress of, basically, raising a little girl, taking care of a house, taking care of payments and finances—which were paid for by their parents but handled by her brother—and going to college basically on his own. Camilla helped as much as she could, but he didn't let her help with most of the things like finances and such.
Schhhng!
Drawn from her thoughts with a loud sound like the sound of metal scraping concrete, the high schooler looks up in surprise, glancing around. The street was basically empty, a quiet part of town, but she catches the eyes of an older black man several feet in front of her, who's giving her the same, confused, look. They share a shrug, unsure of what the sound is, but catch it again, this time clearly coming from the alley beside them. Looking at each other again, they both lean forward at the same time to look into the alley.
BAM!
The two of them yelp and jump back as something, or perhaps someone, comes flying out of the alley and slams into the pavement between them. Dressed in a strange leather outfit, the man currently lays face down on the ground; an almost comical pose. The two civilians look at each other again before looking down the alley again in time to see a large man in a leather, fur collared, coat charge down the alley—crouched low like an animal—and pounce on the prone man. The man in the coat—a huge man with a shaggy mane of blonde hair—raises a hand, curled in a cruel, claw-like, pose and drives it into the prone back of the man below him.
"ARG!" The man cries out in pain, much to the other man's sick amusement. Not pausing to think over her actions—which in hindsight wasn't her smartest move—Camilla throws her plastic bag of milk at the man as hard as she can muster. Her strength impressive and her aim true, the woman's gallon jug of milk smashes over the head of the beast-like man in the coat and covers both him and his victim in the white liquid.
Again, probably not her smartest move.
The blonde snarls as her turns to her sharply, his wild hair dancing around with the motion. His vicious gaze locks on the person that would dare attack him and the girl can't help but shrink back just a little, her body tensing and her arms coming up to protect herself, readying for fight.
In a flurry of movement, the wild-man jumps off of the man beneath him and launches himself at the red-head. Just barely ducking in time, the man flies over her, but his leather boot catches her shoulder on his way over her, the force of the blow knocking her flat on her back.
She cringes as her head connects with the unforgiving ground, the pain forcing her to squeeze her eyes shut as her sight goes momentarily dark at the edges. They're only closed for a moment, but when she reopens her eyes, she finds herself staring at the enraged visages of the sharp clawed man.
"C'mere." He snarls as she grabs her by the throat and hauls her to her feet. Grabbing his wrist, ready to flip his oversized ass over her hip, the woman finds she can't as he lifts her to the point that she's on her tip toes, unable to find any traction. Incidentally, this is just high enough to bring her face close to his when he stoops a little—the man well over six foot. He's so close that she can smell the stink of his breath. This close, the woman can also see the wild-man's cat-like eyes and pointed canines, as he bared he teeth at her in a snarl, both of which made her eyes go wide and her body tremble just a little.
"Put 'er down, Sabretooth." Comes a deep growl behind her. Both the savage man and the high schooler look over the girl's shoulder to see the source of the voice—though the red-head was having trouble as the man's grip on her throat had shifted and now covered both her throat and her jaw. Luckily, the woman's peripheral was good enough to identify the leather clad man she'd saved with the bag of milk. Without his face in the ground, the girl could see it better, and was just able to make out a hard, gruff, and rugged visage that, while untamed, was not altogether unappealing. She could also see obvious injuries from his fall in the form of red splotches on his cheeks and forehead; road burn.
"Yer not getting soft on me, are ya Logan?" The man behind her purrs cruelly. He pulls her to his chest, wrapping one muscle bound arm around her middle and holding her with more strength than even a man of his size would suggest. It's difficult to breath with the pressure on her stomach and her feet have now completely left the ground, leaving her at even more of a disadvantage. His free hand grabs her cheeks firmly, his claws digging into the soft flesh hard enough to draw blood. Wide eyed, and with her brain working overtime, the red-head locks eyes with the leather outfitted man in front of her. His expression is pissed, but his eyes shows years of experience in battle…along with a thirst for it and a rage that's just barely contained. She really does not want to be in this position, as stuck between a rock and a hard place as one can be.
About to make a move-probably along the lines of kicking the huge man holding her in the balls as hard as she can just so he'll drop her enough for her feet to touch the ground-the woman stops and her eyes go wide as she sees the flesh of the shorter man's skin stitch itself back together. As if the sight didn't give her pause enough, she suddenly feels a warmth spreading through her body as if it's reacting to the sight of this strange man's abilities also. She ignores the feeling as something clicks in her head.
"Mutant…" She breathes, astounded and a little afraid, now realizing that her current capture might be even worse than she originally thought. Her whispered word is easily caught by both men, making the shorter tense and the larger behind her laugh darkly. His grip tightens on her, making the breathe from her lungs escape her in a rush before she attempts to suck it back in with a weak gasp when the claw of the hand holding her middle digs into her side, easily breaking through fabric and skin.
Bttz!
A sharp but short buzzing sound suddenly fills the air before being followed swiftly by both an enraged and pained shout and an agonizing feeling across the woman's side and halfway across her stomach. By the time her mind catches up with reality, she's already stumbling towards the shorter man who quickly closes the gap just as her legs give out from underneath her. Holding her close, the woman stares up at the man, who uses the hand not holding her to remove the arm she hadn't realizes she's wrapped around her stomach. The woman yelps sharply in pain before looking down. Her eyes go wide at the sight of four large tears across her stomach, her ripped shirt already stained with blood. Looking away before she hurls, she looks up with wide, worried, eyes at the gruff looking man.
"Dammit Cyclops! Ya shoulda got 'ere faster!" The man snarls at a figure to the woman's right. A shadow is cast over the two of them before the red-head's slightly blurry, teary, gaze falls on the man standing above them. Shock is clear on her face and only gets worse as she stares up at the, rather handsome man, with the strange Geordi La Forge-esque contraption over his eyes. His expression, while worried, is hard and calm as he crouches down, his hand hovering over her wound as he studies it for just a moment. Over the man's shoulder, she can see the backs of two women in leather—who both look fantastic in the outfits—facing the wild-man who looked ready to pounce.
"Help Jean and Storm. I'll get her medical attention." The man orders calmly, not waiting for the short savage man's response before he picks the woman up in his arms, mindful of her wounded midsection, though it did not stop him from jarring them. Moving quickly, the man hurries away from the battle. For some reason, a gut instinct keeps her eyes from the four people they were moving away from and instead focuses on the face of the man who speaks to her in a calm, controlled, tone.
"My name's Scott Summers. I'm part of the X-men and I'm here to help." The man's, Scott's, tone and words reminds her of a cop or military man and she can't help but find comfort in it. The slight tilt of his head seems to indicate that he had glanced down at her but he quickly looks forward again to watch where he's going.
"I'm going to fix you up, but you need to stay awake, okay?" He demands, but his words make her realize the slightly lightheaded and sleepy feeling that seems to seep into her bones. Though she fights, her eyes start to droop a little, making the man above her curse and move faster.
"Hey. HEY!" The shout makes her jump and she forces her eyes open wider, her blurry gaze fixing on his face. "Stay with me!" He demands, tone sharper this time. The woman is suddenly aware that she's not outside anymore, but rather in…well, something metal. Her mind is fuzzy and her eyesight is worse. She feels the man set her down gently on a seat, strapping her in with several seatbelts. She frowns, wondering what has chest seatbelts like this, but more importantly…why does her stomach feel warm? On the edge of her consciousness, the blood loss and shock taking its toll, the woman manages to will herself to look up at the man, her head feeling like a bowling ball on a limp noodle. She rests it against the wing of the chair she's sitting in as her eyes slowly close.
"Hey hey hey! You need to stay away! C'mon!" The man demands as he kneels in front of her, shaking her shoulders. This gets her attention, her unfocused eyes looking around before falling on him again.
"Doesn't hurt…" Is the only thing she can get out before she passes out, only hearing the man curse and call her before nothing.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
A steady, beeping sound fills the air, drawing the high schooler back to consciousness. She attempts to open her eyes but the effort is too much so she leaves them closed for now. Other than the sound of what her steadily clearing mind can only assume is a heart monitor, she feels a dull ache in her stomach; like she'd been kicked.
Shhht!
The sound of an automatic door opening reaches her ears along with the sound of conversation.
"I don't understand it professor," Comes a calm, strong, female voice. "If she's a healing mutant, why didn't it heal all the way?" The woman seems frustrated and worried.
Who's she talking about? The girl wondered.
"And more importantly, why couldn't you see her with Cerebro?" Comes a second voice, a male one that sounded familiar.
Oh yes. The banana clip guy.
"Why don't we ask her?" A soft, calm, soothing male voice says beside her. The sound should have startled her, being so close, but it sounded so much like her brother's that it was comforting.
"Camilla. Can you open your eyes for me, please?" This calm voice calls, the soothing sound making her unable to disobey. Despite this, though, she still squints at the bright light above her and the discomfort it causes. She moves to lift her hand and cover her eyes but someone catches her hand and lowers it back to the bed she's laying on. Her eyes fall upon and beautiful African-American woman with white hair and a kind smile.
"You have an IV in your arm. Try not to pull it out, hm?" She says kindly, though her kindness does little to hide the power in her voice; a power that seems to permeate everything about her.
"How do you feel?" Asks the familiar male voice on her other side and she looks over to see Scott standing beside her, a soft smile on his face and red tinted sunglasses on instead of the banana clip.
"Okay." She answers, her voice a little rough.
"Do you remember what happened?" Asks the calm voice, drawing her gaze to the man beside her head. He's older, but with a wise, trustworthy face and kind eyes. He smiles gently at her, encouraging her to speak.
"Yes." She says with a gentle nod. The man, who is sitting in a wheel chair she just noticed, places a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"You remembered what you did?" The man asks, clearly urging her for details to be sure.
"I threw my milk at the big guy's head." She says, drawing a few quiet laughs from the three. The older man nods and offers her a smile.
"Yes. But we're sorry to say, in our attempt to get this man away from you, he injured you." The woman's formally airy, lightweight, mind suddenly feels heavy and alert as she abruptly sits up, her hands flying to her stomach. A firm hand grasps her shoulder and she looks up at Scott.
"Your wound is mostly healed, but you need to take it easy. No sudden movements." He orders, laying her back down. She frowns deeply and looks a little panicked as she turns her gaze back to the man in the wheelchair.
"How long have I been out?!" She asks sharply, the three look at each other before the man she's addressed answers.
"A few hours." The woman says, causing Camillia's frown to deepen, confusion clear on her brow.
"A few hours?" She echoes, looking between the three. "Was it not that deep?" She asks, looking down at her stomach, realizing now that she wasn't wearing her normal clothes but a pair of soft scrubs. The others look at each other, exchanging a look that the redhead can't quite place.
"You would have bled out." Scott says, staring down at her with an unreadable expression. She stares at him.
"I don't understand…" It's the calm man in the wheelchair that speaks next, though even his calm voice cannot help the rising panic in the high schooler's chest.
"Have you ever felt different? Felt…strange in certain situations?" He asks but is met with a firm shake of her head. She's fairly certain she knows where he's going with this.
"Camilla, we think you are a mutant." Says the woman, cutting to the chase. Her eyes grow wide as she looks at her, heart pounding. That…wasn't possible! Puberty had come and gone without so much as a hint of mutation! Shaking her head, hard, she grips the front of her shirt as her heart pounds below her fist.
"N-No! I'm not!" She nearly shouts, tears springing the corner of her eyes as her panic starts to overwhelm her. Between the attack, the wound, waking up in a new place, and now this news that she might be a mutant piling on top of her already existing stress of a new move and military parents, it was all too much for her. Starting to hyperventilate—the machines beeping loudly in the corner—she looks between them frantically.
"I-I want to go home!" She pleads, staring desperately at the man in the wheelchair. His expression is gentle but there's a hint of guilt on his face that makes her heart rate speed up.
"You're still injured." He says.
"And we don't know the nature of your mutation." Comes the other woman's voice, making the desperate girl look over at her. Shaking her head frantically, her breathing coming in gasps, she springs into action before even the telepath can react. She jumps to her feet, ripping her IV from her arm violently in the same movement, before darting out of the room, the wireless monitors still recording her vitals.
"Shit." Scott curses under his breath as he and Ororo dart after the girl. The wheelchair bound Professor can do little to help, though he does call to the two other teachers.
"Don't scare her further. She'll only hurt herself and others." He calls to the two, who pause in the doorway and look at him. "She's scared and injured. Be gentle."
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