[TCP] Mind's Eye. (1/1)
By Rossi.
Disclaimer: The mutant concept belongs to Marvel, and is used without permission. The Common People project is the joint effort of Phil Foster and Kielle.
Rating: PG. As the TV broadcasters put it, this story contains "adult themes".
Feedback: All feedback to rossifics@yahoo.com.au.
This story owes it existence to the #SPAM! crowd, but especially Harlequin, who triggered the idea in the first place. Be warned, it's. odd.
____________________________________________________
The astral plane. A true realm of dreams. The collective unconscious, travelled only by the gifted.
In a small corner, two such minds meet.
*Marcel!*
*Justine! I've been looking for you! Were you shielding?*
*Yes. It's been an awful day. I just needed some peace: everyone's thoughts were so _loud_.*
*My poor darling. I wish I could be there with you, offer you some better comfort than this.*
*Unfortunately there's not much chance of that, unless you've learned to fly recently.*
*Or one of us wins the lottery.*
*That too. You're very clear tonight- have you been practicing?*
*Alas, I am found out. Yes, I've been working on increasing my range. I could speak to you if you were at the other end of the earth, my love.*
*Marcel, I _am_ at the other end of the earth. But you're very sweet.*
*And you have a beautiful mind.*
*Flatterer. How are things in Paris?*
*Miserable without you. Spring in Paris is not all it is said to be. Too much romance, for a start.*
*You're just jealous, love. Just because we may never meet doesn't mean others shouldn't be happy.*
*Ah, there you go again, breaking my heart with your 'never'. Is there no hope, Justine?*
*Not unless you ever make it to Sydney, Marcel. Care to visit the Olympics next year?*
*Bah. You know I prefer more. cerebral activity.*
*You'd never make a superhero, Marcel. You're too lazy.*
*Too sensible, I would say.*
*Pity. I was just imagining you in Spandex. Yum.*
*Wicked girl. But you're tired. You should get some rest.*
*Net yet, love.*
*Yes, darling. You're overreaching yourself. I'll speak to you tomorrow.*
*Goodnight, Marcel.*
*Goodnight Justine.*
Light flares as the two astral forms meet in a kiss. Then they wink out. There's the feeling of disorientation, the heaviness of flesh once again surrounding spirit. With regret, he looks down at himself, the large, strong hands, the wiry forearms dusted with light brown hair, the athletic body, the long muscular legs. He sighs, and pushes dark brown hair out of his eyes. Their moments together are all too fleeting.
There's a knock at the door.
"Hey Justin! You coming down for the game or what?"
"I'll be right there." The voice betrays the illusion, as does the body. Regardless of the person inside, this is what he is on the outside, this is his body, no matter how wrong it feels. _This_ is the reason why he will never meet with Marcel, despite the longing in his heart.
Justin/Justine glances in the mirror as he leaves, and once again curses the fate that made him a woman telepath in a man's body.
The End.
By Rossi.
Disclaimer: The mutant concept belongs to Marvel, and is used without permission. The Common People project is the joint effort of Phil Foster and Kielle.
Rating: PG. As the TV broadcasters put it, this story contains "adult themes".
Feedback: All feedback to rossifics@yahoo.com.au.
This story owes it existence to the #SPAM! crowd, but especially Harlequin, who triggered the idea in the first place. Be warned, it's. odd.
____________________________________________________
The astral plane. A true realm of dreams. The collective unconscious, travelled only by the gifted.
In a small corner, two such minds meet.
*Marcel!*
*Justine! I've been looking for you! Were you shielding?*
*Yes. It's been an awful day. I just needed some peace: everyone's thoughts were so _loud_.*
*My poor darling. I wish I could be there with you, offer you some better comfort than this.*
*Unfortunately there's not much chance of that, unless you've learned to fly recently.*
*Or one of us wins the lottery.*
*That too. You're very clear tonight- have you been practicing?*
*Alas, I am found out. Yes, I've been working on increasing my range. I could speak to you if you were at the other end of the earth, my love.*
*Marcel, I _am_ at the other end of the earth. But you're very sweet.*
*And you have a beautiful mind.*
*Flatterer. How are things in Paris?*
*Miserable without you. Spring in Paris is not all it is said to be. Too much romance, for a start.*
*You're just jealous, love. Just because we may never meet doesn't mean others shouldn't be happy.*
*Ah, there you go again, breaking my heart with your 'never'. Is there no hope, Justine?*
*Not unless you ever make it to Sydney, Marcel. Care to visit the Olympics next year?*
*Bah. You know I prefer more. cerebral activity.*
*You'd never make a superhero, Marcel. You're too lazy.*
*Too sensible, I would say.*
*Pity. I was just imagining you in Spandex. Yum.*
*Wicked girl. But you're tired. You should get some rest.*
*Net yet, love.*
*Yes, darling. You're overreaching yourself. I'll speak to you tomorrow.*
*Goodnight, Marcel.*
*Goodnight Justine.*
Light flares as the two astral forms meet in a kiss. Then they wink out. There's the feeling of disorientation, the heaviness of flesh once again surrounding spirit. With regret, he looks down at himself, the large, strong hands, the wiry forearms dusted with light brown hair, the athletic body, the long muscular legs. He sighs, and pushes dark brown hair out of his eyes. Their moments together are all too fleeting.
There's a knock at the door.
"Hey Justin! You coming down for the game or what?"
"I'll be right there." The voice betrays the illusion, as does the body. Regardless of the person inside, this is what he is on the outside, this is his body, no matter how wrong it feels. _This_ is the reason why he will never meet with Marcel, despite the longing in his heart.
Justin/Justine glances in the mirror as he leaves, and once again curses the fate that made him a woman telepath in a man's body.
The End.