Title: Orestes' Plight Prologue
Author: Jyrnn
Spoilers: This is a post impact fic and will deal mainly with the events and consequences of the last moments of that episode.
Disclaimer: X Men was created by Stan Lee AKA Stan the Man and X men Evoulution is the property of the WB. I'm just borrowing the characters and circumstances for personal enjoyment.
*Warning, this fic deals with mature themes and may be construed as Dark. So be it.*
Orestes' Plight: Prologue, The Will of the Furies
It was a sound of short, violent, ugliness. The grinding impact of stone against stone created the shredding of his mother's petrified form against the unyielding cliff face. He watched in abject horror as her limbs became pebbles and as her face shattered under the strain of the fall. For this one moment it seemed fitting that she had remained motionless in pain since Apocalypse' awakening. It seemed that all her days of prolonged torment were but a prelude to this one instant. In his mind's eye Kurt imagined the rubble being stained in blood, but that was not so. It was impossible to equate the broken shell of his mother with the cold, malicious women he knew in life or with the frozen statue of perpetual agony he lingered near these past few weeks. All was in ruin.
He had sought to redeem his family. Long hours of prayer had imparted upon him this notion, the notion that salvation was achievable for himself and his own kin. He had been naive to think Rogue that forgiving or Mystique that deserving. He had tried, he had tried so very hard yet reaped only despair. Idly he piled the rubble into a heap. The stone of his mother standing out vividly against the dull gray sand of the beach. Agatha Harkness and Rogue had left, his only companions now the steady pounding of the tide, his growing grief, and the ragged sobs that escaped his quivering form.
In his incoherent state he could only string together one lucid thought *This is most definitely wrong." The ocean was advancing now. The tide rising to meet the base of the cliff, to embrace the craggy foundations of the Bayville coastline. Kurt could not move from his slumped position. He stayed knelt on the sand until a swirling maelstrom of water washed the fragments of Mystique out into the ink black ocean.
The cold permeated his matted fur, greedily sucking warmth from his bones. The salt air stung his eyes and he felt the frenzied grains of sand burrow into his blue-back coat. Buffeted yet undeterred by the jarring cold and force of the waves he remained until Mystique was lost to the unfathomable depths, his sorrow turning into something else entirely.
The very nature of Kurt's appearance had forced him to cloister himself during his youth. His only solace the occasional circus show and his much-read books. His performance allowed him to see people, to watch as his audience stared in awe at his death-defying feats of acrobatics. His books were another story. Through the words of ancient poets and the prose modern masters he could experience whole worlds. They opened to him a whole realm of human experience that were closed due to his slightly demonic visage. Milton, Kipling, and Byron were his daily companions as he ventured into their works. When he felt particularly out of touch though, when he felt the whole world was laughing at him he would seek the works of Classical literature. His ordeals would seem paltry in comparison with the trials of Odysseus and his sins insignificant with the horrors of antiquity. He never understood Orestes though. Kurt could never identify with the ancient Greek's need to avenge his father's death by slaying his murderess mother. The Furies seemed alien to the innocent young German boy whose adoptive family was so caring. Hate was as foreign to Kurt as he was to America. Until now.
*I placed my mother's life in my sister's hands and she betrayed me.* dully though Kurt as his heart pinched with some newly found emotion. "Mystique was alive. My mother was ALIVE!" vocalized Kurt in a rasping voice. He stopped for a moment and pondered this development while his chest rose and fell feverishly. He tightly shut his eyes, his thoughts taking up all of his attention. Inwardly he seethed with an anger more intense than he had ever possessed.
In the dark of the fading light his eyes shot open and glowed with the sickly gold light of his mutant soul. Rising from his crouch he plunged his hand into the surf and quickly retrieved a piece of his mother's broken remains. The ocean beat at his knees as he stood with a piece of stone clutched tightly to his breast.
Softly he uttered his parting thought in German to the uncaring sea. "We were not close and there was little love between us mother but you gave me life. Yours was taken from you. I will make amends." In a cloud of brimstone and smoke he telported towards Xavier's school.
End For now.
Author Notes:
For those of you who are unfamiliar with ancient Greek mythology, Orestes was the son of Clytemnestra and Agamemnon. When Agamemnon returned home from the Trojan War, Clytemnestra murdered him so that she could both retain the power she wielded in his name and to continue seeing her lover. Orestes learned of his father's death and returned home to avenge the murder. In some circles it is said that the Furies punish those who allow the murder of a family member by another family member to go unavenged. This punishment is usually insainty.
This is my first XME fic but I felt compelled to do this. For all of you have seen the episode Impact, you'll agree it's filled with character death. I'm just exploring the ramificatons of one such death. As always read and review as I will continue this even if I have an audience of one.
Author: Jyrnn
Spoilers: This is a post impact fic and will deal mainly with the events and consequences of the last moments of that episode.
Disclaimer: X Men was created by Stan Lee AKA Stan the Man and X men Evoulution is the property of the WB. I'm just borrowing the characters and circumstances for personal enjoyment.
*Warning, this fic deals with mature themes and may be construed as Dark. So be it.*
Orestes' Plight: Prologue, The Will of the Furies
It was a sound of short, violent, ugliness. The grinding impact of stone against stone created the shredding of his mother's petrified form against the unyielding cliff face. He watched in abject horror as her limbs became pebbles and as her face shattered under the strain of the fall. For this one moment it seemed fitting that she had remained motionless in pain since Apocalypse' awakening. It seemed that all her days of prolonged torment were but a prelude to this one instant. In his mind's eye Kurt imagined the rubble being stained in blood, but that was not so. It was impossible to equate the broken shell of his mother with the cold, malicious women he knew in life or with the frozen statue of perpetual agony he lingered near these past few weeks. All was in ruin.
He had sought to redeem his family. Long hours of prayer had imparted upon him this notion, the notion that salvation was achievable for himself and his own kin. He had been naive to think Rogue that forgiving or Mystique that deserving. He had tried, he had tried so very hard yet reaped only despair. Idly he piled the rubble into a heap. The stone of his mother standing out vividly against the dull gray sand of the beach. Agatha Harkness and Rogue had left, his only companions now the steady pounding of the tide, his growing grief, and the ragged sobs that escaped his quivering form.
In his incoherent state he could only string together one lucid thought *This is most definitely wrong." The ocean was advancing now. The tide rising to meet the base of the cliff, to embrace the craggy foundations of the Bayville coastline. Kurt could not move from his slumped position. He stayed knelt on the sand until a swirling maelstrom of water washed the fragments of Mystique out into the ink black ocean.
The cold permeated his matted fur, greedily sucking warmth from his bones. The salt air stung his eyes and he felt the frenzied grains of sand burrow into his blue-back coat. Buffeted yet undeterred by the jarring cold and force of the waves he remained until Mystique was lost to the unfathomable depths, his sorrow turning into something else entirely.
The very nature of Kurt's appearance had forced him to cloister himself during his youth. His only solace the occasional circus show and his much-read books. His performance allowed him to see people, to watch as his audience stared in awe at his death-defying feats of acrobatics. His books were another story. Through the words of ancient poets and the prose modern masters he could experience whole worlds. They opened to him a whole realm of human experience that were closed due to his slightly demonic visage. Milton, Kipling, and Byron were his daily companions as he ventured into their works. When he felt particularly out of touch though, when he felt the whole world was laughing at him he would seek the works of Classical literature. His ordeals would seem paltry in comparison with the trials of Odysseus and his sins insignificant with the horrors of antiquity. He never understood Orestes though. Kurt could never identify with the ancient Greek's need to avenge his father's death by slaying his murderess mother. The Furies seemed alien to the innocent young German boy whose adoptive family was so caring. Hate was as foreign to Kurt as he was to America. Until now.
*I placed my mother's life in my sister's hands and she betrayed me.* dully though Kurt as his heart pinched with some newly found emotion. "Mystique was alive. My mother was ALIVE!" vocalized Kurt in a rasping voice. He stopped for a moment and pondered this development while his chest rose and fell feverishly. He tightly shut his eyes, his thoughts taking up all of his attention. Inwardly he seethed with an anger more intense than he had ever possessed.
In the dark of the fading light his eyes shot open and glowed with the sickly gold light of his mutant soul. Rising from his crouch he plunged his hand into the surf and quickly retrieved a piece of his mother's broken remains. The ocean beat at his knees as he stood with a piece of stone clutched tightly to his breast.
Softly he uttered his parting thought in German to the uncaring sea. "We were not close and there was little love between us mother but you gave me life. Yours was taken from you. I will make amends." In a cloud of brimstone and smoke he telported towards Xavier's school.
End For now.
Author Notes:
For those of you who are unfamiliar with ancient Greek mythology, Orestes was the son of Clytemnestra and Agamemnon. When Agamemnon returned home from the Trojan War, Clytemnestra murdered him so that she could both retain the power she wielded in his name and to continue seeing her lover. Orestes learned of his father's death and returned home to avenge the murder. In some circles it is said that the Furies punish those who allow the murder of a family member by another family member to go unavenged. This punishment is usually insainty.
This is my first XME fic but I felt compelled to do this. For all of you have seen the episode Impact, you'll agree it's filled with character death. I'm just exploring the ramificatons of one such death. As always read and review as I will continue this even if I have an audience of one.