Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

2. Second Letter

Monday, 22 October

Hello, Victor.

How are you? I'm good and I hope you are good too.

Was a long wekend. I think the chef cook don't like me. She wants dat I help wiht brekfast from 5 at 9, and then help with lunch from 10 at 3, and then wiht diner from 5 at 10. But I have to treat the horses, too. The hedmaster sayed that I don't have to help with brekfast, because the majority of people only eat milk and cireals and bread, so isn't very work. Now I get up and treat the horses. Then I help wiht lunch and wiht cleane after diner. I have 5 hours free, from 3 at 8.

But the chef cook dosen't like me: she complaines of everythink I do and says that they don't need another cook, especially someone that dosen't cook in balk. But I think is because I'm the only cook that isn't mutant. The other cooks don't like me too, and the students. But I don't want to now: I do my work and whene they say I'm doing somethink wrong I do like they say, and in everything else ignore them. I don't need that they like me, so is not a problem if they don't like me, rihgt?

Is one more person that isn't mutant here. She tried kill mutants with a bomb, but now she understands that was wrong. The students are bad to her. I saw her in the library and I was sympathic to her, but she was studying Law and told me to go away. The librarian is a teacher too. She's sympatic but always very busy.

Irbis stopped and read what she had written so far. This second letter was coming off much faster than the first one (and with much less dictionary use, too), even if Creed hadn't answered yet. Of course he probably hadn't received it yet either. Well, the more he had to read – assuring him she hadn't tried to run off on him with her move to New York – the sooner he'd stop being angry that she was out of his immediate reach. At least her constant letters could give him the impression she was willing to keep her every day life under his scrutiny.

The question was how much she wanted to be under his scrutiny? Should she tell him about all the events of the last three days? She hesitated a moment more then went to the dictionary to search for the word she required.

I am tempted to hide some of the situations I faced, but I promise you honesty. I was almost atacked today. I was in the library, alone, and some students entred. They were hapy and say jokes, but then they saw me.

The pen hesitated in the air as Irbis recalled the moment.

I go be honest: I don't like this school. I am not necessary. Sometimes I think I'm not even convenient, like I was to you. But I am here because of money to pay my house, where I can recive you, so is not important that they need me.

There was no fear that he might smell the lie, just like there was no point in saying that feeling unnecessary hurt more than a beating, for a beating only lasted that long, and the pain of being unnecessary was constantly cutting into her heart. But, while before she had had no purpose in her life, she now had one – to gain the means to be independent – so she had a life buoy keeping her from becoming immersed in the pain.

I didn't give the kids importance whene they entred. I was read in the newspaper information about houses and they passed and one spited in the newspaper.

The teenager had probably wanted to spit on her, but had missed his target. Should she reveal how suddenly alive she had felt at the upcoming confrontation? How strong she had felt as she faced those imbecile punks, thinking themselves so high and mighty? How she had felt nothing but contempt at them, comparing their angry baby-glares to the fierceness of Creed's dangerous glare?

One sayed that I didn't bilong there because I wasn't mutant and called me a name offensive. I don't remember the word but isn't important because I don't understand the word too. The others agree and start insult me. They looked like baby gorillas: they puted their chests out and threatened me and took me the newspaper from my hands.

She had not been afraid for a moment. As a matter of fact, she had thought their display so ridiculous she hadn't been able to avoid a scornful smirk and had barely choked a laugh. It had taken the youths aback for a single moment, and enraged them further. One had made a display of his powers, setting his head on fire, and the others switched to physical threats.

I sayed to them: You want atack a defenceless person that works in the school? You really want be expelled? I didn't get up because I think could provoke them to atack, and was a good decision. One of the boys throwed the table away and made a entire bookcase fall!

Oh, how her blood had boiled. She had got up then and hadn't even bothered to glare at them. Of course she knew the punks were too young and inexperient to measure – or even consider – the consequences of acting on their words, which did make them dangerous. On the other hand, they were nothing compared to Creed's level of danger.

"You think you're in a school for terrorists?"

"You're the terrorist, flatscan," the burning-head had yelled. "And you're gonna regret it in no time!"

That one was too willing to start something, so she had grabbed the collar of her blouse and yanked it open, letting them see her bruised neck and a few teeth marks near her collar bone. The kids couldn't have possibly known they were 'affection marks'. On the other hand, it might have impressed them more had they known it. Anyway, the unexpected action had earned her some time.

"I saw real mutants kill babies like you and laugh!" She hadn't, but the people she had seen killed – the people he had killed – died as surely as helpless babies, whether mutant or not. "You think you are ready to play wid hate? You ready to kill you proper wid hate?"

They had hesitated a moment and she hadn't been able to stop the scorn.

"Terrorrist! De day you see a real terrorist ready to kill you, you cry like babies." And as the insult fuelled their anger anew, she snarled at them, Creed's growl alive at her ears, making her see she was no psycopath: "You think real terrorists want know if you're mutant or not? They want an excuse to kill and torture. Mutant, black, childrens, dogs... is all de same. Is de blood dey want."

I got up and call them babies, sayed that they didn't now what is hate. And then the librarian arrived to see what had been the noise. She understood imediatly what had hapened and sended the three kids to the hedmaster. And me. I think they stayed impressed that I didn't have afraid and that I faced them.

She had felt contempt at their patronising surprise but had lowered her head and said nothing. After all, Creed was far more patronising at times. On the other hand, when she did surprise him positively, he would award her one of those mischievous grins... or a serious, silent inspection that spoke of rough approval rather than condescension.

They sugested that I speak wiht the students about the importance of not hate humans, like humans shouldn't hate mutants. I don't want, but I acept. I think could make them suspicious of me if I sayed no. I don't now what I go say. I can only say that hate kills people inside and out, and is not about mutants.

Irbis closed her eyes, remembering her grandfather Paulo. Her father's father. She felt tears on her eyes but it wasn't because of him, just because of the life he had been a part of and which was lost for her. But she wouldn't let the letter get the smell of tears, so she controlled herself. Still, the memory burnt inside her.

You can laugh but I'm afraid of hate. My father died when I was a baby, in a car acident. My grandfather Paulo (the father of my father) never acept that the police sayed the guilt was of my father because he had drank some beers. He hated everyone after that. And he hated me too, because I was in the car but he died and I lived. He never talked wiht my mother after the funeral, and it hurt my grandmother (the mother of my father) very mutch. He had three sons, but after my father died he forgot the others; and because they talked wiht my mother, he stoped talk with them. He hurt more people than the death of my father, and for very more time. Hate destroyed him and his family.

Irbis shook her head.

I'm sorry, I'm boring you wiht this story. You probably want to now about the house. I didn't discover a house yet, but I only started. Until the end of the week, I wait chose a house.

Good bye and until soon,

Irbis

Irbis re-read the letter and felt satisfied with it. She considered cutting off the paragraph about her family history, but decided an intimate confidence might help her cause. Looking at the watch, she was happy to see it was barely midnight. This second letter, although slightly longer than the first, had taken much less time. Once more, she hid it in the inner pocket of the coat. The following day, she had been given the day off but she had decided that she'd take care of the horses before leaving: people in the Institute might not need her, but the horses surely needed her.

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