Proof is the Protector Part Six
Author: Cristof Wagner
Rating: PG-13 (for Mild Violence)
Summary: Sixth Installment of the "Proof is the Protector" Series - a familiar looking stranger is lurking around Bayville High.
Category: General
Author's Note: Look for Mistogirl/Thundercat's upcoming story A Rogue and a Gentleman.
Disclaimer: I do not own the X-men. They are the property of Marvel comics. Nor do I claim to possess ownership of the Television series X-men: Evolution. I do however own the Character Cristof Alexander Wagner. The poem fragments within this installment are from the introduction to Werewolf: The Apocalypse. Werewolf: The Apocalypse is the property of the good people at White Wolf publications. No profit is gained by this work of fiction. DON'T SUE ME.
{Thoughts}
::Telepathy::
German
Mental Astral Plane: Inside Cristof's Mind-
In his mind Cristof saw the optic blast of Cyclops emerging from the youth's ruby-quartz visor toward him, there just wasn't anything he could do about it. He possesses speed beyond that of sound and reflexes to match, but he still wasn't faster than light or even kinetic energy it seemed. There was nothing he could do within the confines of his own mind, the fog was too thick to penetrate.
Then it came. All his surroundings sharpened-edges became visible and shapes were defined, colors other than gray were present, but the fog remained it reminded his of where he was though he couldn't quite place it. It was familiar but different from what he was used to. Cristof was in a bed. A bed that was more than familiar. He had spent many injured days in it, a testament to his reckless youth. It was more like a hospital bed than one meant for personal use. The room was, as far as Cristof could tell utilitarian in all aspects except those people visiting it.
All that he could perceive was the room around him and the fleeting emotional auras of those visiting the room within his empathic perception. They came and went, or was it they come and go, or even maybe they will come and then go. He was too confused to make sense of time his head was/is/will be throbbing. But then he saw it -the mental trigger that told him this was his own mind and NOT the material world.
Cristof turned his head to the right and felt hope, love, and sorrow, one of which was directed at him and others were directed toward another. To his left he sensed curiosity and confusion. Nearest to him he felt kinship some thing he hadn't felt in a decade, or would feel in several decades. Screw the temporal continuity.
One by one the presences would leave and be replaced by others, he was rarely alone, but they had no idea that he could feel them there unless...
Cristof quickly searched his surroundings. The room that had been his prison for more or less time than he cared to remember at present. He found the presence he was looking for - he was at the edge of Cristof's perception and he was probing Cristof's core consciousness-- standing there at the edge of the circle that confined him. Yes he was standing this was the only place that he could stand, the astral plane. He was gathering information it appeared to Cristof as a file folder, but it was in essence information gathered from Cristof's memories information the old man should not possess. Cristof looked to the old man , and he looked back. The old man broke the 'silence' first.
{I hope you will excuse my presence here. I will leave you shortly.}
{No Professor, you won't. Not with my memories} Cristof directed his hand toward the visual representation of his thoughts.
{Child, I need the security of my children. I need to know}
{Get used to disappointment.}
Cristof sat up in his bed and eventually got up to stand on a floor that really didn't exist in anyplace aside from his own mind. He glared at the Professor standing at the far end of the 'arena' from Cristof, and built up his mental resolve.
{I give you one last chance Professor. Give me back those thoughts.}
{I'm sorry young man I will not give back the information that I have gleaned from your mind.}
{That is not wise. This is my mind. I control what goes on here.}
An inner light that seemed brighter than could possibly come from any nearby incandescent bulb emanated from within Cristof and when it dimmed Charles Xavier was faced with a young man who had donned a full-plate suit of armor and armed with a rapier that crackled with psionic energy. The weapon was wielded by Cristof with amazing ease.
{This visual affect is for your benefit Xavier. I could take the information from you at any moment you only have yourself to blame. I apologize for what I have to do.}
{I understand}
Xavier tried to summon his own mental anchor, finding unfortunately that he could not. There was no way for him to secure his presence in Cristof's mind. Just as he was thinking that the boy shouldn't be able to remove his astral form's abilities the environment of Cristof's mind itself began to fight him. The room that they had been in was now a featureless grassland. A boundary of mist enclosed the combatants in an arena of sorts.
{I'm sorry Professor but there will be no battle, there will be no chance for you to defend yourself, there will be no information for you from here. Be gone from my mind. }
A shimmering portal of light appeared behind the astral form of Charles Xavier. Cristof raised his sword and a bolt of light erupted from its bolt and connected with the older telepath's mind. He was filled with such pain and sorrow that he was forced to take a step back through the portal. His form disappeared as quickly as it had come, but the astral form that his thoughts had taken remained. Cristof breathed a sigh of relief. Xavier hadn't had enough time to bond the thoughts to his mind.
Cristof walked through the tall grass that he had created and picked up his thoughts. The physical form that they had taken was slowly merged with Cristof's torso, and his thoughts were safe once more.
Cristof wanted to open his eyes but he was trapped in the plains of his mind's hidden battlezone. He could find the astral cord that connected his body to his mind and thus he was a prisoner in his own mind. He frantically looked around into the mist that contained him. He saw nothing but grasslands and the portal with which he banished Xavier. That would be no use to him as it only lead to the Professor's own mind, and it was closing anyway so it didn't matter. Within moments the portal was no more, and he was once again alone with well a veritable cornucopia of ... nothing.
--*Hours Later*--
Cristof had been wandering for hours now and he hadn't gotten any farther when it came to finding the way back to his own body. He had walked miles upon miles in his mind each step advanced the mist ahead of him and it receded the same behind him it was infuriating. Hehad tried everything that he could think of. he had walked forward. He had walked back and to either side. As far as he had traveled he was no closer to anything that he could recognize.
A voice was the first thing to break the monotony. It sounded familiar. No. She sounded familiar. It soothed his anxiety to hear her voice.
{Where are you?}
A dark figure stood in the mist ahead of him. The shape had appeared out of the mist. It was the only thing in the ambiguous environment that was different. The only thing that made the figure different than a shadow were the eyes-they were a purple that he had only seen once and wanted more than anything to see again. It was a color that Cristof had come to associate with well-being and calm satisfaction. They were the eyes that belonged to the voice.
{I am here.} she said
Cristof reached for her form only to have the shadowy figure pull back farther into the mist that his subconscious had summoned.
{Where are you?}
{I am here but I am also far beyond this place. I am her, but not. Think of me not as her, but as a guide.}
Cristof was saddened by the realization that this was not the object of his deepest affection, but a construct of his own mind. It was to be expected. She was his guide in life why not mentally as well?
{How do I get out of here?}
{Seek your form where you would seek your mind in the material world.
The form of shadowy mist disappear once again into the mist from which it had been formed, but the eyes remained. Together they emerged from the mist and buried themselves in Cristof's chest. No pain came with their entrance, but a sense of peace passed over him as they settled, and the realization of his guide's meaning dawned upon him.
{I seek within}
A/N: Please Review. Suggestions welcome. Flames are the spawn of the inconsiderate with no talent of their own.
Our little piece of knowledge for you today comes from Charles Darwin (The Descent of Man, 1871) - Ignorance begets confidence more often than does knowledge. It is those who know little and those who know much who so positively assert that this will never change.
...A heart does not know
what sorrow it holds...
...A Dream cannot show
the truth it unfolds
until the sleeper...
...wakens...
Author: Cristof Wagner
Rating: PG-13 (for Mild Violence)
Summary: Sixth Installment of the "Proof is the Protector" Series - a familiar looking stranger is lurking around Bayville High.
Category: General
Author's Note: Look for Mistogirl/Thundercat's upcoming story A Rogue and a Gentleman.
Disclaimer: I do not own the X-men. They are the property of Marvel comics. Nor do I claim to possess ownership of the Television series X-men: Evolution. I do however own the Character Cristof Alexander Wagner. The poem fragments within this installment are from the introduction to Werewolf: The Apocalypse. Werewolf: The Apocalypse is the property of the good people at White Wolf publications. No profit is gained by this work of fiction. DON'T SUE ME.
{Thoughts}
::Telepathy::
German
Mental Astral Plane: Inside Cristof's Mind-
In his mind Cristof saw the optic blast of Cyclops emerging from the youth's ruby-quartz visor toward him, there just wasn't anything he could do about it. He possesses speed beyond that of sound and reflexes to match, but he still wasn't faster than light or even kinetic energy it seemed. There was nothing he could do within the confines of his own mind, the fog was too thick to penetrate.
Then it came. All his surroundings sharpened-edges became visible and shapes were defined, colors other than gray were present, but the fog remained it reminded his of where he was though he couldn't quite place it. It was familiar but different from what he was used to. Cristof was in a bed. A bed that was more than familiar. He had spent many injured days in it, a testament to his reckless youth. It was more like a hospital bed than one meant for personal use. The room was, as far as Cristof could tell utilitarian in all aspects except those people visiting it.
All that he could perceive was the room around him and the fleeting emotional auras of those visiting the room within his empathic perception. They came and went, or was it they come and go, or even maybe they will come and then go. He was too confused to make sense of time his head was/is/will be throbbing. But then he saw it -the mental trigger that told him this was his own mind and NOT the material world.
Cristof turned his head to the right and felt hope, love, and sorrow, one of which was directed at him and others were directed toward another. To his left he sensed curiosity and confusion. Nearest to him he felt kinship some thing he hadn't felt in a decade, or would feel in several decades. Screw the temporal continuity.
One by one the presences would leave and be replaced by others, he was rarely alone, but they had no idea that he could feel them there unless...
Cristof quickly searched his surroundings. The room that had been his prison for more or less time than he cared to remember at present. He found the presence he was looking for - he was at the edge of Cristof's perception and he was probing Cristof's core consciousness-- standing there at the edge of the circle that confined him. Yes he was standing this was the only place that he could stand, the astral plane. He was gathering information it appeared to Cristof as a file folder, but it was in essence information gathered from Cristof's memories information the old man should not possess. Cristof looked to the old man , and he looked back. The old man broke the 'silence' first.
{I hope you will excuse my presence here. I will leave you shortly.}
{No Professor, you won't. Not with my memories} Cristof directed his hand toward the visual representation of his thoughts.
{Child, I need the security of my children. I need to know}
{Get used to disappointment.}
Cristof sat up in his bed and eventually got up to stand on a floor that really didn't exist in anyplace aside from his own mind. He glared at the Professor standing at the far end of the 'arena' from Cristof, and built up his mental resolve.
{I give you one last chance Professor. Give me back those thoughts.}
{I'm sorry young man I will not give back the information that I have gleaned from your mind.}
{That is not wise. This is my mind. I control what goes on here.}
An inner light that seemed brighter than could possibly come from any nearby incandescent bulb emanated from within Cristof and when it dimmed Charles Xavier was faced with a young man who had donned a full-plate suit of armor and armed with a rapier that crackled with psionic energy. The weapon was wielded by Cristof with amazing ease.
{This visual affect is for your benefit Xavier. I could take the information from you at any moment you only have yourself to blame. I apologize for what I have to do.}
{I understand}
Xavier tried to summon his own mental anchor, finding unfortunately that he could not. There was no way for him to secure his presence in Cristof's mind. Just as he was thinking that the boy shouldn't be able to remove his astral form's abilities the environment of Cristof's mind itself began to fight him. The room that they had been in was now a featureless grassland. A boundary of mist enclosed the combatants in an arena of sorts.
{I'm sorry Professor but there will be no battle, there will be no chance for you to defend yourself, there will be no information for you from here. Be gone from my mind. }
A shimmering portal of light appeared behind the astral form of Charles Xavier. Cristof raised his sword and a bolt of light erupted from its bolt and connected with the older telepath's mind. He was filled with such pain and sorrow that he was forced to take a step back through the portal. His form disappeared as quickly as it had come, but the astral form that his thoughts had taken remained. Cristof breathed a sigh of relief. Xavier hadn't had enough time to bond the thoughts to his mind.
Cristof walked through the tall grass that he had created and picked up his thoughts. The physical form that they had taken was slowly merged with Cristof's torso, and his thoughts were safe once more.
Cristof wanted to open his eyes but he was trapped in the plains of his mind's hidden battlezone. He could find the astral cord that connected his body to his mind and thus he was a prisoner in his own mind. He frantically looked around into the mist that contained him. He saw nothing but grasslands and the portal with which he banished Xavier. That would be no use to him as it only lead to the Professor's own mind, and it was closing anyway so it didn't matter. Within moments the portal was no more, and he was once again alone with well a veritable cornucopia of ... nothing.
--*Hours Later*--
Cristof had been wandering for hours now and he hadn't gotten any farther when it came to finding the way back to his own body. He had walked miles upon miles in his mind each step advanced the mist ahead of him and it receded the same behind him it was infuriating. Hehad tried everything that he could think of. he had walked forward. He had walked back and to either side. As far as he had traveled he was no closer to anything that he could recognize.
A voice was the first thing to break the monotony. It sounded familiar. No. She sounded familiar. It soothed his anxiety to hear her voice.
{Where are you?}
A dark figure stood in the mist ahead of him. The shape had appeared out of the mist. It was the only thing in the ambiguous environment that was different. The only thing that made the figure different than a shadow were the eyes-they were a purple that he had only seen once and wanted more than anything to see again. It was a color that Cristof had come to associate with well-being and calm satisfaction. They were the eyes that belonged to the voice.
{I am here.} she said
Cristof reached for her form only to have the shadowy figure pull back farther into the mist that his subconscious had summoned.
{Where are you?}
{I am here but I am also far beyond this place. I am her, but not. Think of me not as her, but as a guide.}
Cristof was saddened by the realization that this was not the object of his deepest affection, but a construct of his own mind. It was to be expected. She was his guide in life why not mentally as well?
{How do I get out of here?}
{Seek your form where you would seek your mind in the material world.
The form of shadowy mist disappear once again into the mist from which it had been formed, but the eyes remained. Together they emerged from the mist and buried themselves in Cristof's chest. No pain came with their entrance, but a sense of peace passed over him as they settled, and the realization of his guide's meaning dawned upon him.
{I seek within}
A/N: Please Review. Suggestions welcome. Flames are the spawn of the inconsiderate with no talent of their own.
Our little piece of knowledge for you today comes from Charles Darwin (The Descent of Man, 1871) - Ignorance begets confidence more often than does knowledge. It is those who know little and those who know much who so positively assert that this will never change.
...A heart does not know
what sorrow it holds...
...A Dream cannot show
the truth it unfolds
until the sleeper...
...wakens...