Warning: I honestly hate to admit this… but this is slash Lance/Pietro, and being a big Pietro fan and owner of a private collection of too-many-to-count Mary-Sue/Pietro stories, this really, honestly surprised me that I had it in me to write this… It is a sad story, and is written from the perspective of an unnamed mutant who I just invented for this story.
Extra-Super-Duper-Just-In-Case-Warning: I wrote this past my bedtime after staying up 'till one am yesterday writing.. 'Nuff said.
/feh./ italics.
feh. thought.
"feh." Speech.
Note: This whole chapter should be INCREDIBLY small.
She sat silently on her bed, knees dran up to her chin. She had stopped crying, though her cheeks were still glistening. Silently she sat there. Contemplating. Pietro Maximoff. Just another mind she encountered in the twisted playground that was the web of minds she encountered. Soon she would be disturbed and disrupted from her reverie. She couldn't have that. But seeing the time on the clock next to her bed, she knew it was almost time. Breakfast. The meal you wake up to every morning. The meal you dread on sunday nights, and the meal you look forward to on Thursday nights. Thinking of what had happened still, she stood up and waited. After a while of simply standing there waiting, the door slowly opened by the hand of a man just out of his extensive college medical training.
"Hello again. How are you this morning? Remember anything new? Are you hungry?" He asked in a voice that was falsely happy.
"Yes, Dr.Redfern. I'm well, and I am indeed hungry. I remember nothing new, but I have decided upon a name for myself." She said, carefully listing the answers as he had done the questions.
"Oh yes? What's that?" He asked in a genuinely curious tone. Understandable. If someone said something so odd with such /certainty/ it had to mean something.
She approached him until her lips brushed his ear. "Crimson Lake, like blood, and a lake that one might drown in. Namely one pinned beneath a motorcycle..." She said menacingly. He was visibly frightened. He ordered her to sit down on the bed. To wait there-- no, no, that would be dangerous, to come with him. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to the head office.
"This young lady has been acting out on strange impulses and has reported to hearing voices..." She heard him babble on. He was obviously going to report what she'd said. In a mental institution, freaks get in trouble for threats. But with her new experience, she couldn't help it. She struggled not to remember anything, but memories are tougher than that. It takes time to forget. So for now she would have to remember. It was indeed a curse. Not a gift. Far from a gift.
Sorry, I know I said twould be short, but this is even shorter than /I/ expected. Well, Crimson Lake actually isn't insane. She's just different. And she's learned to cope with differences. Perhaps I'll make more about her. She's a pretty cool chick. For a "freak".
Extra-Super-Duper-Just-In-Case-Warning: I wrote this past my bedtime after staying up 'till one am yesterday writing.. 'Nuff said.
/feh./ italics.
feh. thought.
"feh." Speech.
Note: This whole chapter should be INCREDIBLY small.
She sat silently on her bed, knees dran up to her chin. She had stopped crying, though her cheeks were still glistening. Silently she sat there. Contemplating. Pietro Maximoff. Just another mind she encountered in the twisted playground that was the web of minds she encountered. Soon she would be disturbed and disrupted from her reverie. She couldn't have that. But seeing the time on the clock next to her bed, she knew it was almost time. Breakfast. The meal you wake up to every morning. The meal you dread on sunday nights, and the meal you look forward to on Thursday nights. Thinking of what had happened still, she stood up and waited. After a while of simply standing there waiting, the door slowly opened by the hand of a man just out of his extensive college medical training.
"Hello again. How are you this morning? Remember anything new? Are you hungry?" He asked in a voice that was falsely happy.
"Yes, Dr.Redfern. I'm well, and I am indeed hungry. I remember nothing new, but I have decided upon a name for myself." She said, carefully listing the answers as he had done the questions.
"Oh yes? What's that?" He asked in a genuinely curious tone. Understandable. If someone said something so odd with such /certainty/ it had to mean something.
She approached him until her lips brushed his ear. "Crimson Lake, like blood, and a lake that one might drown in. Namely one pinned beneath a motorcycle..." She said menacingly. He was visibly frightened. He ordered her to sit down on the bed. To wait there-- no, no, that would be dangerous, to come with him. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to the head office.
"This young lady has been acting out on strange impulses and has reported to hearing voices..." She heard him babble on. He was obviously going to report what she'd said. In a mental institution, freaks get in trouble for threats. But with her new experience, she couldn't help it. She struggled not to remember anything, but memories are tougher than that. It takes time to forget. So for now she would have to remember. It was indeed a curse. Not a gift. Far from a gift.
Sorry, I know I said twould be short, but this is even shorter than /I/ expected. Well, Crimson Lake actually isn't insane. She's just different. And she's learned to cope with differences. Perhaps I'll make more about her. She's a pretty cool chick. For a "freak".