It was an adjustment to say the least. Christian never could easily fall asleep in a bed that was not in his own. A feeling always nagged at him. Perhaps it was paranoia. The thought that being in someone else's bed, a certain amount of control is given up by the sleeper. Christian didn't like that. Sleepovers as a child were not Christian's thing. Not that Christian really worried about that sort of thing. He was too busy worrying about other things. The bed certainly did not lack comfort. It was a springy king size bed with an ornate looking headboard and bed posts. Christian would pick this over the beds in juvy hall any day of the week. This bed was not at home though. Christian was not laying back surrounded by dozens of beautiful half naked women, WWF superstars, and rappers on the posters that may have been the wallpaper of his room. There wasn't a TV to the left of his bed, there wasn't a bookshelf to the right of the bed, there wasn't the fruit punch stain on the floor that never came out.
Christian tripped up on that thought. His mother always told him not to carry red drinks into his room. Listening to his mother at a young age was not Christian's forte. And of course five minutes after he was in his room, the drink was all over the floor. Christian's butt wasn't quite as red as the drink, but it was pretty close after that. Christian wondered what his mother was doing at that exact moment. He didn't feel right at all leaving her at home in Washington. She insisted that there were plenty of neighbors and nurses and such to make sure she is alright. Her main concern was her son. That's how it always was with them. His main concern was his mother, and he main concern was her son. Mother/Son, God, family, school, job. Their respective lists went in that very same order.
Mama Darchart would definitely frown upon her son fighting at the school he was just admitted to. It was bad enough he had been fighting all his life and running with gangs and doing this and that. Christian blamed himself for the stroke his mother had. If he hadn't been such a bad child and fighting and all this and that kind of nonsense perhaps his mother would still be up and around and working. Christian tried to push the thought of the wolf looking boy from his mind. Laying on this foreign bed that didn't happen. On the ceiling was a very large mirror so that when Christian looked up he saw the bruises and scars he was given from the fight before. Nothing too serious to be worrying about. Christian had been stabbed, and shot in his time so a scratch here or there was really anything. Christian didn't want to fight though, well not at first. But Christian's mind functioned as a finisher of things. You start with him, you can guarentee he will finish. That's just another thing to fix at the school.
Christian felt like the school was the best thing for him. The professor could teach him to control his powers and he would get an education. Very good. Still Christian felt un easy about the whole thing. Even though he was a mutant, being around a whole school of them was still a creepy thought. And after the scuffle he had at lunch, he knew the others were watching him, talking about him, and Christian didn't like that either. A lot of things have come up in Christian's life that he didn't like. But he just dealt with it.
A flash of light.
Christian recognized this display as he had seen it twice in the last few hours. He raised up a bit on his bed and saw…what was her name…Wendy Brejot, sitting on the edge of his dresser. She sat, legs crossed at the ankles in jeans and a red shirt, hair short and cropped to frame her face, brown almond-shaped eyes sparkling. Obviously her image-inducer was fixed.
"You know I could have been naked." Christian said dryly. He felt strangely comfortable enough to joke with this girl. Perhaps because she tried to help him out in the fight earlier, and ended up saving his ass from getting in trouble for starting it.
"Oh." Came the reply. "How's this,"
A flash again.
There was a knocking sound at the door. Christian yelled a response even though he already knew who was there. Wendy walked back in and took her seat on the dresser again. She looked over the room and seemed disappointed that it was undecorated.
"You going to unpack?" She asked.
"I'll get to it at some point." Christian said, laying back down.
"This place looks dreadfully bare."
"Maybe I like it like that."
"I doubt that."
Christian sat back up. Wendy hopped off the desk and walked over to this window. The evening was just setting in.
"There was a spare image inducer for me to use." She said. "The Professor warned me to keep this one healthy. Dr. McCoy wouldn't be back for a while yet. So there won't be any more made soon."
"Oh," was all Christian said in reply.
"They think you're a criminal." Wendy said rather boldly. Christian was caught off guard a bit.
"Do they?"
"Well that's the rumor going around. Thanks to Tylor. Rumors are kind of his thing."
"I'll be sure to take it up with him." Christian said. And really Christian did make a mental note to talk to this boy to see that nothing more was spread. It may have been true but no sense in everyone knowing about it.
"So are you?" Wendy asked.
"Am I what?"
"A criminal."
"Define 'criminal'." Wendy shrugged.
"I dunno. Someone who commits a crime."
"Why would you want to know that?" Christian asked. "Wouldn't it make you uneasy around someone like that?" Wendy's head went from side to side in disagreement.
"No. Not knowing the truth about someone. Now that makes me uneasy."
"Fair enough."
"And I did keep you out of trouble today." Wendy said. "You owe me."
Wendy leaped into the air and did a nice forward flip. She landed gracefully and silently on top of one of Christian's bed posts. She looked ready to listen as if Christian was ready to tell.
"Were you in a gang, really?"
"I wouldn't really call them gangs."
Christian began to explain.
"Gangs in my view are so frivolous, ready to kick people out or turn on someone for any small reason, or any bit of green that is waved in front of their face."
Christian sat up on the bed.
"The Killions are a perfect example of this. We were inseperable, and always had each others backs no matter what. They find out I am a mutant…"
Christian sighed and laid back down.
"Then it all changed. When they tried to kill me, you know who my saviors were?"
"Who?"
"A couple of guys from a rival gang of mutants." Wendy was surprised at hearing someone talk so calmly about people wanting to, and attempting to kill him.
"The Sawrazors were a family." Christian smiled at this recollection. "That's really the only word that fits them."
"But you did do things you shouldn't." Wendy said.
"We had to survive." Christian said matter of factly. "I know I did. My dad wasn't around at all in my life. It was hard on my mom I know. She had to pay bills. I had to get my money elsewhere."
"How?"
"I stole it, hustled it, sold drugs for it." Wendy took this all in, not trying to formulate a judgment till she knew the whole story.
"Of course I am not saying it was right. But it is what I had to do." Wendy nodded.
"My mom didn't like any of it. We were always into it. She wanted me in school, and working. I wanted to be out with my boys. My family. I didn't even see the health of my blood family failing. My mom was all the family I had and she had a stroke."
Christian turned his head to one side. Perhaps, Wendy observed, to keep a tear from rolling down his cheek in plain view of his visitor.
"Any way you look at it, it was my fault."
"You don't control people's health. That may be a mutant power, but it's not yours."
"Doesn't matter. It's a reality. She couldn't work anymore. I had to let the Sawrazors go."
Christian began to correct himself even as the last sentence finished.
"Not let them go, just not go out with em for a bit. I needed to be working. My mother needed me."
As Wendy listened, and she was listening intently, she didn't see the bad egg that was supposed to be Christian V. Darchart. Though he did do some crooked things, he was doing them for a purpose, he was pushed to it. Wendy wondered with some concern and maybe a little fear if Christian had ever killed anyone. Was he capable of that?
"That Xavier guy told me this is where new starts are supposed to happen. So I am trying to make this mine."
Christian rolled off his bed and walked over the dresser his bag was on. He looked at it for a moment then unzipped it.
"With guys like that one I fought earlier, that may be difficult though."
"That's just Fred. He doesn't get along with anyone." Christian slammed the things he had in his hand on the dresser.
"He disrespected where I came from." Wendy watched Christian's demeanor become a bit more menacing, more…capable. "I tolerate that from no one."
"Dully noted." Wendy said. Christian turned back to Wendy. "We're not all like that here."
"I'm seeing that." Wendy allowed a moment to blush before backflipping off the bedpost.
It was odd for Christian seeing what looked for the most part like a normal girl moving with a cat's grace, speed, and agility. Christian knew that he was in for a lot more odd sights and sounds from this school. He tried to take it in stride. Wendy looked at her watch.
"Ooh, I have some work to do." She said as she headed to the door. Christian was surprised she didn't just use her other way out.
"You know," Wendy began as she opened the door. "You never answered my question."
"And that was?" Christian asked.
"Are you a criminal?"
"You tell me." Wendy smirked a bit.
"I'll get back to you."
The door shut behind her as she left. Christian watched it for a moment. He had not meant to tell Wendy as much as he did about himself. He didn't want to give people too much on him, before he knew enough about them. It was all about leverage. Christian was going to have to watch himself around this Wendy girl. Seems like she could tap into him.
Maybe it's just the unfamiliarity of the room getting to him.
Christian didn't like that.
Not at all.
