Soooo, here we are with another installment! ^_^ This chapter gets a little
graphic with violence, so if you don't like it? Don't read it! Kenneth gets
pissed and hurts some people. I promised you bloodshed, did I not? =3
Feedback is always appreciated. Archiving? Sure, but tell me, 'kay?
Onwards!
Copping A Feeling
Chapter Three
[my own summer]
"Hey, hey!" Evan dangled his arm over the back of his chair in school, and grinned casually at the newest arrival to the classroom: Kenneth. "Look who finally decided t'show!"
It was a bright morning, too bright for Ken's taste, and he winced slightly at the noise and lights of his first class: mathematics. It would have been fun, if the classroom was empty. No people, and Kenneth might've enjoyed his favorite subject.
Under his arm, as the boy carefully threaded his way around the back of the class to his seat behind Evan, was a gray laptop computer. A pair of gloves drooped out of his back pocket, and his clothes were identical to yesterday's. Identical in fact, to the day before that, and the day before that. Just a button up shirt(untucked) and black pants. Evan raised an eyebrow.
"You know, dude, we do have washers."
Ken shifted uncomfortably before pulling out the metal chair and plopping down in it, completely ignoring the other boy and the rest of the children in the classroom.
At least the floor wasn't some cheap kind of faux-stone, or he wouldn't have entered the school for his first day. Footprints that his boots left were so hot that even bacteria were scoured clean. Any organic material didn't stand a chance.
Evan tilted backward in his chair and frowned. "Hey! I'm talking to you!" The black boy wagged a finger in front on Kenneth's nose, who merely looked nonplussed, and returned to staring at his boots, tuning the noise out as Evan prattled on.
If he was lucky, he would get through one day without hurting someone.
-flashback-
"Kenneth, you must return to school." Professor X sat behind his expanse of a desk, elbows on the surface and cold eyes on the boy who stood before him.
Ken shifted from foot to foot nervously, uncomfortable. Through the curtain of blonde shaggy hair that dangled down in his face, the young mutant could just make out the stern expression on the older man's face. When he spoke, his lips seemed to stifle his words and mumble everything.
". . .don't want to go."
*Please don't make me go, Professor. Please!*
He was tired of hurting people. He liked being in his room and listening to music. It was safe there, *other* people were safe when Kenneth was tucked within that metal cocoon.
"Sometimes, we must do what must be done, and not what is in our desires."
He nodded resignedly. The Professor was right, of course, it was simply ridiculous to pretend he could live out his life in a metal cage. But, why couldn't he? People hated mutants.
*Why am I being pushed out into the middle of it, then?* He wouldn't fight. He'd just leave them alone.
Tears of frustration beaded behind his eyes, and in the hot light of the setting sun through the massive bay window, Kenneth could almost pretend it was the sun that burned them away, and not his own blazing skin.
-end flashback-
Absently, he reached up and passed the back of his pale hand across his eyelids, obliterating any moisture there with a quiet hiss of evaporation. At the front of the room the teacher droned on about co-efficients and fractional denominators, but his mind was elsewhere though his laptop was open.
Evan glanced back suspiciously at the new kid every so often. Untrustworthy. That kid was untrustworthy. Too quiet, for one thing; too noticeable for another. He hadn't seemed to notice the attention attracted by his presence this morning-new kids were common targets for 'freshing'. Evan, too, tuned out the irritating buzz of the teacher and gnawed thoughtfully on the end of a pencil. How would this kid handle something like that? Perhaps Evan ought to sick around to protect him, just in case.
He snapped back to attention as the teacher called his name, and tipped his chair back to a proper position. Oh, jeeze, what was the question again?
"Uhm. . . ."
The answer could have come from God, as welcome as it was, instead of from a whisper behind him and the abrupt halt to clicking keys. Kenneth leaned forward imperceptibly and murmured a word with scarcely moving lips.
Evan blinked. "Uh,. . . forty-two!"
The teacher dropped her chalk in amazement and blinked several times at the hopeful-looking black boy. Evan never paid any attention in her class, but to finally see results! She smiled widely and picked another piece of chalk from the tray.
"Very good, Evan! Now, can anyone explain to the class how he came up with that answer?"
He twisted around in his seat to face Kenneth. "Hey, thanks." He grinned quietly. "Saved my back, man. Sweet deal." The classroom had already returned to its low level of noise and hubub, so Evan had no fear of being reprimanded.
The only response was a raising of the obviously-amused hazel eyes, and a slightly smug grin in return. After a moment, the clicking returned, and Kenneth dropped Evan's gaze. He turned back around in his seat and picked up the pencil again, twirling it mindlessly through his fingers, perusing. Maybe Ken wasn't such a bad guy after all.
"Hey, you. Eighteen point six."
He snapped to attention with a spastic jerk and spit out the number, consciousness just barely catching up with his mouth enough to inform him that he'd been asked another question and Kenneth had given him the answer yet again.
"EX-cellent, Evan!" Her cheeks glowed a ruddy pink as the teacher marked. "Right again!" Really, she thought, as she assembled several papers with an enthusiastic snap of the wrist. What a pleasant surprise to see Evan finally focusing his mind on the task!
*
The day was finally over, and Kenneth sighed in relief. One day down, four more to go until the weekend. Perfect. Perfect Hell.
Nonetheless, he began to pull all of his things from his last class, French, together in the empty classroom. Tonight was his turn to help with dinner, and he wanted some time alone. Metal desks stood in formal lines down the room, and posters colored the walls with various phrases. Kenneth glanced up at them and offered a listless smile to the photo of a duckling cuddling with a full grown sleeping cat.
_Sois prudent! Ferme ton bec!_ [1]
"No kidding," he murmured, and slung the laptop under his arm. "A lesson most people need." The lanky youth stepped delicately through the rows and rows of desks, setting down his feet precisely to minimize contact with any object in the room. When he finally reached the door and the relative open space of the marble hallways, Ken breathed a sigh of relief. Coast clear!
For a minute there, he had almost been afraid that those seniors at lunch were serious about their threats. Why were they after him, anyway? No one cared if there was someone new, not if they were mature.
Why would members of the football team want to pound his face into the ground?
He tapped his fingers in the doorframe for a moment, scorching fingerprints into the paint as he thought, and drew a blank. The boy shrugged and moved onwards. Someone wanted to kill him for some reason or another. Why was he surprised?
"So they're idiots."
Big deal.
"Morons."
Who cared?
"Meat heads!"
That was true!
"Jackasses!"
He was almost having fun now! He took a little hop in the abandoned hallway, grinning from ear to ear the smile that had been begging to escape all day but he'd been too nervous to show. He even laughed out loud. Hop, shuffle, groove; all the ants in his pants were shaken out from the long day of tense behavior around so many unfamiliar people!
"They couldn't sit the right way on a toilet sea-hey!"
A meaty hand darted out unbelievably fast from between a group of lockers and snagged a hold of his backpack, jerking the boy around and causing him to drop the laptop. The good mood evaporated as fast as water on a burning desert highway at noon, replaced by a serious, glowering countenance.
"So, we're idiots, huh?" The tallest of the seniors, a beefy one with arms the size of Ken's legs cracked his knuckles and glared out from under heavy eyebrows and red hair as his minions fanned out behind him and surrounded Kenneth. "Morons, jack asses, and.. . .what else?"
Another spoke up. "Meat heads, Tom."
Tom smiled cruelly. "Oh right. *Meat heads*."
Oh, God, what now? Did they really think they could touch him? Kenneth scoffed, and leaned down to pick up his computer. Tom roared.
"DON'T TURN YOUR BACK ON ME!" That was the signal. The one who had spoken before reached for Kenneth, who darted to the side, almost directly into the grip of the third who smiled grimly.
"'Getcher ass back here, Kenny-boy!" Malice dripped from his voice like poison from a snake's fang as he advanced on the blonde in the hallway, arms spread in case he tried the same trick again. "You need a little straightening out!" Kenneth began to back up, aware there was a set of lockers behind him.
"Look, you really don't want to touch me."
He'd burn them alive.
"Oh, really?" Advancing ever closer, until Ken thought he might feel their breath upon his face. His heels bumped into the metal of the lockers, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He'd burn them alive until the hallway stunk with burning flesh and hair! Until their eyes rolled back in their heads and they begged him for mercy! They were just like those police officers! Their hair would blacken and curl, their flesh would shrivel and their tortured shrieks would bloody their throats as they were cooked alive.
"Leave me alone!" Raised his hands in front of his face, teeth gritted and waiting for the blow. It finally came, and the howl of pain the resulted nearly shook the school on its foundations. Ken's ears rang as Tom stumbled backwards from him, holding his blackened and blistering hand, sticky and slick from the horrendous damage dolled out to it gingerly against his massive chest, heaving with exertion. The other seniors looked on in shock. Kenneth bared his teeth.
"I said," Now it was his turn to advance. "Don't! Touch! ME!" It was hard to believe that so much heat could radiate from his lithe body in such powerful waves. Fake plants used to decorate the hallways drooped in a mockery of wilting as he stalked in their direction. A hot wind whistled and rattled papers on the bulletin boards.
"GET OUT!"
Kenneth flung his hands forward at them, and a jet of flame arced out from between his palms, licking briefly at their feet and scattering them in a panicked run. Only Tom remained with his stinking, bubbling hand. He whimpered as Kenneth approached, and scuttled backwards over the shiny tile floor until his back bumped up against the opposite wall.
"Why." It was an icy hiss from between Ken's teeth. The gentle, amused eyes from the morning in math class were gone, replaced by dark holes of firing sparks. Why did they *do* this to themselves? Why force him to hurt them like this?!
For a moment, Kenneth caught himself thinking piteously: I didn't want to hurt you!
WHY?
Tom drew in a shaky breath. "F-Flaming."
Flaming? It didn't make any sense! No, wait. . . Kenneth stared. "Flaming? You thought I was *gay*, so you decided to kill me?" What the Hell?
Reluctantly, Tom nodded his head fearfully. His breath shook from between his teeth and blood trickled down from his injured hand.
Kenneth growled for a moment, ignoring the injured boy and turning his thoughts inward. "Who. Who did you hear this from?" Who had spread this rumor? Who had even known he was coming to this school?
"M-Mirand-da."
Miranda. Kenneth turned away and waved his hand. "Get out of here." There was a frantic scuffling as Tom scrabbled to obey his command, but the mutant raised his hand again. All sound ceased. "But first. . .get to a hospital. There's a chance they might save your hand."
A strangled sob followed the mutant as he stepped down the hallway and out of the school. It was sunset again, but there was no pretending that it wasn't him who burned.
One day down, three to go.
FINI CHAPTER THREE
[1] Literally: Be prudent! Shut your beak!
What It Really Means: Think about the situation and THEN speak!]
BONUS! ^^; Checkitout, a picture of Kenneth. http://dark_thi3f.tripod.com/omake/kenneth.jpg
Copping A Feeling
Chapter Three
[my own summer]
"Hey, hey!" Evan dangled his arm over the back of his chair in school, and grinned casually at the newest arrival to the classroom: Kenneth. "Look who finally decided t'show!"
It was a bright morning, too bright for Ken's taste, and he winced slightly at the noise and lights of his first class: mathematics. It would have been fun, if the classroom was empty. No people, and Kenneth might've enjoyed his favorite subject.
Under his arm, as the boy carefully threaded his way around the back of the class to his seat behind Evan, was a gray laptop computer. A pair of gloves drooped out of his back pocket, and his clothes were identical to yesterday's. Identical in fact, to the day before that, and the day before that. Just a button up shirt(untucked) and black pants. Evan raised an eyebrow.
"You know, dude, we do have washers."
Ken shifted uncomfortably before pulling out the metal chair and plopping down in it, completely ignoring the other boy and the rest of the children in the classroom.
At least the floor wasn't some cheap kind of faux-stone, or he wouldn't have entered the school for his first day. Footprints that his boots left were so hot that even bacteria were scoured clean. Any organic material didn't stand a chance.
Evan tilted backward in his chair and frowned. "Hey! I'm talking to you!" The black boy wagged a finger in front on Kenneth's nose, who merely looked nonplussed, and returned to staring at his boots, tuning the noise out as Evan prattled on.
If he was lucky, he would get through one day without hurting someone.
-flashback-
"Kenneth, you must return to school." Professor X sat behind his expanse of a desk, elbows on the surface and cold eyes on the boy who stood before him.
Ken shifted from foot to foot nervously, uncomfortable. Through the curtain of blonde shaggy hair that dangled down in his face, the young mutant could just make out the stern expression on the older man's face. When he spoke, his lips seemed to stifle his words and mumble everything.
". . .don't want to go."
*Please don't make me go, Professor. Please!*
He was tired of hurting people. He liked being in his room and listening to music. It was safe there, *other* people were safe when Kenneth was tucked within that metal cocoon.
"Sometimes, we must do what must be done, and not what is in our desires."
He nodded resignedly. The Professor was right, of course, it was simply ridiculous to pretend he could live out his life in a metal cage. But, why couldn't he? People hated mutants.
*Why am I being pushed out into the middle of it, then?* He wouldn't fight. He'd just leave them alone.
Tears of frustration beaded behind his eyes, and in the hot light of the setting sun through the massive bay window, Kenneth could almost pretend it was the sun that burned them away, and not his own blazing skin.
-end flashback-
Absently, he reached up and passed the back of his pale hand across his eyelids, obliterating any moisture there with a quiet hiss of evaporation. At the front of the room the teacher droned on about co-efficients and fractional denominators, but his mind was elsewhere though his laptop was open.
Evan glanced back suspiciously at the new kid every so often. Untrustworthy. That kid was untrustworthy. Too quiet, for one thing; too noticeable for another. He hadn't seemed to notice the attention attracted by his presence this morning-new kids were common targets for 'freshing'. Evan, too, tuned out the irritating buzz of the teacher and gnawed thoughtfully on the end of a pencil. How would this kid handle something like that? Perhaps Evan ought to sick around to protect him, just in case.
He snapped back to attention as the teacher called his name, and tipped his chair back to a proper position. Oh, jeeze, what was the question again?
"Uhm. . . ."
The answer could have come from God, as welcome as it was, instead of from a whisper behind him and the abrupt halt to clicking keys. Kenneth leaned forward imperceptibly and murmured a word with scarcely moving lips.
Evan blinked. "Uh,. . . forty-two!"
The teacher dropped her chalk in amazement and blinked several times at the hopeful-looking black boy. Evan never paid any attention in her class, but to finally see results! She smiled widely and picked another piece of chalk from the tray.
"Very good, Evan! Now, can anyone explain to the class how he came up with that answer?"
He twisted around in his seat to face Kenneth. "Hey, thanks." He grinned quietly. "Saved my back, man. Sweet deal." The classroom had already returned to its low level of noise and hubub, so Evan had no fear of being reprimanded.
The only response was a raising of the obviously-amused hazel eyes, and a slightly smug grin in return. After a moment, the clicking returned, and Kenneth dropped Evan's gaze. He turned back around in his seat and picked up the pencil again, twirling it mindlessly through his fingers, perusing. Maybe Ken wasn't such a bad guy after all.
"Hey, you. Eighteen point six."
He snapped to attention with a spastic jerk and spit out the number, consciousness just barely catching up with his mouth enough to inform him that he'd been asked another question and Kenneth had given him the answer yet again.
"EX-cellent, Evan!" Her cheeks glowed a ruddy pink as the teacher marked. "Right again!" Really, she thought, as she assembled several papers with an enthusiastic snap of the wrist. What a pleasant surprise to see Evan finally focusing his mind on the task!
*
The day was finally over, and Kenneth sighed in relief. One day down, four more to go until the weekend. Perfect. Perfect Hell.
Nonetheless, he began to pull all of his things from his last class, French, together in the empty classroom. Tonight was his turn to help with dinner, and he wanted some time alone. Metal desks stood in formal lines down the room, and posters colored the walls with various phrases. Kenneth glanced up at them and offered a listless smile to the photo of a duckling cuddling with a full grown sleeping cat.
_Sois prudent! Ferme ton bec!_ [1]
"No kidding," he murmured, and slung the laptop under his arm. "A lesson most people need." The lanky youth stepped delicately through the rows and rows of desks, setting down his feet precisely to minimize contact with any object in the room. When he finally reached the door and the relative open space of the marble hallways, Ken breathed a sigh of relief. Coast clear!
For a minute there, he had almost been afraid that those seniors at lunch were serious about their threats. Why were they after him, anyway? No one cared if there was someone new, not if they were mature.
Why would members of the football team want to pound his face into the ground?
He tapped his fingers in the doorframe for a moment, scorching fingerprints into the paint as he thought, and drew a blank. The boy shrugged and moved onwards. Someone wanted to kill him for some reason or another. Why was he surprised?
"So they're idiots."
Big deal.
"Morons."
Who cared?
"Meat heads!"
That was true!
"Jackasses!"
He was almost having fun now! He took a little hop in the abandoned hallway, grinning from ear to ear the smile that had been begging to escape all day but he'd been too nervous to show. He even laughed out loud. Hop, shuffle, groove; all the ants in his pants were shaken out from the long day of tense behavior around so many unfamiliar people!
"They couldn't sit the right way on a toilet sea-hey!"
A meaty hand darted out unbelievably fast from between a group of lockers and snagged a hold of his backpack, jerking the boy around and causing him to drop the laptop. The good mood evaporated as fast as water on a burning desert highway at noon, replaced by a serious, glowering countenance.
"So, we're idiots, huh?" The tallest of the seniors, a beefy one with arms the size of Ken's legs cracked his knuckles and glared out from under heavy eyebrows and red hair as his minions fanned out behind him and surrounded Kenneth. "Morons, jack asses, and.. . .what else?"
Another spoke up. "Meat heads, Tom."
Tom smiled cruelly. "Oh right. *Meat heads*."
Oh, God, what now? Did they really think they could touch him? Kenneth scoffed, and leaned down to pick up his computer. Tom roared.
"DON'T TURN YOUR BACK ON ME!" That was the signal. The one who had spoken before reached for Kenneth, who darted to the side, almost directly into the grip of the third who smiled grimly.
"'Getcher ass back here, Kenny-boy!" Malice dripped from his voice like poison from a snake's fang as he advanced on the blonde in the hallway, arms spread in case he tried the same trick again. "You need a little straightening out!" Kenneth began to back up, aware there was a set of lockers behind him.
"Look, you really don't want to touch me."
He'd burn them alive.
"Oh, really?" Advancing ever closer, until Ken thought he might feel their breath upon his face. His heels bumped into the metal of the lockers, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He'd burn them alive until the hallway stunk with burning flesh and hair! Until their eyes rolled back in their heads and they begged him for mercy! They were just like those police officers! Their hair would blacken and curl, their flesh would shrivel and their tortured shrieks would bloody their throats as they were cooked alive.
"Leave me alone!" Raised his hands in front of his face, teeth gritted and waiting for the blow. It finally came, and the howl of pain the resulted nearly shook the school on its foundations. Ken's ears rang as Tom stumbled backwards from him, holding his blackened and blistering hand, sticky and slick from the horrendous damage dolled out to it gingerly against his massive chest, heaving with exertion. The other seniors looked on in shock. Kenneth bared his teeth.
"I said," Now it was his turn to advance. "Don't! Touch! ME!" It was hard to believe that so much heat could radiate from his lithe body in such powerful waves. Fake plants used to decorate the hallways drooped in a mockery of wilting as he stalked in their direction. A hot wind whistled and rattled papers on the bulletin boards.
"GET OUT!"
Kenneth flung his hands forward at them, and a jet of flame arced out from between his palms, licking briefly at their feet and scattering them in a panicked run. Only Tom remained with his stinking, bubbling hand. He whimpered as Kenneth approached, and scuttled backwards over the shiny tile floor until his back bumped up against the opposite wall.
"Why." It was an icy hiss from between Ken's teeth. The gentle, amused eyes from the morning in math class were gone, replaced by dark holes of firing sparks. Why did they *do* this to themselves? Why force him to hurt them like this?!
For a moment, Kenneth caught himself thinking piteously: I didn't want to hurt you!
WHY?
Tom drew in a shaky breath. "F-Flaming."
Flaming? It didn't make any sense! No, wait. . . Kenneth stared. "Flaming? You thought I was *gay*, so you decided to kill me?" What the Hell?
Reluctantly, Tom nodded his head fearfully. His breath shook from between his teeth and blood trickled down from his injured hand.
Kenneth growled for a moment, ignoring the injured boy and turning his thoughts inward. "Who. Who did you hear this from?" Who had spread this rumor? Who had even known he was coming to this school?
"M-Mirand-da."
Miranda. Kenneth turned away and waved his hand. "Get out of here." There was a frantic scuffling as Tom scrabbled to obey his command, but the mutant raised his hand again. All sound ceased. "But first. . .get to a hospital. There's a chance they might save your hand."
A strangled sob followed the mutant as he stepped down the hallway and out of the school. It was sunset again, but there was no pretending that it wasn't him who burned.
One day down, three to go.
FINI CHAPTER THREE
[1] Literally: Be prudent! Shut your beak!
What It Really Means: Think about the situation and THEN speak!]
BONUS! ^^; Checkitout, a picture of Kenneth. http://dark_thi3f.tripod.com/omake/kenneth.jpg
