Disclaimer!!! X-Men Evolution belongs to Marvel Comics and the Kids WB. I do not own it in any way shape or form, nor do I intend to make any money off of this thing. It's for everyone's enjoyment (at least I hope ;) and that's all. The characters belong to their respective creators, and are used with permission. Yay! Fun! Enjoy! Okay, let's see... if you are in the fic, please tell me if I'm portraying your character correctly, if there's any plot suggestions (can't guarantee I'll use them, but I'll consider everything), or any complaints or suggestions at all. Okay, that's all, I'm done, have fun. :)
"X-Games!" Lee said.
"Iron Chef!" Rafe disagreed.
"X-Games!"
"Iron Chef!"
"X-Games!"
"Iron Chef!"
"X-Games!"
"Iron Chef!"
"X-Games!"
"Iron Chef!"
"X-Games!"
"Iron Chef!"
"X-Games!"
"Iron Chef!"
"X-Games!"
"Iron Chef!"
"X-Games!"
"Iron Chef!"
"X-Games!"
"Iron Chef!"
"X-Games!"
"Iron Chef!"
"X-Games!"
"Iron Chef!"
Cam looked over at Jenna somewhat bemusedly. "Is it always like this?" he asked.
"Usually," said Jenna, and tried to take the remote away from Lee. There was a brief struggle, but in the end, Roller came out the victor, and Lee sulked against her corner of the couch. "How about we watch Sleepless in Seattle?" Jenna suggested, "It's on one of those movie channels."
Both Rafe and Lee stopped arguing long enough to stare wordlessly at her, a look of pure disgust. "But..." said Lee, slowly, "That's a -chick- flick."
"I kind of like Iron Chef," Cam piped up, "It's funny."
Lee gave him a dirty look, but it was too late. "Fine, fine. Iron Chef. But only for today." She watched as Jenna turned to the Food Channel, and the four members of the Champlain Institute sprawled on the sofa, watching a rerun of the slightly campy Japanese show. The "secret ingredient" was unisex salmon, which elicited groans of disgust from everyone except Rafe.
"Uh, how exactly is it unisex?" Lee wanted to know; eyes glued to the screen.
"Shhhh," Rafe told her, waving a hand impatiently. "If it's interesting, you're going to be eating it for dinner one of these days."
"Ewww!"
Cam sighed - perhaps he hadn't known what he was getting into when he'd agreed to attend the Institute? Well - perhaps agreed wasn't the best choice of word. Still, he thought, maybe his parents should have checked to make sure the school wasn't populated entirely by psychotics? They were an interesting bunch of psychotics, to be sure...
"Well? What d' you think, Cam?"
"Me?"
"Yes," Jenna said, "Would you eat unisex salmon if Rafe cooked it?"
Cam thought for a moment and said, "Sure, why not?"
"Because it's -gross-," Jenna insisted.
"Is not!"
"Is too!"
"Is not!"
"Is too!"
"Is not!"
"Is too!"
"Is not!"
"Is too!"
"Enough!" Mark said, poking his head into the room. "Just watch TV without arguing, for once, can you?"
"But that takes all the fun out of it," Lee whined.
"Why do I do it?" Mark asked himself as he walked off, voice fading as his distance from the rec room grew, "Why do I do it?"
"You're crazy," someone yelled back at him.
"Why? Why?"
Cam looked at his classmates, and smiled. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all?
X
Nikki Luapay fidgeted in the seat of the plane. The air had a stale quality and the sour smell of the fat man wedged into the seat on her other side didn't help at all. They were in express coach class, and Rán had explained that the Institute was on a tight budget, and their jet plane was currently being repaired. Nikki had replied that she understood, but the dinner of leathery chicken and rubber-textured refried beans was asking a little much.
Rán returned from her latest foray to the bathroom. "Hello, Nikki."
"Hello, Rán."
"So... You are Sioux, are you not?"
"I'm Lakota."
"Isn't it the same thing?"
"No," Nikki said, "Sioux is what the French and the Ojibwa call us. It's a name imposed by enemies. I'm Lakota. Teton, to be more specific."
"Oh," Rán said, her green eyes glazed slightly. Nikki sighed; the woman obviously wasn't listening. The girl snuggled down into the hard-backed airplane seat, away from the fat man as much as possible, and winced. This certainly wasn't a very -glamorous- start to being a mutant, was it? Maybe she could create a void, just a little one, and make the man disappear...
Somehow, though, Nikki was pretty sure that wouldn't go over well, either with Rán nor the airline authorities. Or the man's family, if he had it.
She sighed again, and looked up at Rán. "How much longer is the flight?"
"An hour or so. Be patient."
Nikki said nothing, but opened a bag of airline peanuts, flicking the small, salty lumps across the plane. She giggled as she watched people turn around, trying to find the source of the missiles. "Nikki, stop that!" Rán said, sounding annoyed.
"Sorry, Rán."
X
Daniele Moreno walked briskly through the slums of Edmonton, her slouched hat pulled into her face, hiding it from the view of the rest of the city. She wasn't using her powers to their full extent, just enough so that no one would bother her; she was just another faceless Canadian, instead of a tall, solidly built, and somewhat exotic looking mutant of Brazilian decent. While Edmonton was ethnically diverse enough, there was normally a certain quality about Daniele that compelled attention, amusing when thought of in contrast to her powers.
She looked at the address on the crumpled piece of paper she carried in her pocket. There were two of them; Mark was going to San Francisco for the other one. Once she was finished in Edmonton, Daniele planned to hop onto a plane and travel to New York.
The house was part of a section of a very run down row homes. The fronts were poster children for peeling paint and other forms of decay. Muttering to herself in Portuguese, she walked up the crumbling stairs to the front door. There was no need to knock, as the lock had long ago been broken from the doorframe.
Daniele peered around carefully, and saw no one there. "Hello?" she called, knocking on the wall and letting her powers fade, "Is anyone home?" There was no answer, so she moved carefully across the filthy floor, picking her way over clothes strewn this way and that, old pizza boxes, and other bits and pieces of refuse.
She walked to the stairs, going up them carefully, and equally careful not to touch the railing. It looked dusty and almost slimy in places, and Daniele did not want to guess what had left -those- stains there. "Anyone home?" she repeated, pausing.
"Julia?" a somewhat sleepy voice called from one of the rooms, "I thought you were out with Dave."
Daniele sighed. She knew she should have called first, but telephone service to this house and most of the others on the block had long since been removed. "It's not Julia, Aaliyah. My name is---"
"Stay the fuck away from me!" the voice said, instantly more alert. A small form, clad in a huge fluffy bathrobe, appeared in the door, with a defensive posture and a slightly shrill voice scaling upwards, "I swear, I can burn you where you stand if you try anything!"
Daniele held her hands up in the air, calmly. She wasn't worried about being "burnt where she stood," she could always slip away unnoticed. "I don't mean you any harm, girl."
"Don't call me girl," the bath-robed figure snapped. "Who are you?"
This was not going as she'd hoped it would. Daniele examined the girl more carefully. She was small, not exactly petite but nearing the description, with cobalt blue hair that would have been straight if sleep hadn't mussed it in wild directions. A somewhat bleary gold gaze looked out at her suspiciously. "I'm Daniele. Daniele Moreno, from the Champlain Institute."
"The where?" the girl, Aaliyah, said, still sounding suspiciously. She was rubbing her hands together, almost as thought they itched.
"We're a school - for young mutants."
The bathrobe seemed to shrink in on itself. "How did you know?"
She sighed, again. Spending the afternoon trying to convince a suspicious teenager to come to the school was not what she'd normally put down as her favorite type of day, but it looked as though she didn't have a choice. And she had less of a choice than anyone else could know... "We have our ways, Aaliyah. And you have to be tired of this - this -existence-. Living on the streets in a house falling down around your ears? Your only friends are people who sell themselves for money?"
"Don't insult my friends!" Aaliyah snapped, although there was a hint of doubt in her voice.
"Imagine a warm roof over your head. Food whenever you wanted it... Central air conditioning and heating..." Daniele said persuasively. "Not having to hide every minute of every day? That can't be a horrible deal, can it?"
"I don't know..."
"Come, at least look. You can always go back."
A long, suspicious look through the odd golden eyes. "Okay. Fine. But if I don't like it, I'm gone, and you can't stop me."
"Of course, Aaliyah," Daniele said, "You're free to leave any time you want."
X
No one saw the tall, almost frighteningly skinny boy in the back of the crowd. Whenever anyone tried to focus on him, he seemed to blend in with the rest of the people or to fade away completely, as though there was something more important for the eye to grip on to. One woman, in a stiff starched powder blue dress, saw out of the corner of her eye a lean skeleton with a thin disguise of flesh, whitish hair falling into shockingly red, slightly slanted eyes - and then it faded. There -was- someone there, she knew it - yes, there he was, wearing clothes that looked almost suited to a homeless person... And no, he was gone again. "Mortimer?" she asked her husband, tugging on his sleeve and accidentally catching a pinch of fat with it.
"What?" he demanded, annoyed, rubbing his arm where she'd caught hold.
"Do you see that boy in the back?"
"What boy?" Mort said irritably. He was in a poor humor. It was drizzling and his hairspray was making his head into a sticky helmeted mess, and he hadn't been fond of Bea's aunt in life, anyway. He didn't like standing around paying respects and he didn't like that fact that Bea was asking stupid questions. "I don't see anyone."
"He's there - was there, a minute ago," she said uncertainly. "I was sure I saw him."
"The only ghost that'd be hanging around here is Edna," Mort said with relish.
"Mortimer Levin!" she said, shocked. "Don't talk that way about Aunt Edna!"
"Sorry, Bea," he said, and frowned at her. "Now, where's that boy you were talking about?"
"I told you, he... disappeared."
X
Darien Tyrall wasn't sure exactly why he was standing the in the cemetery with these people he didn't know. They all seemed self-assured and healthy, well dressed, maybe wealthy, maybe not. They knew where they stood. He'd gotten on the bus at Times Square and let it take him further and further out of the city, until he found the graveyard and the people.
He'd gotten off at the stop nearest the small, walked the mile or so to the gated expanse of green, and filed in behind the rest of the mourners. No one cried, it seemed as though they went through the motions of grief, putting on a show to convince themselves that they were decent people. The hypocrisy of it, along with the somewhat picturesque scene, dark sky, wilted grass, small black forms making their way towards a white grave.
Watching the people and listening to the sharp staccato of the dirt falling on the coffin allowed him to forget his own problems, namely, that he was now without a home. There was no way he'd go back to social services, not a change. That seemed his only option, that, or living on the streets... Again, not a choice Darien liked to make. He shook his head, as though by motion he could clear away the unpleasant thoughts, and focused again on the burial.
"Edna Grossman was a loving wife and mother, beloved by all..."
From what he could see, it wasn't true. Not in the least. Darien continued watching the rabbi curiously, fascinated by the language of his prayers. It was at once guttural and lyrical, and-wait. There was a woman standing very close to him. Too close. Darien edged away from her, and she looked straight at him, something no one here had done, yet.
Surprised, and a little worried, he attempted to make a quick escape, but she looked at him straight in the eye and said, "Why are you hiding, Darien?"
He examined her before answering: tall, strong-looking black woman, equally strong Portuguese accent. "How can you see...?" he said, backing away. She didn't move forward, which reassured him enough so that he didn't bolt for the gates.
"I do a very similar trick," she said, "That sort of thing doesn't work on me."
"Oh. And my name?"
"Sit with me a while, Darien, and I'll explain everything to you."
X
Darien Tyrall allowed himself to be herded onto the plane, although he couldn't really believe that this was happening. It was too fast, too unlike him, he didn't listen to people, didn't trust them. So why was he letting this Daniele Moreno Shepard him onto a plane to Canada? Maybe it was a lack of options; maybe it was the humor in her eyes, or the lines around her mouth that hinted at a loss?
There were too many people here, and he resisted the urge to fade away from their sight. He was especially nervous because the girl who accompanied them, introduced only as Ali, who was... interesting. Blue haired and somewhat sharp-featured, she instantly began asking questions, wanting to know about him, about where they were going, exactly what was going to happen.
He shrank protectively into his ski jacket, attempting to evade the barrage, but it was no use. She kept at it. "What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" she demanded. Darien was a little surprised that neither Ali nor Daniele had commented on his eyes or his hair, surprised and gratified.
"No," he said, "I'm just not a loud person."
"I want to know about you, if we're going to be living together, it makes sense, doesn't it? So where were you born?"
Darien heaved a sigh and resigned himself to interrogation. "New York City."
"What're your parents like? Mine kicked me out when they... You know. Found out about me."
"I don't know my parents."
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, without really sounding sincere. Darien glanced at her covertly. She was dressed in mostly black, with bright red shoes as the only color in the outfit.
"It's okay." Death was just another journey, wasn't it?
"So I guess they roped you into coming, too, didn't they?"
"I didn't have anywhere else to go."
"Hey, me neither," Ali said with a slight smile. "Well, I had a house, but it was kind of falling apart. And I didn't own it."
"Oh."
"I just wish I could've said goodbye to my friends..." she said, volume of her voice dropping.
Friends. Darien had never really thought about having friends, with the constant teasing it had never occurred to him that other children could possibly serve as companions, partners in crime. It didn't matter, anyway.
"Well... Maybe we could be friends?" Ali said, "Since we're both starting over again?"
Darien made a small sound; breath expelled from his mouth half in disgust, half in amusement. The tiny blast of air made the strands of hair hanging into his eyes move upward. "I suppose..." he said reluctantly.
"Great!"
Great.
X
"Sir?" the man said questioningly, his face cheesy white in the glare of the lights. They streamed from behind "Sir's" chair, making the man in question little more than a silhouette, insubstantial. The first man blinked. His eyes hurt from the dazzle of the bulb and he looked away, at the floor. He was acutely aware that it was a more subservient position, and thought sardonically to himself that it must have been at least one of the reasons for the setup, in the first place.
"I said, you're moving too slowly."
"I'm sorry, sir, but these things do take time--"
"We don't have any fucking time, you idiot! Do you understand?"
The first man narrowed his eyes at the floor, clenching his fists. "Yes, I understand, but--"
"No buts."
"You don't understand, sir!" he said desperately, "It's a delicate operation, we -need- more time--"
"Time which we -do not have.- I don't think you're listening."
No, sir, you're the one who isn't listening, he thought angrily. "Fine. Fine. We'll start working harder, longer hours."
"Good," the silhouette said, "I hope that the next time we meet, you have better news for me. I don't think I even need to bring up the threats, do I?"
"No, sir," he said bitterly, hating the silhouette and hating himself. God, he'd been an idiot. A blind idiot. But it was too late now...
"X-Games!" Lee said.
"Iron Chef!" Rafe disagreed.
"X-Games!"
"Iron Chef!"
"X-Games!"
"Iron Chef!"
"X-Games!"
"Iron Chef!"
"X-Games!"
"Iron Chef!"
"X-Games!"
"Iron Chef!"
"X-Games!"
"Iron Chef!"
"X-Games!"
"Iron Chef!"
"X-Games!"
"Iron Chef!"
"X-Games!"
"Iron Chef!"
"X-Games!"
"Iron Chef!"
"X-Games!"
"Iron Chef!"
Cam looked over at Jenna somewhat bemusedly. "Is it always like this?" he asked.
"Usually," said Jenna, and tried to take the remote away from Lee. There was a brief struggle, but in the end, Roller came out the victor, and Lee sulked against her corner of the couch. "How about we watch Sleepless in Seattle?" Jenna suggested, "It's on one of those movie channels."
Both Rafe and Lee stopped arguing long enough to stare wordlessly at her, a look of pure disgust. "But..." said Lee, slowly, "That's a -chick- flick."
"I kind of like Iron Chef," Cam piped up, "It's funny."
Lee gave him a dirty look, but it was too late. "Fine, fine. Iron Chef. But only for today." She watched as Jenna turned to the Food Channel, and the four members of the Champlain Institute sprawled on the sofa, watching a rerun of the slightly campy Japanese show. The "secret ingredient" was unisex salmon, which elicited groans of disgust from everyone except Rafe.
"Uh, how exactly is it unisex?" Lee wanted to know; eyes glued to the screen.
"Shhhh," Rafe told her, waving a hand impatiently. "If it's interesting, you're going to be eating it for dinner one of these days."
"Ewww!"
Cam sighed - perhaps he hadn't known what he was getting into when he'd agreed to attend the Institute? Well - perhaps agreed wasn't the best choice of word. Still, he thought, maybe his parents should have checked to make sure the school wasn't populated entirely by psychotics? They were an interesting bunch of psychotics, to be sure...
"Well? What d' you think, Cam?"
"Me?"
"Yes," Jenna said, "Would you eat unisex salmon if Rafe cooked it?"
Cam thought for a moment and said, "Sure, why not?"
"Because it's -gross-," Jenna insisted.
"Is not!"
"Is too!"
"Is not!"
"Is too!"
"Is not!"
"Is too!"
"Is not!"
"Is too!"
"Enough!" Mark said, poking his head into the room. "Just watch TV without arguing, for once, can you?"
"But that takes all the fun out of it," Lee whined.
"Why do I do it?" Mark asked himself as he walked off, voice fading as his distance from the rec room grew, "Why do I do it?"
"You're crazy," someone yelled back at him.
"Why? Why?"
Cam looked at his classmates, and smiled. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all?
X
Nikki Luapay fidgeted in the seat of the plane. The air had a stale quality and the sour smell of the fat man wedged into the seat on her other side didn't help at all. They were in express coach class, and Rán had explained that the Institute was on a tight budget, and their jet plane was currently being repaired. Nikki had replied that she understood, but the dinner of leathery chicken and rubber-textured refried beans was asking a little much.
Rán returned from her latest foray to the bathroom. "Hello, Nikki."
"Hello, Rán."
"So... You are Sioux, are you not?"
"I'm Lakota."
"Isn't it the same thing?"
"No," Nikki said, "Sioux is what the French and the Ojibwa call us. It's a name imposed by enemies. I'm Lakota. Teton, to be more specific."
"Oh," Rán said, her green eyes glazed slightly. Nikki sighed; the woman obviously wasn't listening. The girl snuggled down into the hard-backed airplane seat, away from the fat man as much as possible, and winced. This certainly wasn't a very -glamorous- start to being a mutant, was it? Maybe she could create a void, just a little one, and make the man disappear...
Somehow, though, Nikki was pretty sure that wouldn't go over well, either with Rán nor the airline authorities. Or the man's family, if he had it.
She sighed again, and looked up at Rán. "How much longer is the flight?"
"An hour or so. Be patient."
Nikki said nothing, but opened a bag of airline peanuts, flicking the small, salty lumps across the plane. She giggled as she watched people turn around, trying to find the source of the missiles. "Nikki, stop that!" Rán said, sounding annoyed.
"Sorry, Rán."
X
Daniele Moreno walked briskly through the slums of Edmonton, her slouched hat pulled into her face, hiding it from the view of the rest of the city. She wasn't using her powers to their full extent, just enough so that no one would bother her; she was just another faceless Canadian, instead of a tall, solidly built, and somewhat exotic looking mutant of Brazilian decent. While Edmonton was ethnically diverse enough, there was normally a certain quality about Daniele that compelled attention, amusing when thought of in contrast to her powers.
She looked at the address on the crumpled piece of paper she carried in her pocket. There were two of them; Mark was going to San Francisco for the other one. Once she was finished in Edmonton, Daniele planned to hop onto a plane and travel to New York.
The house was part of a section of a very run down row homes. The fronts were poster children for peeling paint and other forms of decay. Muttering to herself in Portuguese, she walked up the crumbling stairs to the front door. There was no need to knock, as the lock had long ago been broken from the doorframe.
Daniele peered around carefully, and saw no one there. "Hello?" she called, knocking on the wall and letting her powers fade, "Is anyone home?" There was no answer, so she moved carefully across the filthy floor, picking her way over clothes strewn this way and that, old pizza boxes, and other bits and pieces of refuse.
She walked to the stairs, going up them carefully, and equally careful not to touch the railing. It looked dusty and almost slimy in places, and Daniele did not want to guess what had left -those- stains there. "Anyone home?" she repeated, pausing.
"Julia?" a somewhat sleepy voice called from one of the rooms, "I thought you were out with Dave."
Daniele sighed. She knew she should have called first, but telephone service to this house and most of the others on the block had long since been removed. "It's not Julia, Aaliyah. My name is---"
"Stay the fuck away from me!" the voice said, instantly more alert. A small form, clad in a huge fluffy bathrobe, appeared in the door, with a defensive posture and a slightly shrill voice scaling upwards, "I swear, I can burn you where you stand if you try anything!"
Daniele held her hands up in the air, calmly. She wasn't worried about being "burnt where she stood," she could always slip away unnoticed. "I don't mean you any harm, girl."
"Don't call me girl," the bath-robed figure snapped. "Who are you?"
This was not going as she'd hoped it would. Daniele examined the girl more carefully. She was small, not exactly petite but nearing the description, with cobalt blue hair that would have been straight if sleep hadn't mussed it in wild directions. A somewhat bleary gold gaze looked out at her suspiciously. "I'm Daniele. Daniele Moreno, from the Champlain Institute."
"The where?" the girl, Aaliyah, said, still sounding suspiciously. She was rubbing her hands together, almost as thought they itched.
"We're a school - for young mutants."
The bathrobe seemed to shrink in on itself. "How did you know?"
She sighed, again. Spending the afternoon trying to convince a suspicious teenager to come to the school was not what she'd normally put down as her favorite type of day, but it looked as though she didn't have a choice. And she had less of a choice than anyone else could know... "We have our ways, Aaliyah. And you have to be tired of this - this -existence-. Living on the streets in a house falling down around your ears? Your only friends are people who sell themselves for money?"
"Don't insult my friends!" Aaliyah snapped, although there was a hint of doubt in her voice.
"Imagine a warm roof over your head. Food whenever you wanted it... Central air conditioning and heating..." Daniele said persuasively. "Not having to hide every minute of every day? That can't be a horrible deal, can it?"
"I don't know..."
"Come, at least look. You can always go back."
A long, suspicious look through the odd golden eyes. "Okay. Fine. But if I don't like it, I'm gone, and you can't stop me."
"Of course, Aaliyah," Daniele said, "You're free to leave any time you want."
X
No one saw the tall, almost frighteningly skinny boy in the back of the crowd. Whenever anyone tried to focus on him, he seemed to blend in with the rest of the people or to fade away completely, as though there was something more important for the eye to grip on to. One woman, in a stiff starched powder blue dress, saw out of the corner of her eye a lean skeleton with a thin disguise of flesh, whitish hair falling into shockingly red, slightly slanted eyes - and then it faded. There -was- someone there, she knew it - yes, there he was, wearing clothes that looked almost suited to a homeless person... And no, he was gone again. "Mortimer?" she asked her husband, tugging on his sleeve and accidentally catching a pinch of fat with it.
"What?" he demanded, annoyed, rubbing his arm where she'd caught hold.
"Do you see that boy in the back?"
"What boy?" Mort said irritably. He was in a poor humor. It was drizzling and his hairspray was making his head into a sticky helmeted mess, and he hadn't been fond of Bea's aunt in life, anyway. He didn't like standing around paying respects and he didn't like that fact that Bea was asking stupid questions. "I don't see anyone."
"He's there - was there, a minute ago," she said uncertainly. "I was sure I saw him."
"The only ghost that'd be hanging around here is Edna," Mort said with relish.
"Mortimer Levin!" she said, shocked. "Don't talk that way about Aunt Edna!"
"Sorry, Bea," he said, and frowned at her. "Now, where's that boy you were talking about?"
"I told you, he... disappeared."
X
Darien Tyrall wasn't sure exactly why he was standing the in the cemetery with these people he didn't know. They all seemed self-assured and healthy, well dressed, maybe wealthy, maybe not. They knew where they stood. He'd gotten on the bus at Times Square and let it take him further and further out of the city, until he found the graveyard and the people.
He'd gotten off at the stop nearest the small, walked the mile or so to the gated expanse of green, and filed in behind the rest of the mourners. No one cried, it seemed as though they went through the motions of grief, putting on a show to convince themselves that they were decent people. The hypocrisy of it, along with the somewhat picturesque scene, dark sky, wilted grass, small black forms making their way towards a white grave.
Watching the people and listening to the sharp staccato of the dirt falling on the coffin allowed him to forget his own problems, namely, that he was now without a home. There was no way he'd go back to social services, not a change. That seemed his only option, that, or living on the streets... Again, not a choice Darien liked to make. He shook his head, as though by motion he could clear away the unpleasant thoughts, and focused again on the burial.
"Edna Grossman was a loving wife and mother, beloved by all..."
From what he could see, it wasn't true. Not in the least. Darien continued watching the rabbi curiously, fascinated by the language of his prayers. It was at once guttural and lyrical, and-wait. There was a woman standing very close to him. Too close. Darien edged away from her, and she looked straight at him, something no one here had done, yet.
Surprised, and a little worried, he attempted to make a quick escape, but she looked at him straight in the eye and said, "Why are you hiding, Darien?"
He examined her before answering: tall, strong-looking black woman, equally strong Portuguese accent. "How can you see...?" he said, backing away. She didn't move forward, which reassured him enough so that he didn't bolt for the gates.
"I do a very similar trick," she said, "That sort of thing doesn't work on me."
"Oh. And my name?"
"Sit with me a while, Darien, and I'll explain everything to you."
X
Darien Tyrall allowed himself to be herded onto the plane, although he couldn't really believe that this was happening. It was too fast, too unlike him, he didn't listen to people, didn't trust them. So why was he letting this Daniele Moreno Shepard him onto a plane to Canada? Maybe it was a lack of options; maybe it was the humor in her eyes, or the lines around her mouth that hinted at a loss?
There were too many people here, and he resisted the urge to fade away from their sight. He was especially nervous because the girl who accompanied them, introduced only as Ali, who was... interesting. Blue haired and somewhat sharp-featured, she instantly began asking questions, wanting to know about him, about where they were going, exactly what was going to happen.
He shrank protectively into his ski jacket, attempting to evade the barrage, but it was no use. She kept at it. "What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" she demanded. Darien was a little surprised that neither Ali nor Daniele had commented on his eyes or his hair, surprised and gratified.
"No," he said, "I'm just not a loud person."
"I want to know about you, if we're going to be living together, it makes sense, doesn't it? So where were you born?"
Darien heaved a sigh and resigned himself to interrogation. "New York City."
"What're your parents like? Mine kicked me out when they... You know. Found out about me."
"I don't know my parents."
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, without really sounding sincere. Darien glanced at her covertly. She was dressed in mostly black, with bright red shoes as the only color in the outfit.
"It's okay." Death was just another journey, wasn't it?
"So I guess they roped you into coming, too, didn't they?"
"I didn't have anywhere else to go."
"Hey, me neither," Ali said with a slight smile. "Well, I had a house, but it was kind of falling apart. And I didn't own it."
"Oh."
"I just wish I could've said goodbye to my friends..." she said, volume of her voice dropping.
Friends. Darien had never really thought about having friends, with the constant teasing it had never occurred to him that other children could possibly serve as companions, partners in crime. It didn't matter, anyway.
"Well... Maybe we could be friends?" Ali said, "Since we're both starting over again?"
Darien made a small sound; breath expelled from his mouth half in disgust, half in amusement. The tiny blast of air made the strands of hair hanging into his eyes move upward. "I suppose..." he said reluctantly.
"Great!"
Great.
X
"Sir?" the man said questioningly, his face cheesy white in the glare of the lights. They streamed from behind "Sir's" chair, making the man in question little more than a silhouette, insubstantial. The first man blinked. His eyes hurt from the dazzle of the bulb and he looked away, at the floor. He was acutely aware that it was a more subservient position, and thought sardonically to himself that it must have been at least one of the reasons for the setup, in the first place.
"I said, you're moving too slowly."
"I'm sorry, sir, but these things do take time--"
"We don't have any fucking time, you idiot! Do you understand?"
The first man narrowed his eyes at the floor, clenching his fists. "Yes, I understand, but--"
"No buts."
"You don't understand, sir!" he said desperately, "It's a delicate operation, we -need- more time--"
"Time which we -do not have.- I don't think you're listening."
No, sir, you're the one who isn't listening, he thought angrily. "Fine. Fine. We'll start working harder, longer hours."
"Good," the silhouette said, "I hope that the next time we meet, you have better news for me. I don't think I even need to bring up the threats, do I?"
"No, sir," he said bitterly, hating the silhouette and hating himself. God, he'd been an idiot. A blind idiot. But it was too late now...
