"He's dead, Rogue."
"Could someone please take him down?"
The emotion in Jean's voice had dropped by the time Rogue moved silently, mechanically away--pressing her back up against a tree and dangling her head nearly between her knees. Jean couldn't spare her more than a glance. She put a hand to her mouth and let it stay there until she could breathe again without it catching in her throat. Then she advanced . . . and went to work.
Her arms trembled as she tugged and strained against the bone spears and tried not to look at anything. The spear slid roughly and stubbornly in her palms for far too long before it finally jerked out and the sudden movement nearly knocked her over. Kurt dropped the one he had been heaving at an instant after she dropped hers. Her hands were damp, not entirely with sweat, and she had to not think about that.
Rogue did not help or even move, although Jean could hear her breathing as she dug her claws into the grooves on yet another javelin and began to pull again. She felt a smattering of a certain apprehensive pain-- something just short of guilt. Rogue hadn't wanted to do what she had just done-- there was no guarantee that it would work or that it would be worth it if it did. Jean had had to urge her to do it and quickly, for wasn't Scott's life more important than such fears and compunctions? Surely Rogue' power was frightening to herself, but one should have no hesitation at using it that one time it was actually useful. She shouldn't have had to be re- assured that to do what she did wouldn't make her a monster--it had been a waste of time and Rogue should have thought of the idea herself--Jean couldn't do the thinking for everyone, especially in such stress. They had nearly lost Scott to the delay--perhaps they had lost him anyway. But Jean had felt Scott, or at least, something of him make the transfer in that vague, unused corner of her power--the question was whether or not he would be self existent and not mere supplemental energy.
Jean had shed her tears already--while she removed the javelins. One had to be somewhat efficient. It was not as thought she had no affection for Scott- -nothing could be further than the truth. But what she was pulling down from a skewered perch was meat--and while disturbing, it wasn't really Scott, not anymore. There was a certain tragedy to where he was, but she couldn't feel it--not until it came. It would hurt enough when it did.
The body suddenly tumbled free and, again, despite all her cold thoughts of a moment before, she couldn't bear to look at it. In turning her head, though, she nearly ended up staring at what was left of the Mutant, which was not much better. His death had given her no satisfaction--he was only doing his job, probably--although if he'd thought for himself and by-passed his orders, they would all still be alive. As it was, he was very necessarily dead and had essentially dragged Scott with him, which, at the very least, was a frightful inconvenience.
Not only that, but Jean figured that Scott would, broody personality that he had, feel terribly guilty about the whole thing, should he hopefully re- emerge.
It was then, as she paused, half catching her breath and half taking a sort of contemplative quick-retreat, she remembered that Rogue ought to be killing everything in sight, quite literally, by now. She didn't seem to be- -as Jean noted with a swift and frightened glance that her eyes were half open and normal--and that was troubling and relieving at once. Jean had been under the impression that Scott's eyes just . . . fired like that and had to be covered or else and here Rogue was staring at the grass and leaving it unmarred as though such a normal action made sense.
"What are were going to do now?" Kurt asked so softly she could barely hear him.
"What? Oh . . . we leave. Now."
"We won't . . . bury him?"
"We've lost enough time already."
Kurt nodded and looked over at Rogue, "Think she can travel?"
"She'd better. Rogue! Can you get up?"
She raised her head slowly as if it didn't matter, but got up. Her expression was entirely unreadable and although that vagueness in Jean's mind gave her a certain sense of Rogue' presence beyond mere sight, it was particularly muddied this time. She'd have to actually ask Rogue questions to dampen her ferocious curiosity and that wouldn't do at the moment--Rogue didn't look in the mood for anything, much less questions.
Jean set out the path, based on no knowledge whatsoever save the position of the camp. She simply walked in a general direction away from the horde, Kurt moping along at her side on all fours as Rogue zombied beside him. Jean did miss, after a few minutes, Scott's always shuffling, cautious step and the tilt of his body that was always somewhat removed from everyone else. Even if something of Scott had to be left . . . even if only in Rogue . . . Jean didn't imagine that particular aspect of him would return. This actually hurt to think about--so she didn't.
She had to keep an eye on the forest, as Rogue certainly wasn't and Kurt was unusually distracted.
For all that careful eye, however, she didn't see the girl until she had literally walked right through her. Which was inexcusable--Jean should have sensed her, even if her clothing was well-camouflaged. As it was, the girl was obviously a mutant and possibly one of Kelly's spies and something had to be done. She whirled on the-somehow-walk-throughable-person, and prepared to launch an inquisition of wracking intensity. But, just then, Rogue fell over and some things take precedence over others.
"Don't move," Jean snapped at the girl, who didn't seem about to (and wouldn't, even if she'd wanted to--Jean hadn't lost her touch), and rushed to Rogue' side, who was actually blinking now and maybe alert. "What happened?"
"Oh . . . crap . . ." Rogue moaned and fainted, which wasn't at all useful and made little surges of true worry shoot through Jean's veins.
Well.
"Kurt, we're going to have to wait for Rogue to revive. Watch the girl--if she moves, kill her." Not that Kurt would probably do anything of the sort, but it couldn't hurt the girl to think it, Jean had always wanted to say it, and one shouldn't be held back by petty inhibitions. At least, now, she could have her full attention on Rogue.
-----------------------------
Every once in a while, events jump and flip and otherwise move out of your control. Sometimes more than once or even twice in a while--sometimes even for years and years worth of events, you just have to crouch there in the epicenter of a lifestorm and hope you don't get struck by an opportunistic bolt of lightning.
Kitty realized this and yet she didn't think that essentially being psychologically cemented to stand in one spot like this was terribly fair, even in the unscrupulous game of control.
The mutants she'd run into were obviously from Kelly's force--only he seemed to have a perverse urge to brand people like that. They might have been interesting to spy on, had Kitty noticed them before they noticed her. But she had been investigating some wolf scat--one simply doesn't see that every day--and the tall domineering one had blown her cover too rapidly for her to retreat.
The whole situation was just not working out for Kitty.
The tall one's death order didn't help her mood any, as "Kurt" appeared to be a demonically possessed gargoyle of some sort. She wasn't sure whether the fact he hardly seemed to be paying her any attention was a good sign or not, but she was glad he wasn't, for those straight yellow eyes of his were even creepier than . . . well, the rest of him.
At this rate, she was either not going to reach Kelly's camp at all, or reach it as a prisoner, or a corpse . . . or a branded draftee. Perhaps, once her captors looked a little less tense, she could feed them Magneto's recruiting speal . . . and they could feed her exclusive and secret information in return.
Yeah, that was likely.
Kitty let out an exasperated sigh and waited for something to happen.
"Could someone please take him down?"
The emotion in Jean's voice had dropped by the time Rogue moved silently, mechanically away--pressing her back up against a tree and dangling her head nearly between her knees. Jean couldn't spare her more than a glance. She put a hand to her mouth and let it stay there until she could breathe again without it catching in her throat. Then she advanced . . . and went to work.
Her arms trembled as she tugged and strained against the bone spears and tried not to look at anything. The spear slid roughly and stubbornly in her palms for far too long before it finally jerked out and the sudden movement nearly knocked her over. Kurt dropped the one he had been heaving at an instant after she dropped hers. Her hands were damp, not entirely with sweat, and she had to not think about that.
Rogue did not help or even move, although Jean could hear her breathing as she dug her claws into the grooves on yet another javelin and began to pull again. She felt a smattering of a certain apprehensive pain-- something just short of guilt. Rogue hadn't wanted to do what she had just done-- there was no guarantee that it would work or that it would be worth it if it did. Jean had had to urge her to do it and quickly, for wasn't Scott's life more important than such fears and compunctions? Surely Rogue' power was frightening to herself, but one should have no hesitation at using it that one time it was actually useful. She shouldn't have had to be re- assured that to do what she did wouldn't make her a monster--it had been a waste of time and Rogue should have thought of the idea herself--Jean couldn't do the thinking for everyone, especially in such stress. They had nearly lost Scott to the delay--perhaps they had lost him anyway. But Jean had felt Scott, or at least, something of him make the transfer in that vague, unused corner of her power--the question was whether or not he would be self existent and not mere supplemental energy.
Jean had shed her tears already--while she removed the javelins. One had to be somewhat efficient. It was not as thought she had no affection for Scott- -nothing could be further than the truth. But what she was pulling down from a skewered perch was meat--and while disturbing, it wasn't really Scott, not anymore. There was a certain tragedy to where he was, but she couldn't feel it--not until it came. It would hurt enough when it did.
The body suddenly tumbled free and, again, despite all her cold thoughts of a moment before, she couldn't bear to look at it. In turning her head, though, she nearly ended up staring at what was left of the Mutant, which was not much better. His death had given her no satisfaction--he was only doing his job, probably--although if he'd thought for himself and by-passed his orders, they would all still be alive. As it was, he was very necessarily dead and had essentially dragged Scott with him, which, at the very least, was a frightful inconvenience.
Not only that, but Jean figured that Scott would, broody personality that he had, feel terribly guilty about the whole thing, should he hopefully re- emerge.
It was then, as she paused, half catching her breath and half taking a sort of contemplative quick-retreat, she remembered that Rogue ought to be killing everything in sight, quite literally, by now. She didn't seem to be- -as Jean noted with a swift and frightened glance that her eyes were half open and normal--and that was troubling and relieving at once. Jean had been under the impression that Scott's eyes just . . . fired like that and had to be covered or else and here Rogue was staring at the grass and leaving it unmarred as though such a normal action made sense.
"What are were going to do now?" Kurt asked so softly she could barely hear him.
"What? Oh . . . we leave. Now."
"We won't . . . bury him?"
"We've lost enough time already."
Kurt nodded and looked over at Rogue, "Think she can travel?"
"She'd better. Rogue! Can you get up?"
She raised her head slowly as if it didn't matter, but got up. Her expression was entirely unreadable and although that vagueness in Jean's mind gave her a certain sense of Rogue' presence beyond mere sight, it was particularly muddied this time. She'd have to actually ask Rogue questions to dampen her ferocious curiosity and that wouldn't do at the moment--Rogue didn't look in the mood for anything, much less questions.
Jean set out the path, based on no knowledge whatsoever save the position of the camp. She simply walked in a general direction away from the horde, Kurt moping along at her side on all fours as Rogue zombied beside him. Jean did miss, after a few minutes, Scott's always shuffling, cautious step and the tilt of his body that was always somewhat removed from everyone else. Even if something of Scott had to be left . . . even if only in Rogue . . . Jean didn't imagine that particular aspect of him would return. This actually hurt to think about--so she didn't.
She had to keep an eye on the forest, as Rogue certainly wasn't and Kurt was unusually distracted.
For all that careful eye, however, she didn't see the girl until she had literally walked right through her. Which was inexcusable--Jean should have sensed her, even if her clothing was well-camouflaged. As it was, the girl was obviously a mutant and possibly one of Kelly's spies and something had to be done. She whirled on the-somehow-walk-throughable-person, and prepared to launch an inquisition of wracking intensity. But, just then, Rogue fell over and some things take precedence over others.
"Don't move," Jean snapped at the girl, who didn't seem about to (and wouldn't, even if she'd wanted to--Jean hadn't lost her touch), and rushed to Rogue' side, who was actually blinking now and maybe alert. "What happened?"
"Oh . . . crap . . ." Rogue moaned and fainted, which wasn't at all useful and made little surges of true worry shoot through Jean's veins.
Well.
"Kurt, we're going to have to wait for Rogue to revive. Watch the girl--if she moves, kill her." Not that Kurt would probably do anything of the sort, but it couldn't hurt the girl to think it, Jean had always wanted to say it, and one shouldn't be held back by petty inhibitions. At least, now, she could have her full attention on Rogue.
-----------------------------
Every once in a while, events jump and flip and otherwise move out of your control. Sometimes more than once or even twice in a while--sometimes even for years and years worth of events, you just have to crouch there in the epicenter of a lifestorm and hope you don't get struck by an opportunistic bolt of lightning.
Kitty realized this and yet she didn't think that essentially being psychologically cemented to stand in one spot like this was terribly fair, even in the unscrupulous game of control.
The mutants she'd run into were obviously from Kelly's force--only he seemed to have a perverse urge to brand people like that. They might have been interesting to spy on, had Kitty noticed them before they noticed her. But she had been investigating some wolf scat--one simply doesn't see that every day--and the tall domineering one had blown her cover too rapidly for her to retreat.
The whole situation was just not working out for Kitty.
The tall one's death order didn't help her mood any, as "Kurt" appeared to be a demonically possessed gargoyle of some sort. She wasn't sure whether the fact he hardly seemed to be paying her any attention was a good sign or not, but she was glad he wasn't, for those straight yellow eyes of his were even creepier than . . . well, the rest of him.
At this rate, she was either not going to reach Kelly's camp at all, or reach it as a prisoner, or a corpse . . . or a branded draftee. Perhaps, once her captors looked a little less tense, she could feed them Magneto's recruiting speal . . . and they could feed her exclusive and secret information in return.
Yeah, that was likely.
Kitty let out an exasperated sigh and waited for something to happen.
