Yay! My first X-men fic!! *does the happy dance*. Please be nice and review this!! Purdy, purdy, purdy please???? And I'm really sorry about all the English/American mistakes I'm going to nake. You see I'm totally English and so if I slip up and write grey instead of gray I'm really sorry! I promise to try to stick with American words for as much as possible.
All things bright and electrical.
Mychéle Chol looked around the seedy café she was sitting in. From the table in the corner, which she was siting at, she was able to see those both inside and outside of the french café. Due to her French blood Mychéle had felt drawn to the little one roomed café. Her father, Guy Chol, was the french ambassador to America. Despite having an American mother, Mychéle had always felt more French than American.
However, her father was a part of the majority of politicians who felt that mutants were a threat to humans. Therefore he had felt, when he had found out Mychéle was a mutant, that she too was a threat to him and his family. Only the remaining tie of blood had kept him from handing her over to the police or worse; a scientist. Instead he had merely given her two thousand dollars, more to ease his conscience than out of fondness for Mychéle.
The sound of her father's voice drew Mychéle's eyes to the tiny T.V. screen in the opposite corner. He was babbling on about some registration act that should not have been ignored. Mychéle had developed, over the years, an ability to pick out all of the important things in a politician's speech and to ignore the rest of the flowery words.
The gist of what Monsieur Chol was saying was that he felt that all mutants should be kept in special areas equipped to handle these... strange creautures. Shaking her head, the raven haired girl turned back to her little cup of coffee. However the tones of anger and fury that laced Monsieur Chol's usually calm voice brought Mychéle's eyes flitting back to the screen.
It appeared that a particularly brave reporter had asked him about the training facility for mutants that was still being dismantled, even though it was over a year since the discovery of it had been made public, people were still buzzing from it.
Mychéle had been entertaining thoughts of going to this mutant school since she had been kicked out of her own home. Hoping that some little piece of information would be gleaned from her father Mychéle got up, picked her bag and cup of coffee up, and moved to the table closest to the flickering box.
Five minutes later Mychéle sighed. Nothing. No hint of whether the school had been re-established further afield, or if it had been abondoned, had been given. The large heavyset man who owned the café sat on the chair beside Mychéle.
"Damn cheek aint it?" He shook his head. Mychéle watched in fascination as his jowls wobbled as he spoke, "Darn freaks. Need to be shot not protected. To think that all them kids went out on school trips. To places where normal little kiddies went. You know there's even rumours that them who started the first 'un have set themselves up in Denver." The man took Mychéle's wide-eyed look to be one of shock or horror. Muttering about untidy customers the man got up and left Mychéle in peace.
Denver? That wasn't so far away. Only about a hundred miles north north-west. Mychéle ran her options over in her head. She could catch a train, or she could hitch hike a ride and save her money. Due to her lack of financial support she decided she would have to hitch a ride.
Quickly, she gathered her coat around her shoulders and threw the strap of her bag over one shoulder and her head. She tossed the empty syrofoam cup into a bin near the door and blinked as the dying rays of the sun splashed onto her. If her memory served her rightly there was a large freeway near to where she was standing, about two blocks away. Stretching out a crick in her neck, Mychéle made her way to the busy, bustling freeway.
Standing on the grass at the edge of the roaring road, Mychéle thumbed in the direction of Denver. When the sun had fully set and the night chill was beginning to set in a large pick up truck stopped. A bearded face stuck his head out of the window and shouted,
"Where ya goin hon'?" He seemed friendly enough. He didn't really look like the kind of person who would take and axe to her as soon as she fell asleep.
"Denver."
"You luck's in darlin'. I'm headin' that way. Jump in. I'll take you as far as I can." He pushed open the passenger door and settled back into his seat. Mychéle jumped in and thanked whoever was listening for this piece of luck. She had hitched her way to where she was and she had been thumbing for almost all day before she had gotten a ride. This guy stopped within a matter of minutes.
When they were settled, and a few miles away, the man spoke up again.
"My name's Bill." He briefly moved his eyes from the road to meet Mychéle's curious green ones.
"Mychéle. Thanks a lot sir. Last time I tried hitching a ride I was waitin' all day."
"Jeez, that sucks. I've made it a policy of mine to stop and pick up any hitch hiker. I once went all the way from Seattle down to San Antonio. I ran out of money about half way and boy did seeing people who wouldn't even think about givin me a ride make me angry!" He chuckled, "If you get cold there's some blankets in the back and there should be some food in that rucksack." He obviously wasn't exactly in the mood to socialise.
Mychéle slid the laptop that had really started everything, out of her bag and settled down with a packet of chips and a blanket over her legs. Silence soon gave way to the quick patter of her slender fingers tapping the keys.
*******
Well whatcha think? Eh? Can't hear you? Damn, no I still can't hear what your saying. I guess you'll just have to leave a review *sigh* hehehee. Please review!!
Toodles,
Ky.
All things bright and electrical.
Mychéle Chol looked around the seedy café she was sitting in. From the table in the corner, which she was siting at, she was able to see those both inside and outside of the french café. Due to her French blood Mychéle had felt drawn to the little one roomed café. Her father, Guy Chol, was the french ambassador to America. Despite having an American mother, Mychéle had always felt more French than American.
However, her father was a part of the majority of politicians who felt that mutants were a threat to humans. Therefore he had felt, when he had found out Mychéle was a mutant, that she too was a threat to him and his family. Only the remaining tie of blood had kept him from handing her over to the police or worse; a scientist. Instead he had merely given her two thousand dollars, more to ease his conscience than out of fondness for Mychéle.
The sound of her father's voice drew Mychéle's eyes to the tiny T.V. screen in the opposite corner. He was babbling on about some registration act that should not have been ignored. Mychéle had developed, over the years, an ability to pick out all of the important things in a politician's speech and to ignore the rest of the flowery words.
The gist of what Monsieur Chol was saying was that he felt that all mutants should be kept in special areas equipped to handle these... strange creautures. Shaking her head, the raven haired girl turned back to her little cup of coffee. However the tones of anger and fury that laced Monsieur Chol's usually calm voice brought Mychéle's eyes flitting back to the screen.
It appeared that a particularly brave reporter had asked him about the training facility for mutants that was still being dismantled, even though it was over a year since the discovery of it had been made public, people were still buzzing from it.
Mychéle had been entertaining thoughts of going to this mutant school since she had been kicked out of her own home. Hoping that some little piece of information would be gleaned from her father Mychéle got up, picked her bag and cup of coffee up, and moved to the table closest to the flickering box.
Five minutes later Mychéle sighed. Nothing. No hint of whether the school had been re-established further afield, or if it had been abondoned, had been given. The large heavyset man who owned the café sat on the chair beside Mychéle.
"Damn cheek aint it?" He shook his head. Mychéle watched in fascination as his jowls wobbled as he spoke, "Darn freaks. Need to be shot not protected. To think that all them kids went out on school trips. To places where normal little kiddies went. You know there's even rumours that them who started the first 'un have set themselves up in Denver." The man took Mychéle's wide-eyed look to be one of shock or horror. Muttering about untidy customers the man got up and left Mychéle in peace.
Denver? That wasn't so far away. Only about a hundred miles north north-west. Mychéle ran her options over in her head. She could catch a train, or she could hitch hike a ride and save her money. Due to her lack of financial support she decided she would have to hitch a ride.
Quickly, she gathered her coat around her shoulders and threw the strap of her bag over one shoulder and her head. She tossed the empty syrofoam cup into a bin near the door and blinked as the dying rays of the sun splashed onto her. If her memory served her rightly there was a large freeway near to where she was standing, about two blocks away. Stretching out a crick in her neck, Mychéle made her way to the busy, bustling freeway.
Standing on the grass at the edge of the roaring road, Mychéle thumbed in the direction of Denver. When the sun had fully set and the night chill was beginning to set in a large pick up truck stopped. A bearded face stuck his head out of the window and shouted,
"Where ya goin hon'?" He seemed friendly enough. He didn't really look like the kind of person who would take and axe to her as soon as she fell asleep.
"Denver."
"You luck's in darlin'. I'm headin' that way. Jump in. I'll take you as far as I can." He pushed open the passenger door and settled back into his seat. Mychéle jumped in and thanked whoever was listening for this piece of luck. She had hitched her way to where she was and she had been thumbing for almost all day before she had gotten a ride. This guy stopped within a matter of minutes.
When they were settled, and a few miles away, the man spoke up again.
"My name's Bill." He briefly moved his eyes from the road to meet Mychéle's curious green ones.
"Mychéle. Thanks a lot sir. Last time I tried hitching a ride I was waitin' all day."
"Jeez, that sucks. I've made it a policy of mine to stop and pick up any hitch hiker. I once went all the way from Seattle down to San Antonio. I ran out of money about half way and boy did seeing people who wouldn't even think about givin me a ride make me angry!" He chuckled, "If you get cold there's some blankets in the back and there should be some food in that rucksack." He obviously wasn't exactly in the mood to socialise.
Mychéle slid the laptop that had really started everything, out of her bag and settled down with a packet of chips and a blanket over her legs. Silence soon gave way to the quick patter of her slender fingers tapping the keys.
*******
Well whatcha think? Eh? Can't hear you? Damn, no I still can't hear what your saying. I guess you'll just have to leave a review *sigh* hehehee. Please review!!
Toodles,
Ky.