Disclaimer: I own nothing of X-Men: Evolution save for the characters that I have created of my own accord. I'm making no money off of this money as this story probably wouldn't recieve much in the way of cash. I promise I'll finish this story as I have started many stories here with the purpose of finishing them but failing in the process (this isn't a disclaimer...just a motivation for myself).
Extended Summary: There are some mutants who are tired of running. There are some humans who are tired of propoganda and living in fear of something so silly as a threat from their own species' evolution. This is not about mutant against human or mutant against mutant but rather this is a story about fighting for the right to be yourself despite the label that people have given you. This will be Kurt Centric since I find him the most interesting of characters.
p.s. This is in third person but mainly focuses on a girl. I say this because I'm very certain that this story could be construed to be a Mary-Sue. So if you have any hatred of Mary-Sue type stories then you have no obligation to read this story. Please read at least the first paragraph before you totally discount it, though. Thank you.
Prologue
The room smelled of vanilla incense. It wasn't the expensive kind of incense either. It was the incense sticks that you got at the dollar store in a large box marked "vanilla" on the side in fading ink that had resided in the store for close to a year. It was a generic kind of smell, but somehow comforting. It made one think of the taste of ice cream and of youth and of everything else that was pure.
She was a walking oxymoron. She was a vegetarian with leather sandals. She was a spiritual person who had a collage of torn Jehovah's Witnesses' brochures in her room taped to her wall. She was a martyr who refused to die. She snickered for no reason as she propped her naked feet on the decoupage coffee table.
Among the random pictures hurriedly glossed on the wooden piece of furniture (a savior from a worse fate on the side of a suburban road, rejected for scratches that had been inflicted on its surface) were several clippings about a strange new kind of human that had been discovered. Evolution, they called it. Atrocity, they called it. Mutancey, they called it. Glossy pictures of the DNA ladder mingled with seemingly less important pictures of celebrities. Some clippings had been so briskly dispatched and attached that sections were folded over themselves in a nonchalant gesture of manic behavior.
She took a spoon to her Ramen Noodles. What it needed was a spork. She would have to remember to steal some on her next trip to Taco Bell. She purposely ignored the trace amounts of chicken broth that she was eating and told her brain that it didn't matter. She was still a vegetarian. She still loved animals. She still burned incense.
She looked up at the Coca-Cola battery operated clock on her wall. They were late. But, then again, were they ever really on time? She pondered the existence of time for a bit before getting tired of noodles that tasted like fake seafood and the noodles landed with an odd plopping sound in her trashcan. She looked around at her small apartment, various pictures covering exposed electrical outlets. Some of the pictures were of her own creation, twisted with colors only seen in dreams. Others were pictures of a forgotten past, her mother, her father, and her brother. They hung in remembrance of a life long left behind.
She sighed in slight nostalgia that was quickly covered up by a feeling that she really shouldn't have thrown away the remainder of the Ramen Noodles. Trace amounts of chicken broth or not, it still harbored a fraction of the actual nutrition that she needed. She shrugged at her inner dialog and heard a knock on her door.
The door opened to five wide-eyed figures. They stood poised together like in those Gap commercials that try to depict teenagers in a normal light but only made them look like posed manikins with their designer clothing and tight fitting pre-faded jeans. It was a tradition to pose like this when she opened the door. She smiled at the sight of her friends; fresh from school their faces smirking at a joke played a million times.
Snorting (because she snorted often despite name calling that ensued afterwards) she shoved the unruly bunch in like a mother hen collecting her chicks. The teens plopped down in their various places that they always sat in. They never deviated from this tradition.
A slightly heavy girl named Sandra, whose red hair only made her look all the ruddier, always plopped in the old dilapidated armchair. She would scoot around until she was nicely settled and look around mischievously, her slightly pudgy face looking as if she had done something wrong. Her eyes would always stop at Arthur who insisted on sitting on the floor at Sandra's feet.
Arthur was a skinny boy whose hair looked as if to be a bad toupee. Still, there was something charming about him. Perhaps it was his freckled face or his large eyes but he was forever having to show people his ID to get into rated R movies and into clubs. But it was not just his looks that lent himself to youth; it was the way that he looked at the world. Everything was a new experience and everyone was truly good if you looked deep enough no matter how many times that his friends tried to persuade him differently.
Finn was not quite so optimistic. He had no reason to be. The closest thing that this boy ever got to a happy expression was a tug at the side of his thin lips. He was tall, a lanky fellow though more muscular than he looked. He wore scars on the outside, by his left eye and under his nose, that were a mystery to the rest. He sat, his back straight, on his customary couch seat with his boy of the week attached to his left side. He was not one for keeping commitment. Perhaps it was his dry sense of humor or his bad timing but there seemed to be a never-ending supply of his boy selection none the less.
Beside the softly whispering couple of Finn and said boy sat a small girl, even smaller than the hostess of this event. Her straight blond hair fell over her face shifting as her eyes looked from different conversations. Her name was Cybil. When she talked she spoke of great things and everyone listened. She did not speak much, which made the event even more the spectacular. She never said anything that she had not thought out in great detail, a fact which totally escaped the others grip of understanding in their own rambling conversations.
Upon a great beanbag chair sat a marvelous girl. Her hair was splendidly shaven save for two strips that hung, bleached and colored, by the sides of her face. This was the Ramen wasting girl of the early on. She was the hostess, as she always was, and she took her job with extreme seriousness. Her name was India; a name that seemed to suit her for it was the name that she had given herself. She was a short girl with an awkward posture due to her forever attempts at minimizing her breast size. Her leather sandals did not don her feet at this moment but, rather, lay piled up by the door with the others' various foot wear.
She smiled as random conversation flew by her ears like small flies in summer. She breathed in and turned on the television. The talking went to a hush in anticipation of what was to be played on the old wooden television with a slightly shaky picture. India sat down again on the beanbag chair and noticed that she had left the VCR remote on top of the television. She sighed and looked longingly behind her towards the meek girl with the straight blonde hair.
"Cybil, I don't suppose you could..." she stopped and pooched out a bottom lip for effect.
Cybil nodded sending her hair back and forth across her shoulders. Holding out a trembling hand she directed her fingers towards the remote. The remote hovered above the television a moment before vanishing in a flash and appearing in India's lap. Some would mistake Cybil's power for telekinesis but there was no telekinesis about it. She did not transport the object with her mind but, rather, was able to change the energy around the object. It was a complicated matter and thus left only to scientists with too much time on their hands and no lives of their own.
Giggling with glee India's finger hovered above "play."
"What are we watching tonight?" Arthur said putting his head to sit upon his knees. He cocked his head, his mop of hair flipping and his large bright eyes twinkling as they blinked questioningly.
"Ruffles chips with ranch dressing," India said in code. There were a few groans from the "peanut gallery."
"The Anniversary Party again?" Sandra said in a huff.
"We haven't watched it in a month!" India protested, hitting "play." She was the hostess after all. She shoved out of the beanbag chair and hobbled into the kitchen for the traditional "The Anniversary Party" snack. They had named a snack food for every movie. It was more fun that way.
She plopped down after flicking off the lights and lay a large bowl brimming with Ruffles' Chips next to a bottle of ranch dressing on the side. After the movie they would stay awake and talk of philosophies. After this they would dose off and Finn would sneak to a niche with his boy. In the morning they would go out for breakfast at Waffle House and talk of more philosophies and gossip that they had heard during the week. From there they would split ways and not see each other until the next Friday.
Not all of them were evolved, or were atrocities, or were mutants or whatever label was put on. But all of them were happy and that little discrepancy didn't matter. Yes, things were perfect. Nothing could go wrong. But, then again, isn't that what all of the books say before something goes incredibly and totally awry?
Extended Summary: There are some mutants who are tired of running. There are some humans who are tired of propoganda and living in fear of something so silly as a threat from their own species' evolution. This is not about mutant against human or mutant against mutant but rather this is a story about fighting for the right to be yourself despite the label that people have given you. This will be Kurt Centric since I find him the most interesting of characters.
p.s. This is in third person but mainly focuses on a girl. I say this because I'm very certain that this story could be construed to be a Mary-Sue. So if you have any hatred of Mary-Sue type stories then you have no obligation to read this story. Please read at least the first paragraph before you totally discount it, though. Thank you.
Prologue
The room smelled of vanilla incense. It wasn't the expensive kind of incense either. It was the incense sticks that you got at the dollar store in a large box marked "vanilla" on the side in fading ink that had resided in the store for close to a year. It was a generic kind of smell, but somehow comforting. It made one think of the taste of ice cream and of youth and of everything else that was pure.
She was a walking oxymoron. She was a vegetarian with leather sandals. She was a spiritual person who had a collage of torn Jehovah's Witnesses' brochures in her room taped to her wall. She was a martyr who refused to die. She snickered for no reason as she propped her naked feet on the decoupage coffee table.
Among the random pictures hurriedly glossed on the wooden piece of furniture (a savior from a worse fate on the side of a suburban road, rejected for scratches that had been inflicted on its surface) were several clippings about a strange new kind of human that had been discovered. Evolution, they called it. Atrocity, they called it. Mutancey, they called it. Glossy pictures of the DNA ladder mingled with seemingly less important pictures of celebrities. Some clippings had been so briskly dispatched and attached that sections were folded over themselves in a nonchalant gesture of manic behavior.
She took a spoon to her Ramen Noodles. What it needed was a spork. She would have to remember to steal some on her next trip to Taco Bell. She purposely ignored the trace amounts of chicken broth that she was eating and told her brain that it didn't matter. She was still a vegetarian. She still loved animals. She still burned incense.
She looked up at the Coca-Cola battery operated clock on her wall. They were late. But, then again, were they ever really on time? She pondered the existence of time for a bit before getting tired of noodles that tasted like fake seafood and the noodles landed with an odd plopping sound in her trashcan. She looked around at her small apartment, various pictures covering exposed electrical outlets. Some of the pictures were of her own creation, twisted with colors only seen in dreams. Others were pictures of a forgotten past, her mother, her father, and her brother. They hung in remembrance of a life long left behind.
She sighed in slight nostalgia that was quickly covered up by a feeling that she really shouldn't have thrown away the remainder of the Ramen Noodles. Trace amounts of chicken broth or not, it still harbored a fraction of the actual nutrition that she needed. She shrugged at her inner dialog and heard a knock on her door.
The door opened to five wide-eyed figures. They stood poised together like in those Gap commercials that try to depict teenagers in a normal light but only made them look like posed manikins with their designer clothing and tight fitting pre-faded jeans. It was a tradition to pose like this when she opened the door. She smiled at the sight of her friends; fresh from school their faces smirking at a joke played a million times.
Snorting (because she snorted often despite name calling that ensued afterwards) she shoved the unruly bunch in like a mother hen collecting her chicks. The teens plopped down in their various places that they always sat in. They never deviated from this tradition.
A slightly heavy girl named Sandra, whose red hair only made her look all the ruddier, always plopped in the old dilapidated armchair. She would scoot around until she was nicely settled and look around mischievously, her slightly pudgy face looking as if she had done something wrong. Her eyes would always stop at Arthur who insisted on sitting on the floor at Sandra's feet.
Arthur was a skinny boy whose hair looked as if to be a bad toupee. Still, there was something charming about him. Perhaps it was his freckled face or his large eyes but he was forever having to show people his ID to get into rated R movies and into clubs. But it was not just his looks that lent himself to youth; it was the way that he looked at the world. Everything was a new experience and everyone was truly good if you looked deep enough no matter how many times that his friends tried to persuade him differently.
Finn was not quite so optimistic. He had no reason to be. The closest thing that this boy ever got to a happy expression was a tug at the side of his thin lips. He was tall, a lanky fellow though more muscular than he looked. He wore scars on the outside, by his left eye and under his nose, that were a mystery to the rest. He sat, his back straight, on his customary couch seat with his boy of the week attached to his left side. He was not one for keeping commitment. Perhaps it was his dry sense of humor or his bad timing but there seemed to be a never-ending supply of his boy selection none the less.
Beside the softly whispering couple of Finn and said boy sat a small girl, even smaller than the hostess of this event. Her straight blond hair fell over her face shifting as her eyes looked from different conversations. Her name was Cybil. When she talked she spoke of great things and everyone listened. She did not speak much, which made the event even more the spectacular. She never said anything that she had not thought out in great detail, a fact which totally escaped the others grip of understanding in their own rambling conversations.
Upon a great beanbag chair sat a marvelous girl. Her hair was splendidly shaven save for two strips that hung, bleached and colored, by the sides of her face. This was the Ramen wasting girl of the early on. She was the hostess, as she always was, and she took her job with extreme seriousness. Her name was India; a name that seemed to suit her for it was the name that she had given herself. She was a short girl with an awkward posture due to her forever attempts at minimizing her breast size. Her leather sandals did not don her feet at this moment but, rather, lay piled up by the door with the others' various foot wear.
She smiled as random conversation flew by her ears like small flies in summer. She breathed in and turned on the television. The talking went to a hush in anticipation of what was to be played on the old wooden television with a slightly shaky picture. India sat down again on the beanbag chair and noticed that she had left the VCR remote on top of the television. She sighed and looked longingly behind her towards the meek girl with the straight blonde hair.
"Cybil, I don't suppose you could..." she stopped and pooched out a bottom lip for effect.
Cybil nodded sending her hair back and forth across her shoulders. Holding out a trembling hand she directed her fingers towards the remote. The remote hovered above the television a moment before vanishing in a flash and appearing in India's lap. Some would mistake Cybil's power for telekinesis but there was no telekinesis about it. She did not transport the object with her mind but, rather, was able to change the energy around the object. It was a complicated matter and thus left only to scientists with too much time on their hands and no lives of their own.
Giggling with glee India's finger hovered above "play."
"What are we watching tonight?" Arthur said putting his head to sit upon his knees. He cocked his head, his mop of hair flipping and his large bright eyes twinkling as they blinked questioningly.
"Ruffles chips with ranch dressing," India said in code. There were a few groans from the "peanut gallery."
"The Anniversary Party again?" Sandra said in a huff.
"We haven't watched it in a month!" India protested, hitting "play." She was the hostess after all. She shoved out of the beanbag chair and hobbled into the kitchen for the traditional "The Anniversary Party" snack. They had named a snack food for every movie. It was more fun that way.
She plopped down after flicking off the lights and lay a large bowl brimming with Ruffles' Chips next to a bottle of ranch dressing on the side. After the movie they would stay awake and talk of philosophies. After this they would dose off and Finn would sneak to a niche with his boy. In the morning they would go out for breakfast at Waffle House and talk of more philosophies and gossip that they had heard during the week. From there they would split ways and not see each other until the next Friday.
Not all of them were evolved, or were atrocities, or were mutants or whatever label was put on. But all of them were happy and that little discrepancy didn't matter. Yes, things were perfect. Nothing could go wrong. But, then again, isn't that what all of the books say before something goes incredibly and totally awry?
