Time for a little haiku:
Much like in the case,
of Logan's love for Jean Grey,
the X-Men aren't mine.
Touch popped a cigarrette into his mouth and walked down the street away from Fontaine's meeting place. He decided he could best try to forget about what happened by getting some sleep. He had a small apartment about fifteen blocks away from where he was, and decided to walk it - it was easier to have clear thoughts when he was walking than when he was taking the bus.
He took the cigarrette out of his mouth before he even lit it and shoved it in his pocket. He had a strange smoking habit - lighting up once or twice a month. Always when he needed to think, and he usually caught himself before he actually started smoking it. He took another five steps, stopped, and took it out again, placing it between his lips.
He could safely say that he needed it this time.
Touch had thought about the evening long enough... it had been an entire day since it happened after all, and he had just dropped by Fontaine's place to pick up his ten grand, which would last him for food and rent for awhile. Next to the occassional game of pool and a night on the town when some of the guys thought he really needed it. Which he always did. But he never let them know it.
He sparkled the flint of the lighter and drew it to the tip of the tobacco stick, and took in a deep breath. He never developed an addiction... but the methodical breathing was almost like a walking meditation. Few people could understand it, though he knew few who had the mental hold to reject addiction either. It was something that his ability gave him access to... certain things about his mind. He never really understood it... it was just kind of always there. The wisp of smoke drifted into the stale city air. Not really much place for it to go but up.
Touch exhaled softly, blowing doughnut rings one inside another. Despite his best efforts, his thoughts drifted to the robbery once again. He could not help but be amazed by how easily he had been taken down... whether or not he was at the top of his game. The robbery itself, and the feelings he had been getting during it. Something was calling out from inside of him, telling him what was awaiting that night.
A wave of smoke from the tip of the cigarrette blew into his face and caused him to cough. The wind had shifted south from... from...
He looked from left to right. Buildings touching the clouds on either side of him. There was no wind. Or there shouldn't have been...
Touch instinctively snapped his head to the left, missing a punch by so close, that he felt the breeze blow past his ear. As the arm drifted pass his neck, he grabbed it and twisted it behind his opponent, using his freehand to puck the cig from between his lips and press it into the guys neck.
"ARRRRRRRRRRGHH!!!" the thug screamed, dropping to the ground in pain. Touch turned around and there were already three advancing on him. He instantly noticed they were smart enough not to be carrying weapons, as last time that lead to two casualties almost instantly. Or, he should say, their leader was smart enough not to equip them.
The first was knocked down by a sweeping kick, while the second reached just in time for Touch to reach a crouching position and do a backflip, extending his foot and cordially inviting it to the thug's jaw, and still managed to land himself in a standing position. The final one hesitated for a moment, which caused him to smile. Unfortunately, he did not realize that the hesitation was a signal. Six more accomplices joined the last one remaining. What the hell...
The one that had avoided his initial onslaught began ordering his back-up around, telling them to attack Touch all at the same time. In turn, Touch took off until he caught sight of a small grocery store, and despite being closed for the night, still had a broom leaning up against the door for the morning sweeping. In a single move, he jumped and landed on the base of the broom, snapping the bristled end clear off of it. He wrapped his leg around it and tossed it up, catching it so it ran the length of his arm and touched the ground in front of him.
"Our boss just wants to talk to you," the man giving orders spoke. "We figured it'd be easier just to take you down and bring ya in, but if you want to cooperate, that'll make things even easier for everyone. The boss said you were a smart guy, and it's seven against one... whaddya say?"
Touch had locked eyes with the leader the moment he began speaking. There was silence that filled the entire street of the city, probably for the first time in its existance. It lasted for ten seconds, though it was enough to cause prespiration to build on the foreheads of every lackey that was trying to stare down there "prey". Finally, Touch spoke.
"Wow, you're all little bitches..."
The men did not hesitate for even a moment to hear their orders. The twenty yards or so between Touch and the mob shrunk almost instantly as they rushed towards him. He planted the tip of the pole into the ground and pushed himself forward, planting his feet into the chest of the closest opponent. The suprising move dropped the guy flat on his back, giving Touch the chance to push off of him and swing the stick around, connecting it into the next guy's head and tearing him down in a single blow. Unfortunately these moves placed him in the middle of the gang, with five more furious gang members on top of him. One of them wrapped his arm around his neck and pulled him from the pile, barely giving Touch enough room to breathe. The furious scowls that they all had transformed into twisted smiles. The leader pulled himself away from the crowd and stepped towards Touch.
"We were just supposed to bring you in... but I feel like we've made ourselves entitled to have a bit of fun with ya, don't you agree?" The thug spoke, cracking his knuckles. He drew his fist behind him, and with all the force he could find within himself...
... he smashed his fist into the jaw of the guy holding Touch, feeling the bone shatter against his knuckle. The leader, who minutes ago was carefully deciding a strategy to attack this man, was now flailing wildly at the three remaining members of the gang. Two of them grabbed onto his arms and were yelling at him, completely losing sight of the fact that Touch had caused his sudden change of heart.
He calmly bent down and picked up his pole, pointing it toward the one thug who was not unconscious, preoccupied, or insane, and calmly stated, "what the hell is going on here?"
"I can answer that," a familiar voice stated. Though the voice was crisp and clear as if it was spoken directly into his ear, the figure was invisible. He knew who she was though, the voice that had plagued his thoughts since her first heard it, so powerful in his mind that he dropped his pole and just focused on the sound. The thugs had all stopped moving and stood there as if someone had just frozen them in time, even the one under Touch's control. They were conscious and thinking, but despite their street backgrounds and rugged exterior, this voice had an unbelievable power over them. He looked into the night, desperately searching for the source of the words, but it was the whitish-blue irises piercing through the darkness that found him first.
"I need you," the voice sounded again. "And you're coming with me." Touch's reflexes came a second too late, as he looked to his left and saw the thug he had been questioning, swinging the pole Touch had dropped and connecting with his temple, shadowing his mind in darkness.
