Redemption Road
"You're all a bunch of bastards." Kent told his so called friends coldly. "You had better be able to fix this later." He was staring in to the mirror, pulling at his face and hair in disbelief. "I pass out at a party and this is how I wake up?" He was just belaboring the point now.
The group chuckled a bit.
"Soon you'll have no such concerns." The smooth voice intoned. "Thanks to your favorable genetic structure, Temport," The voice paused to insure that the slower members of the group were keeping up. "You're all about to become very, very rich."
And the owner of the voice pulled out a lumpy leather bag. It was faded, tan, and tiger-striped by dust that had settled in to it's folds and stained it. It looked as though it was a thousand years old.
"I know you boys love your work," The voice continued. "And our contract specifies that you will receive the remaining amount owed to you when the job is finished." The voice was too smooth for Kent's taste. It reminded him of a snake, and the thing about most snakes is that while you're listening to them hiss, you're generally within striking distance.
"However, as this plan has asked that you go," He eyed Kent "Above and beyond," Then he nodded to bring everyone's attention in line with his. "I thought something of a bonus might be in order."
He emptied the contents of the small worn sack in to his hand, cupped so as not to reveal them too soon, and to let the metallic clinks of coin on coin bring silence to the room. Once everyone had edged closer or otherwise given him their undivided attention he took the top three coins between his thumb and forefinger and extended them to Kent; also known as Temport.
Kent hesitated for a moment. It was no secret that he didn't like this client, but it was something more. This man was not your garden-variety psychotic. Most people can only get so demented in a lifetime. Dementia is a difficult thing to cultivate to the point of manipulating world affairs, when you're not a politician.
Kent reached out slowly, using the pace to voice his displeasure with their 'prank' and his continued commitment to the job at hand.
The man smiled. It was a perfectly ordinary smile from a seemingly ordinary man. Kent's blood began to pump cold and he felt the initial quiver of an adrenaline rush.
He drew the coins back and pocketed them without looking.
The room still encased in an icy silence; he met the eyes of crowd, one by one, and left the room.
"Whew." The largest man in the room had broken the silence. He stood up and extended his hand toward the ordinary man. "You ever do ANYTHING like that to me," The thick-necked man said to everyone in the room "And I'll get real damn inventive in my revenge."
They didn't seem to understand what he meant, except perhaps the ordinary man with the smooth voice. He dropped two large gold coins in to the large square hand in front of him.
"There are some things with knives that I'd love to try." The large man nodded in agreement with himself "And I've always wanted to explore the inner workings of the body and brain."
It was meant as a threat, the worst one that Sorespot could imagine. He had no idea when he said it that he would receive only one reply from a group as mouthy as this.
"Then you should drop by my place some time." The ordinary man smiled. "I've always got someone who needs dissecting."
And the group recoiled from him instinctually. The statement had the ring of truth about it.
"Maybe." Sorespot backed away, clutching his coins.
"Gimme." Blockage held out her hand. She was the youngest of the group and perhaps the most naïve. Still, something inside her made her stop approaching this client just a tad too soon, and as a result he had to step closer to her to hand her the coins. She as well received two coins.
"Temp got three." She told the man.
"He's done more for me lately." The man replied in a hiss.
She covered her sudden fear with a smug 'is that so?' expression and stepped back, clinking the coins in her hand nervously.
The man turned and looked to the corner. Misshapen and alone there sat a mutant man, absently preening his feathers.
"Numbskull." The ordinary man called.
The birdman turned his head in the direction of the group, as though noticing them for the first time, and cawed loudly.
A small smile played about the ordinary man's lips before he flipped one of the large gold coins toward Numbskull.
Numbskull cawed again in delight, caught the coin in his mouth, and swallowed it whole before returning his attention back to his feathers.
Blockage and Sorespot exchanged questioning glances before turning away in disgust.
"Do be prompt tomorrow." The ordinary man added over his shoulder as he was leaving. "It's not every day that the X-Men go back in time."
Outside the door however, the man no longer appeared so ordinary. His skin clouded to the color of the naked moon and dark rings emerged from under his eyes. His smile was now pointed and menacing. No truer words were ever spoken than to say this man was Sinister.
"I don't like that guy." Blockage shook her head.
"I bet you like his money just fine." Sorespot smiled ruefully and walked away, leaving her mostly alone.
Meanwhile back at the lighthouse, Kurt was admiring his ocean view from his bathrobe. Kitty was sleeping, tangled somewhere within the blankets on the bed behind him.
He had been almost all for the newfound spirit of honest expression. He certainly allowed himself to be swept along with it quite on purpose.
It wasn't until after Kitty fell asleep that the first doubt occurred to Kurt. Not for any real or rational reason. Those doubts were to come later as he dwelled on the situation. The first doubt came because he couldn't sleep.
How could he not fall contentedly to sleep beside her? In his own bed no less. There was a time when the simple act of sleeping that near to her would have been rapture to him. But they had both grown since then. They were different people now.
He cast his eyes to the bed, watching the blankets rise and fall in time with her breathing. Were they really all that different? The years had been kind to them both. Far kinder than Kurt ever expected them to be. Of course there were obstacles and losses, but every life has those.
Kurt wished it were all as clear as it had seemed this morning.
He turned his attention back out toward the ocean.
Slow moving boats dotted the distant horizon. He watched them crawl across his ocean sunset. The morning cloud cover had burnt off at some point during the day.
"So dot God could paint dis." Kurt thought.
The sun had dipped low and seemed to be touching its reflection in the water. The sun itself was an explosive shade of orange, yet it managed to paint the water and some distant clouds in all manner of brilliant bands of color.
The soft purple color that played on the waves was Kurt's favorite. Anyone less familiar with the area might have missed the subtle purple that tonight brought him, but not Kurt. He knew his ocean well.
"If only I knew my heart dis vell."
Something inside had been nagging at him. He felt that there was something he was supposed to know. Something he should have realized by now. But what could it be?
He was at a loss.
"You're all a bunch of bastards." Kent told his so called friends coldly. "You had better be able to fix this later." He was staring in to the mirror, pulling at his face and hair in disbelief. "I pass out at a party and this is how I wake up?" He was just belaboring the point now.
The group chuckled a bit.
"Soon you'll have no such concerns." The smooth voice intoned. "Thanks to your favorable genetic structure, Temport," The voice paused to insure that the slower members of the group were keeping up. "You're all about to become very, very rich."
And the owner of the voice pulled out a lumpy leather bag. It was faded, tan, and tiger-striped by dust that had settled in to it's folds and stained it. It looked as though it was a thousand years old.
"I know you boys love your work," The voice continued. "And our contract specifies that you will receive the remaining amount owed to you when the job is finished." The voice was too smooth for Kent's taste. It reminded him of a snake, and the thing about most snakes is that while you're listening to them hiss, you're generally within striking distance.
"However, as this plan has asked that you go," He eyed Kent "Above and beyond," Then he nodded to bring everyone's attention in line with his. "I thought something of a bonus might be in order."
He emptied the contents of the small worn sack in to his hand, cupped so as not to reveal them too soon, and to let the metallic clinks of coin on coin bring silence to the room. Once everyone had edged closer or otherwise given him their undivided attention he took the top three coins between his thumb and forefinger and extended them to Kent; also known as Temport.
Kent hesitated for a moment. It was no secret that he didn't like this client, but it was something more. This man was not your garden-variety psychotic. Most people can only get so demented in a lifetime. Dementia is a difficult thing to cultivate to the point of manipulating world affairs, when you're not a politician.
Kent reached out slowly, using the pace to voice his displeasure with their 'prank' and his continued commitment to the job at hand.
The man smiled. It was a perfectly ordinary smile from a seemingly ordinary man. Kent's blood began to pump cold and he felt the initial quiver of an adrenaline rush.
He drew the coins back and pocketed them without looking.
The room still encased in an icy silence; he met the eyes of crowd, one by one, and left the room.
"Whew." The largest man in the room had broken the silence. He stood up and extended his hand toward the ordinary man. "You ever do ANYTHING like that to me," The thick-necked man said to everyone in the room "And I'll get real damn inventive in my revenge."
They didn't seem to understand what he meant, except perhaps the ordinary man with the smooth voice. He dropped two large gold coins in to the large square hand in front of him.
"There are some things with knives that I'd love to try." The large man nodded in agreement with himself "And I've always wanted to explore the inner workings of the body and brain."
It was meant as a threat, the worst one that Sorespot could imagine. He had no idea when he said it that he would receive only one reply from a group as mouthy as this.
"Then you should drop by my place some time." The ordinary man smiled. "I've always got someone who needs dissecting."
And the group recoiled from him instinctually. The statement had the ring of truth about it.
"Maybe." Sorespot backed away, clutching his coins.
"Gimme." Blockage held out her hand. She was the youngest of the group and perhaps the most naïve. Still, something inside her made her stop approaching this client just a tad too soon, and as a result he had to step closer to her to hand her the coins. She as well received two coins.
"Temp got three." She told the man.
"He's done more for me lately." The man replied in a hiss.
She covered her sudden fear with a smug 'is that so?' expression and stepped back, clinking the coins in her hand nervously.
The man turned and looked to the corner. Misshapen and alone there sat a mutant man, absently preening his feathers.
"Numbskull." The ordinary man called.
The birdman turned his head in the direction of the group, as though noticing them for the first time, and cawed loudly.
A small smile played about the ordinary man's lips before he flipped one of the large gold coins toward Numbskull.
Numbskull cawed again in delight, caught the coin in his mouth, and swallowed it whole before returning his attention back to his feathers.
Blockage and Sorespot exchanged questioning glances before turning away in disgust.
"Do be prompt tomorrow." The ordinary man added over his shoulder as he was leaving. "It's not every day that the X-Men go back in time."
Outside the door however, the man no longer appeared so ordinary. His skin clouded to the color of the naked moon and dark rings emerged from under his eyes. His smile was now pointed and menacing. No truer words were ever spoken than to say this man was Sinister.
"I don't like that guy." Blockage shook her head.
"I bet you like his money just fine." Sorespot smiled ruefully and walked away, leaving her mostly alone.
Meanwhile back at the lighthouse, Kurt was admiring his ocean view from his bathrobe. Kitty was sleeping, tangled somewhere within the blankets on the bed behind him.
He had been almost all for the newfound spirit of honest expression. He certainly allowed himself to be swept along with it quite on purpose.
It wasn't until after Kitty fell asleep that the first doubt occurred to Kurt. Not for any real or rational reason. Those doubts were to come later as he dwelled on the situation. The first doubt came because he couldn't sleep.
How could he not fall contentedly to sleep beside her? In his own bed no less. There was a time when the simple act of sleeping that near to her would have been rapture to him. But they had both grown since then. They were different people now.
He cast his eyes to the bed, watching the blankets rise and fall in time with her breathing. Were they really all that different? The years had been kind to them both. Far kinder than Kurt ever expected them to be. Of course there were obstacles and losses, but every life has those.
Kurt wished it were all as clear as it had seemed this morning.
He turned his attention back out toward the ocean.
Slow moving boats dotted the distant horizon. He watched them crawl across his ocean sunset. The morning cloud cover had burnt off at some point during the day.
"So dot God could paint dis." Kurt thought.
The sun had dipped low and seemed to be touching its reflection in the water. The sun itself was an explosive shade of orange, yet it managed to paint the water and some distant clouds in all manner of brilliant bands of color.
The soft purple color that played on the waves was Kurt's favorite. Anyone less familiar with the area might have missed the subtle purple that tonight brought him, but not Kurt. He knew his ocean well.
"If only I knew my heart dis vell."
Something inside had been nagging at him. He felt that there was something he was supposed to know. Something he should have realized by now. But what could it be?
He was at a loss.
