DISCLAIMER: I have no intention of owning the X-men or any of Marvel's
stuff! Can I stop putting this on here?!
Sphinx489~ Hey! I'm actually updating! What d'ya know? Hey! Wanna actually R&R? :).
~"Life is nothing but a competition to be the criminal rather than the victim." ~Bertrand Russell
~~~~~~~~~~~
I rush up to my room immediately after Logan let me go and change into a cute, but tight outfit. It consists of a pair of jeans and a maroon t-shirt with a low, oval-cut neck. Very fashionable if I do say so myself. Something I picked up at the mall (like the rest of my clothes).
Opening the door quietly, I sneak out into the hallway and head out on a previously interrupted exploration. Rounding the corner, I nearly jump out of my skintight clothing as I run into another student. Why do I always get caught? I just want to get into some honest trouble.
"Jeez! You scared the shit outta me, Bobby," I complain, shoving him playfully into the wall. He grins defensively and I quickly understand he's out for some fun as well.
"Sorry, but I thought I was the only one out of class. You cuttin'?"
"No, Wolverine let me leave. But you're playing hooky, apparently."
"Yeah. Wanna go explore the staff's rooms?" I mischievously smile my approval.
Linking arms with him and leading him up the back staircase, I reply, "This could be the start of a long and beautiful relationship." To which he can only laugh, especially since he's dating Marie. Reaching the top, I go to the first door on the right - the one I've been trying to investigate since I first came here.
"Uh.Chantal," he hesitates. "Are you sure we should go in this one? It's Wolverine's - he'll catch our scent and we'll be so screwed."
"Nonsense. It's not like we aren't screwed already if they find out we're up here. But anyway, water distorts smells and it'll throw him off. He'll never know it was us," I say the latter while transforming into my liquid form. He shrugs his shoulders and shifts into solid ice. A nifty trick, but I'd better make sure I never piss him off or I'll be in some serious trouble.
So, without further time wasting, I phase both of us through the 'solid' wood door. Upon entering, we find ourselves in a dimly lit mini- apartment, neatly furnished with dark cherry. Nothing is out of place and one would think no one inhabited it if not for the unmade bed displayed in the center of it. On top of a mini-fridge (everything in here is mini!) in the corner, there is a box of cigarettes. The good kind.
"Jackpot!" I march over, leaving Bobby staring about the room, and snatch them from their resting spot. Bobby comes over and gives me a shocked expression. "What?" Not waiting for an answer, I open the refrigerator and pull out a couple of bottles of chilled beer.
"You can't take that! That's not right!" I turn to regard him, half offering a bottle as I spy larger ones of tequila and, oooo, vodka next to him on a counter. He quickly refuses. "No way. I'm not getting into that much trouble. I think Monet's right about you." I freeze. The glass phial crashes on the floor, spilling its contents onto a darkening carpet. I shift to face Bobby, who is now less than a few inches away from me.
"What did you just say?" I ask in a low, threatening voice. Neither of us move to collect the broken pieces or dry the mess as we stare each other down. Bobby swallows.
"Uh."
"What did Monet say about me?!" I can feel the fury rising in my throat. Hastily, I take a swig of the tequila to calm my fluctuating nerves and tilt my head back as the burning liquid slides down my esophagus. I don't want to hurt Bobby, not when we are supposed to be having fun. Besides, nothing is his fault, it's all M's.
"She. was spreading rumors about you. Saying she saw you leaving.Warren's car on Saturday and.making up all sorts of nasty stories about you - like you used to be a whore before you came here and.stuff like that. None of us really believe her because we all know she had - still has - a major crush on him, but." he trails off. I motion for him to continue as I drain the first bottle of beer and go back for a second. I feel like getting wasted. I can partially guess where this story is leading.
He takes a deep breath.
"But?" I prod.
"A few of us overheard her talking to Paige about it and Paige piped in with.whatever you were talking to her about before you exploded at her and they just kept spinning this wild tale that for some reason just makes sense. Monet just took off and told everybody you were a serious, disgusting criminal. Paige's been so distraught over it all that the Prof's allowing her to miss classes for a few days -"
"Wait a minute. Xavier's heard everything, too?"
"No. None of the instructors have. I don't think Warren has, either. He's been in upstate New York and he won't be back until late tomorrow or maybe even Wednesday. The Prof won't read her mind unless she gives him permission and she hasn't. As far as the teachers are concerned, the rumors are unknown for now. Not that it matters - they're not true. Are they?"
I give him a look. I push angrily off the leather chair I'd taken up residence on. He stands as well, coming over to steady my tipsy self.
Did I mention that you view the world from an entirely different perspective when it's swirling around on you? Let me tell ya, it's an interesting experience.
"Where're you goin'?"
"Out," I spit at him as I walk unsteadily towards the door. He follows, no doubt worried about when Logan will be returning. Stumbling down the stairs, I somehow manage to land, struggling, upright at the base, leaning heavily on the railing.
"I don't think it's a good idea for you to go anywhere," he says quietly, steadying me by placing his hands around my waist. Grateful for his extra support, I light another cigarette and thankfully inhale, gaining a tiny amount of soberness with each drag. "Come on, you look like you're going to pass out - or puke." I agree with the latter, so I semi-willingly allow him to lead me into his room and to the bathroom.
"Wanna have some more fun?" I slur, trying to seduce him as he holds my hair back, preparing for something I'm unsure of. I light a new cigarette and Bobby coughs as a fresh cloud of smoke is exhaled into his face. He shakes his head, unbelievingly. I feel the urge.
Choking on the bile, I vomit into the cold porcelain bowl known to you as a toilet and me as a savior. I collapse on the tile floor, leaning heavily on the seat. Hmm.wonder how many germs I'm picking up here. He kneels beside me with a wet washcloth, wiping my sweating face off.
"You gonna be okay?" he asks, anxiety exhibited in his intonation. I close my eyes and tilt my head back 'til it rests on his chest. His cologne fills my nostrils and I inhale deeply, beginning to enjoy my position. Until I lurch forward and wretch some more. My throat is killing me.
"Right." I stand up, shoving him to the ground as I do so. He looks up at me, shocked, before jumping to his feet as I guzzle a glass of water sitting on the edge of the sink. Fighting back the urge to puke again, I punch him in the side of the head with a blow surprisingly steady for a drunk. He fell to the floor, blood seeping from a small cut on his skin. My hand hurts but I feel a little better. Out comes another cigarette.
Staggering under the make believe weight of sobering drunkenness, I make my way to the garage where Warren parks his car. At the end of the hallway, I run into Mr. Whatever-his-last-name-is, also known as Scott. I brush rudely past him, confidence returning over my stability. I think I forgot to take the cigarette from my lips.
"Are you all right, Chantal?" he asks, moving to stop me.
"Like you would care," I retort. I slam the door leading to the garage in his face, pushing the bolt closed. On the other side, I can hear running footsteps halting and Bobby yelling out to Scott about what had happened. The next instant, the door is rattling on its hinges as Cyclops no doubt blasts it with his beam, joined by Iceman's barrage. I fly shakily to the crotch rocket I'd seen earlier and climb on, happy to see that the owner was stupid enough to leave the keys hanging on the handlebars.
Bang! I don't look back as the door shudders for the last time and crashes to the hard floor, splintering into several scorched pieces. Behind me, I hear shouting as I rev the engine and guide the bike to the open garage doors. Zooming down the driveway to the hurriedly closing gates, I hear the following footfalls halt to be replaced by shouting. Ignoring it, I barely manage to squeeze through before the wrought iron fence shuts me in. I'm free.
Shaking off drowsiness and unsteadiness, I shift gears and drive away from the mansion as fast as the Buell can take me.
Half an hour later, I spot a quaint little pub and park there. I go inside, sit down on a bar stool and order a tall, frothy alcoholic drink, attempting to lose myself in the moment, forgetting everything in my sorry excuse for a life.
Before the bartender and I even get in a fight over the possibility of my being underage, a tall, dark, and grungy, but cute man joins me at my side.
"Wassup, babe," he drawls. "Let's go have some fun." He gestures towards two other men behind him.
"Not unless you've got any money and would care to buy me and a drink," I spit at them, disgusted.
They grab me and start to drag me out the backdoor. I slide easily off the stool, startled and upset by the realization that the bartender has turned his back on me. I'm alone.
They slam me into a tree. Coughing, I begin to fall to the dirty earth, almost entirely unconscious - from the alcohol, the cigarettes, the impact, and the earlier concussion.
"Come on, sweetheart. This isn't going to be much fun if you don't put up a fight." One of the cronies strikes me across the cheek. I wince, feebly trying to dehydrate him. I don't succeed. The whirling vortex halts its procession before it's entirely left his chest and is promptly sucked back in.
"Dirty mutant!" Gee, doesn't that sound familiar. Why do I keep hearing that?
They send another blow into my stomach and I choke up more liquid mixed with blood this time. Too much blood. It dribbles down my shirt, disappearing into a puddle when it drips off onto the ground. By now, the pain is almost unbearable.
I'm so weak; I can't even defend myself. I start to cry, tears streaking down my face, joining the grime smeared across it. I hate showing weakness.
The big man comes toward me, throwing me onto the ground. My pants are soaked from the puddle I land in.
"Time we taught you people a lesson," he says, rolling me onto my back and placing his full weight on my legs. I sink deeper into the mud and let out a tiny, but sharp cry. He grins, a gold tooth showing in front. He leans over, smothering me with his smoke-smelling body. I cough as he rests his weight on my stomach through his hands. He curses disgustedly as I throw up more sanguine fluid from the sensation of shattering ribs. I wonder if they really are breaking into a thousand pieces. I pray I die shortly, then.
"Bitch!" Another gang member comes over to assist him in stripping my pants down - the third standing off to the side, holding a formidable looking rod, smacking it on his palm while he watches for passersby.
"We're gonna show you exactly how we feel about your kind inhabiting the planet, you nasty whore," he leers down at me. The others chuckle evilly, sneering at my tear-streaked face. I can barely make out their features through my blurry vision as the evening sky dims. Why does this shit always seem to happen to me? It's like I'm drawn to it or something.
I have only one chance left. So I take it, ignoring the bone shattering pain that courses through my entire body as I empty the rest of my soul into the night air.
I howl.
Sphinx489~ Hey! I'm actually updating! What d'ya know? Hey! Wanna actually R&R? :).
~"Life is nothing but a competition to be the criminal rather than the victim." ~Bertrand Russell
~~~~~~~~~~~
I rush up to my room immediately after Logan let me go and change into a cute, but tight outfit. It consists of a pair of jeans and a maroon t-shirt with a low, oval-cut neck. Very fashionable if I do say so myself. Something I picked up at the mall (like the rest of my clothes).
Opening the door quietly, I sneak out into the hallway and head out on a previously interrupted exploration. Rounding the corner, I nearly jump out of my skintight clothing as I run into another student. Why do I always get caught? I just want to get into some honest trouble.
"Jeez! You scared the shit outta me, Bobby," I complain, shoving him playfully into the wall. He grins defensively and I quickly understand he's out for some fun as well.
"Sorry, but I thought I was the only one out of class. You cuttin'?"
"No, Wolverine let me leave. But you're playing hooky, apparently."
"Yeah. Wanna go explore the staff's rooms?" I mischievously smile my approval.
Linking arms with him and leading him up the back staircase, I reply, "This could be the start of a long and beautiful relationship." To which he can only laugh, especially since he's dating Marie. Reaching the top, I go to the first door on the right - the one I've been trying to investigate since I first came here.
"Uh.Chantal," he hesitates. "Are you sure we should go in this one? It's Wolverine's - he'll catch our scent and we'll be so screwed."
"Nonsense. It's not like we aren't screwed already if they find out we're up here. But anyway, water distorts smells and it'll throw him off. He'll never know it was us," I say the latter while transforming into my liquid form. He shrugs his shoulders and shifts into solid ice. A nifty trick, but I'd better make sure I never piss him off or I'll be in some serious trouble.
So, without further time wasting, I phase both of us through the 'solid' wood door. Upon entering, we find ourselves in a dimly lit mini- apartment, neatly furnished with dark cherry. Nothing is out of place and one would think no one inhabited it if not for the unmade bed displayed in the center of it. On top of a mini-fridge (everything in here is mini!) in the corner, there is a box of cigarettes. The good kind.
"Jackpot!" I march over, leaving Bobby staring about the room, and snatch them from their resting spot. Bobby comes over and gives me a shocked expression. "What?" Not waiting for an answer, I open the refrigerator and pull out a couple of bottles of chilled beer.
"You can't take that! That's not right!" I turn to regard him, half offering a bottle as I spy larger ones of tequila and, oooo, vodka next to him on a counter. He quickly refuses. "No way. I'm not getting into that much trouble. I think Monet's right about you." I freeze. The glass phial crashes on the floor, spilling its contents onto a darkening carpet. I shift to face Bobby, who is now less than a few inches away from me.
"What did you just say?" I ask in a low, threatening voice. Neither of us move to collect the broken pieces or dry the mess as we stare each other down. Bobby swallows.
"Uh."
"What did Monet say about me?!" I can feel the fury rising in my throat. Hastily, I take a swig of the tequila to calm my fluctuating nerves and tilt my head back as the burning liquid slides down my esophagus. I don't want to hurt Bobby, not when we are supposed to be having fun. Besides, nothing is his fault, it's all M's.
"She. was spreading rumors about you. Saying she saw you leaving.Warren's car on Saturday and.making up all sorts of nasty stories about you - like you used to be a whore before you came here and.stuff like that. None of us really believe her because we all know she had - still has - a major crush on him, but." he trails off. I motion for him to continue as I drain the first bottle of beer and go back for a second. I feel like getting wasted. I can partially guess where this story is leading.
He takes a deep breath.
"But?" I prod.
"A few of us overheard her talking to Paige about it and Paige piped in with.whatever you were talking to her about before you exploded at her and they just kept spinning this wild tale that for some reason just makes sense. Monet just took off and told everybody you were a serious, disgusting criminal. Paige's been so distraught over it all that the Prof's allowing her to miss classes for a few days -"
"Wait a minute. Xavier's heard everything, too?"
"No. None of the instructors have. I don't think Warren has, either. He's been in upstate New York and he won't be back until late tomorrow or maybe even Wednesday. The Prof won't read her mind unless she gives him permission and she hasn't. As far as the teachers are concerned, the rumors are unknown for now. Not that it matters - they're not true. Are they?"
I give him a look. I push angrily off the leather chair I'd taken up residence on. He stands as well, coming over to steady my tipsy self.
Did I mention that you view the world from an entirely different perspective when it's swirling around on you? Let me tell ya, it's an interesting experience.
"Where're you goin'?"
"Out," I spit at him as I walk unsteadily towards the door. He follows, no doubt worried about when Logan will be returning. Stumbling down the stairs, I somehow manage to land, struggling, upright at the base, leaning heavily on the railing.
"I don't think it's a good idea for you to go anywhere," he says quietly, steadying me by placing his hands around my waist. Grateful for his extra support, I light another cigarette and thankfully inhale, gaining a tiny amount of soberness with each drag. "Come on, you look like you're going to pass out - or puke." I agree with the latter, so I semi-willingly allow him to lead me into his room and to the bathroom.
"Wanna have some more fun?" I slur, trying to seduce him as he holds my hair back, preparing for something I'm unsure of. I light a new cigarette and Bobby coughs as a fresh cloud of smoke is exhaled into his face. He shakes his head, unbelievingly. I feel the urge.
Choking on the bile, I vomit into the cold porcelain bowl known to you as a toilet and me as a savior. I collapse on the tile floor, leaning heavily on the seat. Hmm.wonder how many germs I'm picking up here. He kneels beside me with a wet washcloth, wiping my sweating face off.
"You gonna be okay?" he asks, anxiety exhibited in his intonation. I close my eyes and tilt my head back 'til it rests on his chest. His cologne fills my nostrils and I inhale deeply, beginning to enjoy my position. Until I lurch forward and wretch some more. My throat is killing me.
"Right." I stand up, shoving him to the ground as I do so. He looks up at me, shocked, before jumping to his feet as I guzzle a glass of water sitting on the edge of the sink. Fighting back the urge to puke again, I punch him in the side of the head with a blow surprisingly steady for a drunk. He fell to the floor, blood seeping from a small cut on his skin. My hand hurts but I feel a little better. Out comes another cigarette.
Staggering under the make believe weight of sobering drunkenness, I make my way to the garage where Warren parks his car. At the end of the hallway, I run into Mr. Whatever-his-last-name-is, also known as Scott. I brush rudely past him, confidence returning over my stability. I think I forgot to take the cigarette from my lips.
"Are you all right, Chantal?" he asks, moving to stop me.
"Like you would care," I retort. I slam the door leading to the garage in his face, pushing the bolt closed. On the other side, I can hear running footsteps halting and Bobby yelling out to Scott about what had happened. The next instant, the door is rattling on its hinges as Cyclops no doubt blasts it with his beam, joined by Iceman's barrage. I fly shakily to the crotch rocket I'd seen earlier and climb on, happy to see that the owner was stupid enough to leave the keys hanging on the handlebars.
Bang! I don't look back as the door shudders for the last time and crashes to the hard floor, splintering into several scorched pieces. Behind me, I hear shouting as I rev the engine and guide the bike to the open garage doors. Zooming down the driveway to the hurriedly closing gates, I hear the following footfalls halt to be replaced by shouting. Ignoring it, I barely manage to squeeze through before the wrought iron fence shuts me in. I'm free.
Shaking off drowsiness and unsteadiness, I shift gears and drive away from the mansion as fast as the Buell can take me.
Half an hour later, I spot a quaint little pub and park there. I go inside, sit down on a bar stool and order a tall, frothy alcoholic drink, attempting to lose myself in the moment, forgetting everything in my sorry excuse for a life.
Before the bartender and I even get in a fight over the possibility of my being underage, a tall, dark, and grungy, but cute man joins me at my side.
"Wassup, babe," he drawls. "Let's go have some fun." He gestures towards two other men behind him.
"Not unless you've got any money and would care to buy me and a drink," I spit at them, disgusted.
They grab me and start to drag me out the backdoor. I slide easily off the stool, startled and upset by the realization that the bartender has turned his back on me. I'm alone.
They slam me into a tree. Coughing, I begin to fall to the dirty earth, almost entirely unconscious - from the alcohol, the cigarettes, the impact, and the earlier concussion.
"Come on, sweetheart. This isn't going to be much fun if you don't put up a fight." One of the cronies strikes me across the cheek. I wince, feebly trying to dehydrate him. I don't succeed. The whirling vortex halts its procession before it's entirely left his chest and is promptly sucked back in.
"Dirty mutant!" Gee, doesn't that sound familiar. Why do I keep hearing that?
They send another blow into my stomach and I choke up more liquid mixed with blood this time. Too much blood. It dribbles down my shirt, disappearing into a puddle when it drips off onto the ground. By now, the pain is almost unbearable.
I'm so weak; I can't even defend myself. I start to cry, tears streaking down my face, joining the grime smeared across it. I hate showing weakness.
The big man comes toward me, throwing me onto the ground. My pants are soaked from the puddle I land in.
"Time we taught you people a lesson," he says, rolling me onto my back and placing his full weight on my legs. I sink deeper into the mud and let out a tiny, but sharp cry. He grins, a gold tooth showing in front. He leans over, smothering me with his smoke-smelling body. I cough as he rests his weight on my stomach through his hands. He curses disgustedly as I throw up more sanguine fluid from the sensation of shattering ribs. I wonder if they really are breaking into a thousand pieces. I pray I die shortly, then.
"Bitch!" Another gang member comes over to assist him in stripping my pants down - the third standing off to the side, holding a formidable looking rod, smacking it on his palm while he watches for passersby.
"We're gonna show you exactly how we feel about your kind inhabiting the planet, you nasty whore," he leers down at me. The others chuckle evilly, sneering at my tear-streaked face. I can barely make out their features through my blurry vision as the evening sky dims. Why does this shit always seem to happen to me? It's like I'm drawn to it or something.
I have only one chance left. So I take it, ignoring the bone shattering pain that courses through my entire body as I empty the rest of my soul into the night air.
I howl.