Ma Soleil
Chapter Twelve: Of Aliens and Elder Brothers
Disclaimer: All Marvel Characters are the property of Marvel. This is a work of fanfiction, not an attempt to infringe on Stan Lee's personal arsenal of hotties. I can wish all I like, but Sabes is never gonna show up to collect me, and that's that. Oh, yeah, I'm making zero profit off this and if you want Beck, just ask.
And again, to anyone who's managed to read so far and understand what they're reading, I'm looking for a beta. Someone frank, someone unafraid to put a serious opinion into print, someone in between Simon Cowell and Mister Rogers, like Cowell in the sense that they're candid, but like Mister Rogers in the respect that they have SOME tact.
As always, the lifeblood of the fanfiction author is reviews. I will respect constructive criticism, but flames are sincerely unappreciated. My e-mail address is seraph_taurus@thekeyz.com. Thanks for your time and God bless.
XXX
The room was ovalesque, made entirely of what appeared to be glass, but which was in fact a transparent sort of plastic that let none in and fewer out. The room was filled with computers and nanotechnology of a supremely advanced race, from which thousands of wires spewed forth, attaching themselves to a central mechanism. This mechanism was another oval, about seven by four feet, bowl-like, and had a transparent cover similar to the enclosure itself. Within lay a man, about six feet tall, one hundred ninety-five pounds, wearing what seemed to be a set of body-armor. In fact, it was a bionic computer vestal, which monitored his heartbeat, pulse, and other such bodily functions.
A woman stood on either side of the said coffin. The one on the left was about five foot eight inches tall, and maybe in her early to mid-thirties with long, red hair and the greenest, most piercing emerald eyes this side of the galaxy. She was beautiful, and had a figure to die for, and though her posture was indicative of sorrow, she held herself with a dignity that signified an indomitable will.
The other woman was a little older, perhaps late thirties to early forties, and she held her head higher yet than the other. She was taller, and slimmer, with shiny black hair that wasn't really hair. It was feathers, feathers that curved smoothly away from her forehead in straight, elegant spikes about a foot in length. Her eyes were intense violet, stormy and turbulent. There were inky black lines that began at the corners of her eyes, and separated to curl upwards around her brows and downwards over her strong cheekbones. Her jaw was delicately structured, but firm, with the sort of majestic elegance one might expect from royalty. Because she WAS royalty. Her name was Lilandra Neramani, Majestrix of the Shi'ar Empire.
The man within the coffin was speaking in a low, calm voice that radiated comfort, but the words he was saying were evidently what was distressing the two women who attended him so carefully.
"There is nothing that can be done, you know," he murmured, in an accent that could only have been cultured at Oxford, "I'm losing control, and we all know what might happen were I to completely lose my command on reality." He laughed quietly. "You know, you really should just listen to me, unplug all these silly machines, and jettison me into space."
"Don't joke that way, Professor!" the redheaded woman murmured, slipping her hand into his. "We love you too much to allow anything like that to happen."
"You ARE the only one disagreeing with my plan, Jean," Lilandra said quickly, then turned to the man "Though we are no longer wed, Charles, you know that the last thing I would do is harm you. In any way. I. . .I love you."
"As I love you, my darling. But there is nothing else for it. The X-Men are doing splendidly. They're much stronger without me, you know? I've trained them well, and there's not much more I COULD do for them. Jean's mutation is under control; she is nearly as powerful as I." He sighed a little. "It may take some getting used to, though. . ."
"But Professor. . ." the redheaded women argued, her chest heaving with scarcely-repressed emotion, "We DO need you! We. . .I couldn't imagine going on without. . .without that peace of mind you give!"
"We both know there's nothing else for it," Charles went on, not bothering to acknowledge the woman's outburst. "Jean, you could relay my utmost apologies to them, couldn't you?"
"They'll believe you'd abandoned them! You're the only thing keeping The Dream alive! Even some of the senior members of the X-Men are beginning to doubt themselves!"
"It isn't as though I'm going to be dead, Jean. There's nothing else for it." He repeated, more slowly this time, as though he were speaking to an errant child.
"I got a relay from Scott yesterday. Soleil Étoile is back in New York." Jean's voice turned frigid as she changed the subject.
"Oh? How is she taking this sudden emergence of her husband's relationship with M?"
"They've gotten a divorce. A very affable one, so I've been told."
"And Chamber?"
"He's still in Japan, I think. But Soleil was looking for you. You were the first person she asked for when she got back."
"Was I? What was she told?"
"The truth." Jean replied quickly, then added, in a timorous tone, "I think."
"You think?"
"Yes. Scott wasn't very forthcoming. I suppose he believed she shouldn't be informed, as an outside agent. . ."
"OUTSIDE AGENT?!" Charles raged, punching a button and sitting up as the cover slid from his niche. "Soleil Étoile has been nothing if not an extraordinary example of loyalty, and there is nothing I believe we can't trust her with! Besides, she's an Alpha-Class Psionic. She's a telepath, a telekine, a receptive/expatiated empath, AND she's an External."
"That merely says that if she wanted to betray us, she could."
"Why would she?" Charles inquired in a tone that would have turned the Sahara desert in dry season into Antarctica within two seconds. "Why would she?"
"I don't want to argue with you, Professor. You're only exciting yourself. Besides, your check-up's done."
"That's right," Lilandra reiterated, "Shall we go have dinner?"
Charles compressed his lips so thinly they described a single line on his face. "Yes, come to think of it. Shi'ar cuisine will calm my spirits." He sighed, and the lower half of the bubble morphed into a hover-chair as he entered a code into its keypad. Charles took a deep breath, smiled, and held out an arm to each female. "Shall we, ladies?"
XXX
Rebecca Starsmore rinsed the last of the conditioner out of her hair before turning the water on full blast chill, only for a moment to tighten her skin, and stepped from the shower, shutting it off as she pushed the curtain aside. Disregarding the towel hanging on the door, she pulled on clean femboxers (her underwear of choice), a pair of cut-off dungarees and a giant wifebeater she'd stolen from her co-worker, Chris Warden, and walked barefoot into the hallway. As she rushed down the stairs, she worked her hair into a ponytail and clipped it up above her neck. As she sped into the kitchen, she hoped and prayed Ororo had made her special herbal tea blend, nearly knocking into Gambit in the process.
"Mon Dieu, t'ought I was too ol' fo'e y' chère!" he ribbed, steadying her shoulders with big, callused hands.
'Ey, get yer 'ands offa me sis, Cajun!
"Jono?" Rebecca turned, taking in the picture of her brother sitting with Angelo and Leech, casually sipping coffee. SIPPING COFFEE?! "You're drinking!"
Great, ain't it? his lazy grin twisted her heart. Can actually talk, too, but I'm afraid I might scare yer ter death. From that look ye've got on yer face, I ain't too far away from doin' just 'at, either.
"I just. . .when did you get in?"
Last night. Saw yer an' Sam sleepin' on th' couch, all snuggled up like two bugs inna rug. Gor me some pictures, too.
"Oh." She said, very quietly. "Did you really?"
Yeh. he shrugged his shoulders, which, she noted, had gotten wider since the last photograph she'd seen of him. Will yer 'ave some coffee?
"I was sort of hoping Ororo had made some tea."
Ah. . . no such luck, I'm afraid.
"I suppose I'll have to make do with something else," she rummaged in the refrigerator and poured herself a cup of milk. "So, you've come back."
So've yer, Jono replied, with a complacent shrug. Thought I'd never see yeh again, I did.
"Sorry if I. . ."
Oh, bugger apologies, Soleil. They're usually pretty much bloody useless.
"I guess. And I go by Rebecca nowadays. Especially with family."
Jono seemed to cringe, but he managed to arrange his face into something like a smile. Good on yer, luv. he nodded. So, is there anything yer want ter do. . .bondin' like, yer know . . . ter get ter know each other better or something?
"I. . .ah, did you have something in mind?"
Neh. Was 'opin' yer did.
"Did you WANT to do something?"
It'd be a good idea, don't yer think? After all, we ARE related, an' seein' as mum an' dad ain't alive no more, per'aps we should. . .yer know, get in touch with our sense o' family.
"Yeah. That's a good idea." Rebecca nodded. "I guess we can have dinner or something? And then maybe a Danger Room session or two?"
Oh, bloody. 'At reminds me, I've got ter meet Jubilee about a power-analysis. Damn. Orright, lissen, Sol. . .Rebecca, I'll get back t'gether with yer about noonish, say?
"Fine. Where?"
The Biosph. . .th' lake, how's about that?
"All right. Noonish, Breakstone. I'll see you then."
Orright, luv. See yer.
XXX
Chapter Twelve: Of Aliens and Elder Brothers
Disclaimer: All Marvel Characters are the property of Marvel. This is a work of fanfiction, not an attempt to infringe on Stan Lee's personal arsenal of hotties. I can wish all I like, but Sabes is never gonna show up to collect me, and that's that. Oh, yeah, I'm making zero profit off this and if you want Beck, just ask.
And again, to anyone who's managed to read so far and understand what they're reading, I'm looking for a beta. Someone frank, someone unafraid to put a serious opinion into print, someone in between Simon Cowell and Mister Rogers, like Cowell in the sense that they're candid, but like Mister Rogers in the respect that they have SOME tact.
As always, the lifeblood of the fanfiction author is reviews. I will respect constructive criticism, but flames are sincerely unappreciated. My e-mail address is seraph_taurus@thekeyz.com. Thanks for your time and God bless.
XXX
The room was ovalesque, made entirely of what appeared to be glass, but which was in fact a transparent sort of plastic that let none in and fewer out. The room was filled with computers and nanotechnology of a supremely advanced race, from which thousands of wires spewed forth, attaching themselves to a central mechanism. This mechanism was another oval, about seven by four feet, bowl-like, and had a transparent cover similar to the enclosure itself. Within lay a man, about six feet tall, one hundred ninety-five pounds, wearing what seemed to be a set of body-armor. In fact, it was a bionic computer vestal, which monitored his heartbeat, pulse, and other such bodily functions.
A woman stood on either side of the said coffin. The one on the left was about five foot eight inches tall, and maybe in her early to mid-thirties with long, red hair and the greenest, most piercing emerald eyes this side of the galaxy. She was beautiful, and had a figure to die for, and though her posture was indicative of sorrow, she held herself with a dignity that signified an indomitable will.
The other woman was a little older, perhaps late thirties to early forties, and she held her head higher yet than the other. She was taller, and slimmer, with shiny black hair that wasn't really hair. It was feathers, feathers that curved smoothly away from her forehead in straight, elegant spikes about a foot in length. Her eyes were intense violet, stormy and turbulent. There were inky black lines that began at the corners of her eyes, and separated to curl upwards around her brows and downwards over her strong cheekbones. Her jaw was delicately structured, but firm, with the sort of majestic elegance one might expect from royalty. Because she WAS royalty. Her name was Lilandra Neramani, Majestrix of the Shi'ar Empire.
The man within the coffin was speaking in a low, calm voice that radiated comfort, but the words he was saying were evidently what was distressing the two women who attended him so carefully.
"There is nothing that can be done, you know," he murmured, in an accent that could only have been cultured at Oxford, "I'm losing control, and we all know what might happen were I to completely lose my command on reality." He laughed quietly. "You know, you really should just listen to me, unplug all these silly machines, and jettison me into space."
"Don't joke that way, Professor!" the redheaded woman murmured, slipping her hand into his. "We love you too much to allow anything like that to happen."
"You ARE the only one disagreeing with my plan, Jean," Lilandra said quickly, then turned to the man "Though we are no longer wed, Charles, you know that the last thing I would do is harm you. In any way. I. . .I love you."
"As I love you, my darling. But there is nothing else for it. The X-Men are doing splendidly. They're much stronger without me, you know? I've trained them well, and there's not much more I COULD do for them. Jean's mutation is under control; she is nearly as powerful as I." He sighed a little. "It may take some getting used to, though. . ."
"But Professor. . ." the redheaded women argued, her chest heaving with scarcely-repressed emotion, "We DO need you! We. . .I couldn't imagine going on without. . .without that peace of mind you give!"
"We both know there's nothing else for it," Charles went on, not bothering to acknowledge the woman's outburst. "Jean, you could relay my utmost apologies to them, couldn't you?"
"They'll believe you'd abandoned them! You're the only thing keeping The Dream alive! Even some of the senior members of the X-Men are beginning to doubt themselves!"
"It isn't as though I'm going to be dead, Jean. There's nothing else for it." He repeated, more slowly this time, as though he were speaking to an errant child.
"I got a relay from Scott yesterday. Soleil Étoile is back in New York." Jean's voice turned frigid as she changed the subject.
"Oh? How is she taking this sudden emergence of her husband's relationship with M?"
"They've gotten a divorce. A very affable one, so I've been told."
"And Chamber?"
"He's still in Japan, I think. But Soleil was looking for you. You were the first person she asked for when she got back."
"Was I? What was she told?"
"The truth." Jean replied quickly, then added, in a timorous tone, "I think."
"You think?"
"Yes. Scott wasn't very forthcoming. I suppose he believed she shouldn't be informed, as an outside agent. . ."
"OUTSIDE AGENT?!" Charles raged, punching a button and sitting up as the cover slid from his niche. "Soleil Étoile has been nothing if not an extraordinary example of loyalty, and there is nothing I believe we can't trust her with! Besides, she's an Alpha-Class Psionic. She's a telepath, a telekine, a receptive/expatiated empath, AND she's an External."
"That merely says that if she wanted to betray us, she could."
"Why would she?" Charles inquired in a tone that would have turned the Sahara desert in dry season into Antarctica within two seconds. "Why would she?"
"I don't want to argue with you, Professor. You're only exciting yourself. Besides, your check-up's done."
"That's right," Lilandra reiterated, "Shall we go have dinner?"
Charles compressed his lips so thinly they described a single line on his face. "Yes, come to think of it. Shi'ar cuisine will calm my spirits." He sighed, and the lower half of the bubble morphed into a hover-chair as he entered a code into its keypad. Charles took a deep breath, smiled, and held out an arm to each female. "Shall we, ladies?"
XXX
Rebecca Starsmore rinsed the last of the conditioner out of her hair before turning the water on full blast chill, only for a moment to tighten her skin, and stepped from the shower, shutting it off as she pushed the curtain aside. Disregarding the towel hanging on the door, she pulled on clean femboxers (her underwear of choice), a pair of cut-off dungarees and a giant wifebeater she'd stolen from her co-worker, Chris Warden, and walked barefoot into the hallway. As she rushed down the stairs, she worked her hair into a ponytail and clipped it up above her neck. As she sped into the kitchen, she hoped and prayed Ororo had made her special herbal tea blend, nearly knocking into Gambit in the process.
"Mon Dieu, t'ought I was too ol' fo'e y' chère!" he ribbed, steadying her shoulders with big, callused hands.
'Ey, get yer 'ands offa me sis, Cajun!
"Jono?" Rebecca turned, taking in the picture of her brother sitting with Angelo and Leech, casually sipping coffee. SIPPING COFFEE?! "You're drinking!"
Great, ain't it? his lazy grin twisted her heart. Can actually talk, too, but I'm afraid I might scare yer ter death. From that look ye've got on yer face, I ain't too far away from doin' just 'at, either.
"I just. . .when did you get in?"
Last night. Saw yer an' Sam sleepin' on th' couch, all snuggled up like two bugs inna rug. Gor me some pictures, too.
"Oh." She said, very quietly. "Did you really?"
Yeh. he shrugged his shoulders, which, she noted, had gotten wider since the last photograph she'd seen of him. Will yer 'ave some coffee?
"I was sort of hoping Ororo had made some tea."
Ah. . . no such luck, I'm afraid.
"I suppose I'll have to make do with something else," she rummaged in the refrigerator and poured herself a cup of milk. "So, you've come back."
So've yer, Jono replied, with a complacent shrug. Thought I'd never see yeh again, I did.
"Sorry if I. . ."
Oh, bugger apologies, Soleil. They're usually pretty much bloody useless.
"I guess. And I go by Rebecca nowadays. Especially with family."
Jono seemed to cringe, but he managed to arrange his face into something like a smile. Good on yer, luv. he nodded. So, is there anything yer want ter do. . .bondin' like, yer know . . . ter get ter know each other better or something?
"I. . .ah, did you have something in mind?"
Neh. Was 'opin' yer did.
"Did you WANT to do something?"
It'd be a good idea, don't yer think? After all, we ARE related, an' seein' as mum an' dad ain't alive no more, per'aps we should. . .yer know, get in touch with our sense o' family.
"Yeah. That's a good idea." Rebecca nodded. "I guess we can have dinner or something? And then maybe a Danger Room session or two?"
Oh, bloody. 'At reminds me, I've got ter meet Jubilee about a power-analysis. Damn. Orright, lissen, Sol. . .Rebecca, I'll get back t'gether with yer about noonish, say?
"Fine. Where?"
The Biosph. . .th' lake, how's about that?
"All right. Noonish, Breakstone. I'll see you then."
Orright, luv. See yer.
XXX