Agent-G: well, I am hoping my updates won't be as far apart as they were. On the bright side, the forced 'break' has left me with quite some inspiration, including some bad choices for Sharon
Ldypebsaby: let's just say that they'll de damned glad she's unique.
Paprika90: thank you for understanding, I'm in my final Highschool year now, so it's pretty important to actually pass. I don't like to abandon fics, makes me feel like a quitter - I'll finish this one, like I finish all my others (though most I don't put online)
Don't you feel like an idiot?
Sharon hadn't slept much that night. Rather: not at all. Perhaps it was the fact that there were a couple of very heavy snoring people asleep not far from her, perhaps because she had grown accustomed to a 'safe' place of her own. Whatever it was, it was keeping her awake, and making her even crankier then normal. Not an improvement at all.
The few moments she had dozed of, Sharon had been rudely shaken awake again by her thoughts creeping to her father and what he'd say if he would see her now, what he'd say when she found him again. Sharon had always hoped he'd be proud of her, but now, if she'd actually go to that frea... Institute, wouldn't he just be disapointed with her?
No, she'd deal with that when she would come to that obstacle. First things first: finding him, making sure he was alright, then she'd deal with smoothing everything out. It wasn't as if she didn't have any bones to pick with him. Like why she hadn't been taken in by any other family, because she knew she had them, just didn't know where they were. Or him having them move all over the place. Or why he hadn't told her about mutants. It would have helped her deal with what she was now: a mutant. Maybe he didn't know, but couldn't he have trusted her? Even a little?
She'd seen Alice leave, few others come in, and none of them had been Mister Personality himself. Probably a good thing too, he wouldn't be recieved kindly, looking too much like one of those who were always looking for a fight, Sharon snorted. If he even came, it wasn't like they'd made a deal where he would benefit from taking her to the Institute. The only who seemed to be getting something out of this was her, it didn't fit with her picture of the world, there had to be a catch. Only the sun came up for free, and even that was questionable.
Sharon coughed lightly, as she had been the entire night. The smoke she had inhaled while fleeing from the appartment building had irritated her throat, leaving her with a raw, slightly aching throat. Using the wall in aid for her getting up to her feet. She'd rather die then admit it, even to herself: but she was nervous, a part of her actually wished to go, wanted to be taken to the Institute, yearned for a home.
The fingers of her hands twined behind her neck, while she tipped her head back, no standing on her own feet, but leaning against the wall. Her eyes were half closed, but still kept a sharp look at those who were situated close to her, not about to drop her guard, she didn't trust them in the slightest, and wasn't about to give them a chance either.
They weren't all goody-goody, then again: neither was she. It wasn't as if they were all bad, just bad enough for her to not trust any of them. Not even Alice was to be completely trusted. None of them were. Perhaps that made her life a little empty, perhaps she was gradually becoming too cold to care. At least, that was what she told herself. It didn't help. It still felt the same, the ache she felt for missing her father still was the same, the sharpness had left, instead it was numbing.
"Whatcha lookin' at?!" she heard a man close to her growl, at least, he had dared to move closer to her then any of the others, Alice excepted. Only then she caught herself looking at him, well, not looking, her head was merely turned in his direction.
"At a fool, obviously!" she sneered, shifting her feet slightly to stand underneath her shoulders, her hands forming the start of a fist. It was rather an instinctive reaction then a choice she made: by nature highly defensive, and spending so much time on her own, even when she was in a foster family, had only hightened her defensive nature to one bordering on paranoid.
Like she expected, the guy scrambled to his feet and scurried of. A fool and a coward, how charming. He didn't turn his back to her as he retreated, Sharon noted, which meant he either had some good instincts or had been on the streets long enough to know what not to do if you wanna stick around.
Where was that guy? Oh, she could just as well leave, no use waiting around for some guy who wasn't even gonna show. She made a move to walk towards the doors, but turned around again, growling inwardly: she couldn't even make her decissions!
Bored, she looked around, it was still very early in the morning, sunrise had just barely begun, she concluded from the soft light flooding in from outside. Sharon softly started to hum, walking to the back where she could watch, but no one would notice her.
"Cause if it's no good / Burn burn the stations / We'll burn it down / Burn burn the truth / Enjoy the flames / In celebration / Enjoy the sound / For us, for them, for you," she softly sang, remembering the song she had heard on the radio a few days before the fire. Perhaps she should go to the police station and try to find out what had started the fire.
There were a few things that Sharon enjoyed, besides shooting of snide comments and wise-ass remarks. One of them was singing, she used to sing, her father liked it. He said she had the voice for it, though he wasn't too keen on her becoming a professional singer, he would rather have her get a 'normal' job, one that was a bit more secure then singing.
Sharon still remembered the words of her father's favourite song, it wasn't her taste, but he had always said that her mother had loved it. Sharon didn't remember much from her mother, as her mother had died when she was five. All Sharon remembered, and even that was blurry, was that her mother had gotten very sick and had died. At five years old, the word 'cancer' had been unkown to her. Ever from that time, though, Sharon had hated hospitals, an intense hate.
"I know that I've been told / My intergrity was sold / Price and placed upon the shelf / It's worth it's weight in gold / But do you think we've lost our minds / Yeah we can see through all your lies," the soft, quiet singing was soothing her nerves, Sharon found. Allowed her to rearrange her thoughts, reassure herself that what she was doing would be alright on the long term.
Before she could go any further, though, the doors opened. Sharon's head shot up, her eyes narrowed to see who walked in, one word formed on her lips: "jerk."
This was the place, Logan made sure of it before he entered. Not a particular nice neighbourhood either, at least the kid knew how to keep herself alive. That was a good thing. Entering the small church, he looked around. Logan didn't see her at first: had she left already? Second thoughts and split? He caught her scent, it was still strong so she had to be there.
Once again sweeping the area, his eyes narrowed in on a girl who had just gotten up: it was her, but what on earth was she wearing?! Even Kitty hadn't worn anything like that at the Institute, and that was saying a lot, he remembered the pyramid hat she once wore, claiming it would help her study or something.
Stalking over to the 'jerk', Sharon recognized the look on his face: he was . Part of her couldn't fault her: pink! She was wearing pink! It was a giant joke the universe was playing on her and apparently having a good laugh at it too. (A/N: I don't think pink is awful, I wouldn't wear it, but I don't think it's awful, Sharon does. Don't kill me!)
"Not. One. Word." Sharon growled at him, "do you have any money on you?" she was aching to get rid of those clothes and get some normal ones. Like a shirt and jeans. As long as it wasn't pink.
For the first few moments, Logan didn't dare open his mouth: the look on the girl's face, along with the pink shirt and white mini-skirt, it was just begging to be laughed at. Forcing himself to not laugh, Logan managed to get his stoic manner back and looked dryly at her: "Yeah, why?"
"Then you're paying for a new outfit. I am NOT going to that freak-school wearing this," she meant to say more but was interrupted when a guy entered, looking around dazed.
His face was gaunt, narrow, his eyes clouded over. Digging into her memory, she found the name that belonged with the man, at least, what he said his name was: Davey. Sharon was pretty sure it wasn't his real name, but then, who was she? She didn't use her real name either, atleast, not since her powers had manifested.
It looked as if he'd had another 'fall' too. Davey had quite the history of getting beaten up, and lying about how he'd gotten all those bruises, and worse. Sharon remembered some stories she'd heard at work. But the lies he told about his bruises were practisd. As if he'd been used to telling them even before he found his 'home' on the streets.
"Hey... Rosey!" he swung his arm around her shoulder, Sharon scrunched up her nose: still the same bad breath, no, even worse.
"What's the matter Davey?" she detangled herself from his arm, Sharon didn't mind him all that much, most girls she worked with had a soft spot for the young man, actually. Being a drug-addict wasn't so uncommon and Davey was always very affectionate, even when he was flying high.
The young man completely ignored, or just plain didn't notice, Logan. Instead of that, he practically squashed her in a hug. Amazing strength that he still had within that thin, abused frame. He looked a bit more like a skeleton then a man. Davey said he'd always been thin, being on the streets only made things worse.
Everything about Davey reaked of old, dirt. His jeans were smudged, torn in places, his boots looked as if they'd been around before the invention of sliced bread, even his face looked old. The dazed look in his eyes only served to ascertain this. It was amazing that he wasn't all that dirty. Libraries helped in keeping clean, with the public toilets. Sharon remembered the tricks, she had used them herself during the times she had run away on a lead to what might have happened to her father.
"Davey... oxygen... please?" Sharon tried to losen his hold, casting a warning glnce at Logan to not intervene, Davey was pretty much harmless. He didn't need to be hurt. If Logan even thought about unleashing those knives he had, she'd be walking away, well, after doing some serious damage to that bike he rode.
"Do ya know someone who had a bike parked outside? 'Cause he don' have it no more," with a giggle, he detangled himself from Sharon, zoning in on someone else to bestow his hugs and all on. Like Sharon said: he was very affectionate.
"Do you have a bike parked outside?" Sharon turned to Logan, "if you did, it's just been stolen." the last thing she then saw of Logan was him running out the door back outside. Shaking her head, she followed: no use crying over spilled milk, or stolen bikes in this situation.
Logan cursed as soon as he was outside: his bike! His bike was gone! Not his bike! Bastards! Stealing an inocent bike just like that.
"Well," Sharon drawled with a hint of vengefulness, casually strolling up to stand next to him, "don't you feel like an idiot now?"
Next chapter: Trying to get a bike back isn't thát easy.
Disclaimer: the song Sharon sang bits of is from the Lost Prophets, it's called Burn Burn