The hallway, just like the rest of the house, was dark yet inviting to
tired and ill-adjusted eyes. Pietro turned into the bathroom, welcomed by
off-white tiles and shining metal knobs...he hated metal. Upon entering the
room, he caught a glimpse of himself in the large mirror over the sink.
Blood; Pietro was covered completely in his own glistening blood. His eyes
were wide with what seemed like rage, and his once silver hair was
flattened down by what looked like more blood. Pietro panicked. He turned
his head swiftly, staring at his reflection in the mirror head on. The
original image was gone, replaced by a tall, slender boy with deep, sleepy
eyes. No blood, no red matted hair, no angry eyes, just Pietro Maximoff. He
laughed a tired, empty laugh. "I...I must be going insane! That's it,
completely and totally off my rocker! No more horror movies for you Pie, no
sir-ee." He began to turn away again, when he noticed a deep scar which
seemed to follow directly under his jaw-line, extending about 2 inches up.
It took him a few seconds to recall exactly where it had come from. The
chains! That was it; one of the chain-links had come apart and grazed his
neck...right? Why hadn't he noticed it before? He distinctly remembered it
happening, but then he didn't...the scar in itself was a mystery to him. The
cold shower was no longer important. Pietro turned back toward the stairs,
jumping them 2 or 3 at a time. Once at the bottom, he crossed the length of
the living room to a small shelf shoved underneath the television set,
which was still displaying late-night advertisements-
'Do you want to make more money? Of course, we all do--'
"Yearbooks, Lance. Where did you put the god-damned yearbooks...." 'That's why Florida No-fall has devised a solution for all your financial needs, as well as personal prob--'
"LANCE!! WHERE DID YOU HIDE THE FRIGGIN' YEARBOOKS?!?" 'We're here to make your life as an American easier, why not let us help you?'
"Finally, c'mon. I know I'm in here somewhere.....Maximoff, where's Maximoff......" 'While working for Florida No-fall, you call earn your bachelor's degree in- Veterinary assisting, Computer development--'
"Maximoff, Maximoff, Maximoff....WHERE AM I?!?" '—Accounting, Child care, Interior decorating--'
"THERE! Pietro Maximoff, 10th grade, damn I'm good!" Pietro's silver hair and sapphire eyes stuck out against his navy blue background, but he didn't see a scar. He was so sure the incident had been before yearbook pictures were taken, but perhaps he had been wrong...or perhaps he hadn't acquired the scar from an exposed chain-link. He turned his attentions up toward the TV, which was still showing the 'Florida No- fall' ad... 'Why waste your time with other, non-reliable programs? Trust me when I tell you that--' Trust me......why did that phrase trigger a mental alarm in his head. It angered him for some reason, but why? Maybe it wasn't the phrase itself, maybe it was the calm, collected way the advertiser had said it- like there wasn't a care in this whole fucking world. Like trusting her would make any problems you ever had go away...that tone angered him more than anything else, because it was his father's favorite tone to use when manipulating his children; when manipulating Pietro. Trust me.....Now he remembered the scar.......
Lance had been woken by a loud crash downstairs, and was about to shrug it off as the aftermath of a bad dream...until he remembered the speed demon sleeping underneath him. "Can't he keep himself from destroying the house until morning?" The senior turned to look at the small digital clock which sat by his bed; it read 5:32 am. "Oh COME ON! Pietro, you are DEAD! DEAD I SAY!!" Lance grabbed a discarded pair of jeans and began down the stairs toward the living room...but that's not exactly what he found. Trashed; everything was completely trashed. Shelves had been knocked over, pictures had been torn from the wall, and the television screen had been shattered. Standing in the middle of the wreckage was Pietro, and Lance noted that his eyes flashed from an icy white to their original sapphire blue. "Damn Pie, what happened?" Pietro dropped the table leg he had been holding and smiled weakly. "I was...re-decorating. Looks a lot better, huh? I was planning on knocking out that whole wall right there so Freddy wouldn't have to walk so far to get to the kitchen; you know how he hates physically exerting himself..." "......You were re-decorating the house.....with a table leg...??" "Um...well, resources are slim, ya know? I was gonna advance to something heavier later on, but I kinda lost track." A half smile spread across Pietro's face, obviously praying that Lance would believe his story. If he weren't so damned tired, he was sure he could have thought up something better. Lance raised an eye-brow. It didn't look like Pietro had been 're- decorating', but there would be no explanation tonight; the speedster had made that perfectly clear. "Whatever man, just clean all this shit up before Tabby wakes up, okay? She'd have a field day if she thought we were allowed to wreck Mystique's pad like this-' Lance shivered slightly at the idea of Boom-boom trying to help knock out a wall. "-and, um...how about we just leave that wall where it is, huh?" Pietro gave him a smart nod, then watched the older male walk back up the stairs toward bed...he'd lucked out again.
If Lance knew that Pietro had lost his temper, he didn't show any signs of it. 'Probably just thought I was trashing the house to get on his nerves, or that maybe I was on too much caffeine or something'. Pietro had successfully covered up his tracks again, but how long would he be able to keep this up? What exactly had happened to him? He didn't remember trashing the living room this bad. The TV he could account for, but the walls? The shelves? The furniture? It's like he'd blacked out past 'television trashing'. Pietro rubbed at his temples, he could already feel a killer head-ache coming on. 'Aww, poor baby Pietro has a little head-ache? Suck it up!' Pietro jumped about a foot into the air. He searched frantically around the room. "L....Lance? That you man?" 'Nope, sorry. Lance went back to bed, remember? It's just you, and me.' Again, Pietro scanned the room...but could find nobody. He turned, and to his amazement, discovered that he had somehow missed a mirror...but it wasn't Pietro staring back at him. Same hair, same skin...but completely different twisted smile and icy-white eyes...eyes that seemed distant, yet together- apathy. "What the....Who the....What are you-"
'Oh, don't hurt yourself. I'll wait till you figure out what you're going to say, take your time.' The thin face smirked impishly, leaving Pietro awestruck and speechless. How ironic; the only person in the world able to stump Pietro Maximoff was Pietro Maximoff himself.
"Who.....what are you??"
'I'm you, simple as that.' Pietro's eyes suddenly widened. Panic was beginning to take hold again. Was this the same figure he'd seen in the bathroom mirror? No, couldn't be. "G—Go away! Leave me alone!"
The reflection bit at its bottom lip in anger, drawing tiny droplets of blood from the delicate skin. 'Oh, but Pietro; without me, who on earth would you do your dirty work, the things you haven't the spine to do? Who would be your scapegoat? Who would you talk to when you're so alone? You need me, and yet you try to send me away... why is that Pietro? You know you're nothing without me...'
"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!?!?"
'I've told you...I'm Quicksilver.'
Lance heard the screaming through his closed door, but couldn't make out the words. Afraid that maybe Pietro was having another fit, he once again trudged down the stairs...only this time, nothing had changed. Pietro was now standing in front of an old antique mirror Mystique had hung above the couch, staring at his own reflection. Blood-shot, panicked eyes bounced back at the young mutant, eyes that seemed to widen further as every second passed. "Piet, you okay man?" Pietro spun around facing Lance. "Lance! I thought you went to bed!" Lance paused a bit...why did Pietro suddenly seem so guilty? "Ya, but I thought I heard you screaming...everything ok?" The cold voice re-appeared in Pietro's ear. 'What makes him think it's any of his business? Who does he think he is sticking his nose in our personal affairs?' Pietro's eyes began to glaze over again, giving them the same eerie white appearance. "Ya Lance, what make's you think it's any of your damned business?" Lance was slightly taken aback by Pietro's sudden change in tone. If he hadn't known any better, he'd have thought Pietro was...well, Magneto. "Look, I just wanted to make sure you were alright and...what are you looking at?" Pietro seemed to be transfixed by his own reflection, like a moth to light...what was wrong with him. Pietro suddenly tightened his right hand into a fist and smashed it into the mirror.
"I DON'T NEED YOU! I DON'T NEED ANYBODY, PLEASE! LEAVE- ME- ALONE!!!" Pietro's body went limp to the ground, his legs no longer able to support his weight; a mixture of exhaustion and anxiety creeping up upon his feeble carcass. Lance ran down to help his friend, whose hand was now bleeding freely, tracing crimson designs on the carpet. It was only after he approached Pietro that he noticed the tears that stained his face and bare chest. Shards of glass had torn at his face, and his lips trembled slightly, trying to find the strength to form words. "L.....Lance.......help." What had happened in those 5 minutes Lance had been upstairs? "God. Pietro; what am I going to do with you?" It was 6 o'clock in the morning.
Well? What'd you think? Please review if you enjoyed it.
"Yearbooks, Lance. Where did you put the god-damned yearbooks...." 'That's why Florida No-fall has devised a solution for all your financial needs, as well as personal prob--'
"LANCE!! WHERE DID YOU HIDE THE FRIGGIN' YEARBOOKS?!?" 'We're here to make your life as an American easier, why not let us help you?'
"Finally, c'mon. I know I'm in here somewhere.....Maximoff, where's Maximoff......" 'While working for Florida No-fall, you call earn your bachelor's degree in- Veterinary assisting, Computer development--'
"Maximoff, Maximoff, Maximoff....WHERE AM I?!?" '—Accounting, Child care, Interior decorating--'
"THERE! Pietro Maximoff, 10th grade, damn I'm good!" Pietro's silver hair and sapphire eyes stuck out against his navy blue background, but he didn't see a scar. He was so sure the incident had been before yearbook pictures were taken, but perhaps he had been wrong...or perhaps he hadn't acquired the scar from an exposed chain-link. He turned his attentions up toward the TV, which was still showing the 'Florida No- fall' ad... 'Why waste your time with other, non-reliable programs? Trust me when I tell you that--' Trust me......why did that phrase trigger a mental alarm in his head. It angered him for some reason, but why? Maybe it wasn't the phrase itself, maybe it was the calm, collected way the advertiser had said it- like there wasn't a care in this whole fucking world. Like trusting her would make any problems you ever had go away...that tone angered him more than anything else, because it was his father's favorite tone to use when manipulating his children; when manipulating Pietro. Trust me.....Now he remembered the scar.......
Lance had been woken by a loud crash downstairs, and was about to shrug it off as the aftermath of a bad dream...until he remembered the speed demon sleeping underneath him. "Can't he keep himself from destroying the house until morning?" The senior turned to look at the small digital clock which sat by his bed; it read 5:32 am. "Oh COME ON! Pietro, you are DEAD! DEAD I SAY!!" Lance grabbed a discarded pair of jeans and began down the stairs toward the living room...but that's not exactly what he found. Trashed; everything was completely trashed. Shelves had been knocked over, pictures had been torn from the wall, and the television screen had been shattered. Standing in the middle of the wreckage was Pietro, and Lance noted that his eyes flashed from an icy white to their original sapphire blue. "Damn Pie, what happened?" Pietro dropped the table leg he had been holding and smiled weakly. "I was...re-decorating. Looks a lot better, huh? I was planning on knocking out that whole wall right there so Freddy wouldn't have to walk so far to get to the kitchen; you know how he hates physically exerting himself..." "......You were re-decorating the house.....with a table leg...??" "Um...well, resources are slim, ya know? I was gonna advance to something heavier later on, but I kinda lost track." A half smile spread across Pietro's face, obviously praying that Lance would believe his story. If he weren't so damned tired, he was sure he could have thought up something better. Lance raised an eye-brow. It didn't look like Pietro had been 're- decorating', but there would be no explanation tonight; the speedster had made that perfectly clear. "Whatever man, just clean all this shit up before Tabby wakes up, okay? She'd have a field day if she thought we were allowed to wreck Mystique's pad like this-' Lance shivered slightly at the idea of Boom-boom trying to help knock out a wall. "-and, um...how about we just leave that wall where it is, huh?" Pietro gave him a smart nod, then watched the older male walk back up the stairs toward bed...he'd lucked out again.
If Lance knew that Pietro had lost his temper, he didn't show any signs of it. 'Probably just thought I was trashing the house to get on his nerves, or that maybe I was on too much caffeine or something'. Pietro had successfully covered up his tracks again, but how long would he be able to keep this up? What exactly had happened to him? He didn't remember trashing the living room this bad. The TV he could account for, but the walls? The shelves? The furniture? It's like he'd blacked out past 'television trashing'. Pietro rubbed at his temples, he could already feel a killer head-ache coming on. 'Aww, poor baby Pietro has a little head-ache? Suck it up!' Pietro jumped about a foot into the air. He searched frantically around the room. "L....Lance? That you man?" 'Nope, sorry. Lance went back to bed, remember? It's just you, and me.' Again, Pietro scanned the room...but could find nobody. He turned, and to his amazement, discovered that he had somehow missed a mirror...but it wasn't Pietro staring back at him. Same hair, same skin...but completely different twisted smile and icy-white eyes...eyes that seemed distant, yet together- apathy. "What the....Who the....What are you-"
'Oh, don't hurt yourself. I'll wait till you figure out what you're going to say, take your time.' The thin face smirked impishly, leaving Pietro awestruck and speechless. How ironic; the only person in the world able to stump Pietro Maximoff was Pietro Maximoff himself.
"Who.....what are you??"
'I'm you, simple as that.' Pietro's eyes suddenly widened. Panic was beginning to take hold again. Was this the same figure he'd seen in the bathroom mirror? No, couldn't be. "G—Go away! Leave me alone!"
The reflection bit at its bottom lip in anger, drawing tiny droplets of blood from the delicate skin. 'Oh, but Pietro; without me, who on earth would you do your dirty work, the things you haven't the spine to do? Who would be your scapegoat? Who would you talk to when you're so alone? You need me, and yet you try to send me away... why is that Pietro? You know you're nothing without me...'
"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!?!?"
'I've told you...I'm Quicksilver.'
Lance heard the screaming through his closed door, but couldn't make out the words. Afraid that maybe Pietro was having another fit, he once again trudged down the stairs...only this time, nothing had changed. Pietro was now standing in front of an old antique mirror Mystique had hung above the couch, staring at his own reflection. Blood-shot, panicked eyes bounced back at the young mutant, eyes that seemed to widen further as every second passed. "Piet, you okay man?" Pietro spun around facing Lance. "Lance! I thought you went to bed!" Lance paused a bit...why did Pietro suddenly seem so guilty? "Ya, but I thought I heard you screaming...everything ok?" The cold voice re-appeared in Pietro's ear. 'What makes him think it's any of his business? Who does he think he is sticking his nose in our personal affairs?' Pietro's eyes began to glaze over again, giving them the same eerie white appearance. "Ya Lance, what make's you think it's any of your damned business?" Lance was slightly taken aback by Pietro's sudden change in tone. If he hadn't known any better, he'd have thought Pietro was...well, Magneto. "Look, I just wanted to make sure you were alright and...what are you looking at?" Pietro seemed to be transfixed by his own reflection, like a moth to light...what was wrong with him. Pietro suddenly tightened his right hand into a fist and smashed it into the mirror.
"I DON'T NEED YOU! I DON'T NEED ANYBODY, PLEASE! LEAVE- ME- ALONE!!!" Pietro's body went limp to the ground, his legs no longer able to support his weight; a mixture of exhaustion and anxiety creeping up upon his feeble carcass. Lance ran down to help his friend, whose hand was now bleeding freely, tracing crimson designs on the carpet. It was only after he approached Pietro that he noticed the tears that stained his face and bare chest. Shards of glass had torn at his face, and his lips trembled slightly, trying to find the strength to form words. "L.....Lance.......help." What had happened in those 5 minutes Lance had been upstairs? "God. Pietro; what am I going to do with you?" It was 6 o'clock in the morning.
Well? What'd you think? Please review if you enjoyed it.