Oyre exploded through her door and into her room. She stood in the center of it, staring at everything and nothing as she spun in a circle, panting; her teeth clenched and her claws flexing in and out. Suddenly, she ran and leapt onto her bed, burying her face in her pillow and letting out a long, frustrated scream.
"How could they do this?" She sobbed, trying to catch her breath as she propped herself up on her elbows. "How could they let me thing he was dead!" Her body tensed as if she would scream again, but instead she threw herself off the bed and pounced at her dresser, tearing it open and sifting through the clothes.
"This… This is it…" She sank to the floor, clutching a black, strapless dress in her hands. It flowed out around her and she felt as if it were not really there, as if it was some strange metaphor for her sorrow brought to life. She shook her head, slowly bringing the garment to her delicate nose and taking a breath in. It still smells like him…
"I can't stay here…" She mumbled as she stood, discarding her leopard print pajamas and clumsily slipping into the black dress. It fit her every curve and carried a dark blue cloth flower on the right hip. She didn't bother finding shoes; the image inducer she carried with her would take care of that anyway. She moved to a beautiful, silver framed, full length mirror and looked at herself. Tears immediately jumped to her eyes as she remembered their one year anniversary; the night her beloved Mortimer had bought her the very dress she now wore. She never questioned the method with which he had obtained it; it never really mattered to her where he got his money.
She turned on her heal, the dress spiraling out around her, and gracefully moved to the closet, taking out two large suitcases, she returned to the disheveled dresser and started stuffing clothes into the first suitcase. Lost in the moment, she did not hear when her door opened and another student walked in.
"Are you nuts!"
Oyre turned around quickly, fearing the arrival of Jean or worse; Storm. She sighed, her shoulders slumping as she saw Jessie standing there with the door closed. "I'm leaving. I have to find Mort. Isn't that obvious?" Oyre's voice was soft and matter of fact.
"How are you planning on finding him by yourself?" Jessie asked as she stepped closer, reaching down to pick up a pair of jeans that had found themselves halfway across the room. She closed the distance to her overzealous, confused friend and sat down on the floor next to her. "He could be anywhere."
Oyre smiled and took the pair of jeans, placing them inside the suitcase. "Don't you see? I won't have to look very hard at all. Mort knew that I would come looking for him once I heard that he was still alive. So of course he's going to stay in the area, keeping to all of the hideouts we used to frequent." She smile at Jessie, giving one of those looks that says 'you should have known that, silly.'
"Oyre, how can you be sure that… Well… What if it is just a rumor?" Jessie reached out to put a hand on Oyre's shoulder, but Oyre slapped it away.
"Don't you dare talk like that. You're supposed to be my friend!" She shouted, shooting to her feet. "You're supposed to be my best friend Jessie. Encourage me, help me, humor me! But please, please don't ever tell me that Mortimer might be… be…" She froze, burying her face in her hands as tears freely streamed down her cheeks.
"God Oyre; I didn't mean to upset you! I just…" She stood up, having to tilt her head back a slight bit to look the older girl in the eyes. "I don't want you to go…"
Oyre lowered her hands, looking at her friend and seeing how truly scared she seemed. Her hair wasn't combed, her eyes were red as if she had been crying, and her lower lip trembled ever so slightly; the normal human eye would never have noticed the trembling. Oyre flung herself at Jessie, encircling her in a tight, comfortable hug.
"Oyre… What?" Jessie asked, stiffening in confusion.
"I'll come back, Jess." She said, pulling away but keeping her hands on Jessie's shoulders. "I will never leave you here for good, do you hear me?" She offered the youngster a warm, fang filled smile. "Once I find Mort, I'll come back and get you, okay? But for now, I need to pack." Oyre turned from Jessie, continuing the tough task of deciding what to bring with her and what she could afford to leave behind.
"Oyre, I…" Jessie started, staring at her with heartbreaking eyes. She didn't hear me... How do I tell her that I can't leave the Institute? I can't join the Brotherhood... I can't be evil… Without a word, Jessie walked out and left her friend packing, dread carried in her heart.