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Ficathon -05
X-Men Movie Ficathon was my favorite ficathon, it used to keep summer interesting. Maybe it will get revived with Origins or maybe it won't. Be it as it may, the ficathon archive is still a top notch place to find some quality fics.
This little piece was my first participation in XMMF. The prompt request was comparisons between Xavier/Magneto as mentors and the result was this 1900 word, PG+ story.
It had taken some adjustment. Even though he had almost effortlessly fallen within Lensherr's world and his unique way of perceiving that world, it was a whole another thing to adjust to his methods.
Take Mystique as an example. The woman had absolutely no sense of humor. Or if she did, it was far too complicated for him to understand. You never knew what might upset or amuse her at any given time. This had been a painful lesson to learn. He had gotten his first broken rib when he made a joke about gender bending. He had thought the joke was pretty funny but she hadn't seen it that way. When John had tried to plead his case to Lensherr, he had been rather abruptly kicked out from the base. Tattling wasn't an option anymore, especially on the Queen Bee.
After the bruising healed and he had been able to move about in a normal way again, Lensherr decided to keep him in Mystique's team. John wasn't sure whether that was to punish or reward either one of them. Mystique seemed, at first, rather ticked off by this but it was also obvious that Lensherr's decisions couldn't be overruled.
The Lensherr Way of keeping the team functioning was to keep enough space between the members. This had been a rather new view for John. Xavier was all about the 'close knitted family' -propaganda, everybody's equal, 'take care of your friends' type of thing, when Lensherr basically ran a pyramid scam. This suited John. As a promising rookie, he was somewhat at the bottom of the pyramid, but this gave him the freedom he had always craved after. There were no responsibilities, no hefty moral dilemmas, no need to think on a bigger scale. Lensherr alone took care of that. What John was required to do was to follow Mystique when he was asked. And when he was not, he got to party as much as he pleased.
And he partied a lot. This particular morning he was curing his hangover with a triple espresso and hiding behind sunglasses when the blasted sun bore holes in his head even in the shade. Last night had been rather fast paced, but at least he knew where he was and had even remembered the girl’s name whose apartment he had woken up in. That was always a good sign.
”It's the tequila that gets you tripped every time.” A chubby middle-aged woman sat next to him at the bench, holding a newspaper and a stack of files. She wore a two-piece black suit and tacky pearls with sensible shoes. The whole ensemble screamed middle management.
”M, looking lovely.” John greeted, sipping the espresso. No wonder he had had cold shivers all evening. Mystique keeping an eye on him... That could kill any party. ”Something on your mind?”
”As it happens, it's about time you get to work on your own. Take it as a test.” She pushed the file on the top of her pile to his side of the bench and John couldn't help but notice that she had even gone with the bitten fingernails look. If he had felt any perkier, he would have laughed. He opened the file and somehow he just wasn't surprised. The Drakes.
”Oh, this is the one where I have to destroy my past? Gee M. You couldn't think of anything more cliché?”
”I chose something familiar for you, but if you think it's too much...” Mystique said smiling, which meant that she was trying to piss him off. John read some of the news clippings in the file. He had seen most of them before, but there were also a few bigger ones with some interesting theories about him. But mostly he was just referred as ”unidentified mutant” or some lame ass nickname like 'The Fire Teen'. There was some stuff about the Drakes, but no mention about Bobby. He should be informed about this sad fact.
”No, I can handle it.” John assured. “Anything special?”
”I trust your artistic vision.” The woman, whose skin Mystique was wearing, smiled. ”Off you go then. Try not to flunk.” For a woman without a sense of humor, she sure could be funny at times. With that, she folded the newspaper and left it at the bench, picked up the rest of her files and joined the morning herd of business people.
John thought about the situation while drinking the rest of his coffee. He had been toying with the possibility of facing his former friends at some point, especially Bobby. It was just the type of thing Lensherr would think up. The even match with the possibility of either one of them winning... John didn't like those odds. He tossed the coffee into the trash bin and stood up. He needed an ace card.
***
He looked at the house. Nothing had changed. White picket fence, smooth sea of bought grass and pots of flowers on the porch. So disgustingly normal that it would be a pleasure to burn. He could have done it just as well from the outside but opted to go inside, since Mystique had so graciously provided him with the key.
The house was empty which was rather disappointing. The alarm to get noticed beeped and John punched the numbers in, which had been attached to the key in a slip of paper. Everything was the same, even the pictures. Bobby was there up on the wall, all the family portraits still whole. Seemed like the prodigal son had been accepted back into the family unity. John clicked a flame from his lighter and left it flickering on top of one wooden picture frame. The little thing moved eagerly, but John held it back like it was a living creature.
”Not yet. Don't burn anything, remember?” He muttered. He had trained a lot with this technique, the unique essence of the fire now much firmly at his control. He didn't understand what the hell was Mystique after with a test like this. This wasn't hard. This was just boring. John walked through the house like walking through a stage set, planting little flickering tomes in crucial places. The flames shone in his head like stars, keeping him aware of the house like he had suddenly become a part of it. It was like that with arsons. First you were an unconnected outsider, and then you were the whole existence in single spot in time and space. With Xavier, he would have never learned this. With Lensherr he not only learned it, he got to practice.
John headed upstairs. In Bobby's little brother’s room he made special care to ensure that everything valuable (the porn stashed underneath the mattress) was right next to the little flame. The news clippings had presented the little brother as a hero of the day and in John’s opinion, he deserved the hero treatment. Everything he held valuable should be destroyed in the most thorough of ways. But it wasn't the little brother that John was interested in. He walked across the hallway to Bobby's room.
It was gone. Where there used to be band posters was floral wallpaper, instead of a bed a desk, the comics turned to literary classics bound in identical covers. For a moment John thought he had gotten the room wrong but by the door was a small cardboard box, the lid marked 'Bobby'. John opened it and ran through the stuff carelessly.
A book caught John's eye and he dug it up under the other knickknacks. It was a worn copy of Elliot's 'Waste Land.’ On the first page was written: 'To John, try not flunk! B.' John stared it, the true blast from the past. Bobby's wishing hadn't done much- he had flunked the test. Not because he had had trouble with the text, but because he didn't answer the questions the way they were supposed to be answered. He took the book because it was his and put it into his jacket pocket. He might have blundered on Xavier's tests but he wasn't going to repeat that on Lensherr's. He left the final flame dancing near the window, flirting with the curtains.
He went downstairs and out the front door. Any which way you tried to look at this, it hadn't been a difficult test. Obviously this house should be burned down and John had no qualms about it. He turned to face the house and brought his hands up like a conductor in front of the symphony orchestra. The little flames inside drew a deep breath and roared up on his command. The house was burning fast, the fire frustrated from such a long wait.
”You bastard.”
John swirled around, only to have a fist connecting to the side of his face. The surprise made him lose his footing and he half fell on the grass. As the training kicked in gear, John directed a hit behind Bobby's kneecap to shake his balance and when he was on the ground, John stood up. The fire didn't need his supervision anymore, so he kept his attention on Bobby.
”Got my message to come watch the show? Parents give you the shove and it turns out to be a lucky break. Imagine that.”
”At least I still have a home at the Mansion.” Bobby spat, getting slowly up. His hands sparkled as he formed ice. The boys eyed each other, both ready to move for the other’s attack. ”You ended up with nothing!”
”Yeah? It's not my house on fire. And don't bother with the ice, you can't save it. I've got new tricks.”
”That's what you trade it all for? Tricks? You stupid asshole.” Bobby said and tried to swing another punch. John dodged that easily and they ended up in reversed places, John facing the fire and Bobby with his back to it.
”Tricks... And this.” John pulled a gun from a concealment holster behind his back, holding it steady like he had practiced and pulled the trigger. The shot jolted his arm and the bang was much louder than he had imagined it to be. Bobby's body jerked and fell, a bright red spot growing right down from his shoulder. It felt better than John had imagined. The wound wasn't fatal, that much he could see.
”Like it?” He asked curiously, but Bobby was already falling into shock. John shrugged.
”A bright daylight shooting in the middle of suburbia? That was your best solution?” Mystique asked behind him, her voice cold and prickly. John swirled around again. The chubby middle aged woman stood behind him, her arms crossed across her bosom, with rather annoyed look. John smiled brightly.
”M! Well, you said you trust my artistic vision. Did I pass?” John asked, pretty pleased with himself. Mystique didn't seem to think so, but then again she had no sense of humor.
”From the arson, yes. But this...” She pointed at the gun and shook her head in mocking sadness. ”You couldn't think of anything more cliché?”
”I won, didn't I? It's a classic for a reason.” John said, getting rather annoyed as well. First she asks for destruction, and when she gets it... He just couldn't win with these standardized tests.
There was a sound of sirens in the distance. Mystique pointed at the car parked near the curb. ”Get in the car. We will talk about this later.”
John smirked and followed her. Yeah, he had earned the top grade and the golden star.
This little piece was my first participation in XMMF. The prompt request was comparisons between Xavier/Magneto as mentors and the result was this 1900 word, PG+ story.
It had taken some adjustment. Even though he had almost effortlessly fallen within Lensherr's world and his unique way of perceiving that world, it was a whole another thing to adjust to his methods.
Take Mystique as an example. The woman had absolutely no sense of humor. Or if she did, it was far too complicated for him to understand. You never knew what might upset or amuse her at any given time. This had been a painful lesson to learn. He had gotten his first broken rib when he made a joke about gender bending. He had thought the joke was pretty funny but she hadn't seen it that way. When John had tried to plead his case to Lensherr, he had been rather abruptly kicked out from the base. Tattling wasn't an option anymore, especially on the Queen Bee.
After the bruising healed and he had been able to move about in a normal way again, Lensherr decided to keep him in Mystique's team. John wasn't sure whether that was to punish or reward either one of them. Mystique seemed, at first, rather ticked off by this but it was also obvious that Lensherr's decisions couldn't be overruled.
The Lensherr Way of keeping the team functioning was to keep enough space between the members. This had been a rather new view for John. Xavier was all about the 'close knitted family' -propaganda, everybody's equal, 'take care of your friends' type of thing, when Lensherr basically ran a pyramid scam. This suited John. As a promising rookie, he was somewhat at the bottom of the pyramid, but this gave him the freedom he had always craved after. There were no responsibilities, no hefty moral dilemmas, no need to think on a bigger scale. Lensherr alone took care of that. What John was required to do was to follow Mystique when he was asked. And when he was not, he got to party as much as he pleased.
And he partied a lot. This particular morning he was curing his hangover with a triple espresso and hiding behind sunglasses when the blasted sun bore holes in his head even in the shade. Last night had been rather fast paced, but at least he knew where he was and had even remembered the girl’s name whose apartment he had woken up in. That was always a good sign.
”It's the tequila that gets you tripped every time.” A chubby middle-aged woman sat next to him at the bench, holding a newspaper and a stack of files. She wore a two-piece black suit and tacky pearls with sensible shoes. The whole ensemble screamed middle management.
”M, looking lovely.” John greeted, sipping the espresso. No wonder he had had cold shivers all evening. Mystique keeping an eye on him... That could kill any party. ”Something on your mind?”
”As it happens, it's about time you get to work on your own. Take it as a test.” She pushed the file on the top of her pile to his side of the bench and John couldn't help but notice that she had even gone with the bitten fingernails look. If he had felt any perkier, he would have laughed. He opened the file and somehow he just wasn't surprised. The Drakes.
”Oh, this is the one where I have to destroy my past? Gee M. You couldn't think of anything more cliché?”
”I chose something familiar for you, but if you think it's too much...” Mystique said smiling, which meant that she was trying to piss him off. John read some of the news clippings in the file. He had seen most of them before, but there were also a few bigger ones with some interesting theories about him. But mostly he was just referred as ”unidentified mutant” or some lame ass nickname like 'The Fire Teen'. There was some stuff about the Drakes, but no mention about Bobby. He should be informed about this sad fact.
”No, I can handle it.” John assured. “Anything special?”
”I trust your artistic vision.” The woman, whose skin Mystique was wearing, smiled. ”Off you go then. Try not to flunk.” For a woman without a sense of humor, she sure could be funny at times. With that, she folded the newspaper and left it at the bench, picked up the rest of her files and joined the morning herd of business people.
John thought about the situation while drinking the rest of his coffee. He had been toying with the possibility of facing his former friends at some point, especially Bobby. It was just the type of thing Lensherr would think up. The even match with the possibility of either one of them winning... John didn't like those odds. He tossed the coffee into the trash bin and stood up. He needed an ace card.
***
He looked at the house. Nothing had changed. White picket fence, smooth sea of bought grass and pots of flowers on the porch. So disgustingly normal that it would be a pleasure to burn. He could have done it just as well from the outside but opted to go inside, since Mystique had so graciously provided him with the key.
The house was empty which was rather disappointing. The alarm to get noticed beeped and John punched the numbers in, which had been attached to the key in a slip of paper. Everything was the same, even the pictures. Bobby was there up on the wall, all the family portraits still whole. Seemed like the prodigal son had been accepted back into the family unity. John clicked a flame from his lighter and left it flickering on top of one wooden picture frame. The little thing moved eagerly, but John held it back like it was a living creature.
”Not yet. Don't burn anything, remember?” He muttered. He had trained a lot with this technique, the unique essence of the fire now much firmly at his control. He didn't understand what the hell was Mystique after with a test like this. This wasn't hard. This was just boring. John walked through the house like walking through a stage set, planting little flickering tomes in crucial places. The flames shone in his head like stars, keeping him aware of the house like he had suddenly become a part of it. It was like that with arsons. First you were an unconnected outsider, and then you were the whole existence in single spot in time and space. With Xavier, he would have never learned this. With Lensherr he not only learned it, he got to practice.
John headed upstairs. In Bobby's little brother’s room he made special care to ensure that everything valuable (the porn stashed underneath the mattress) was right next to the little flame. The news clippings had presented the little brother as a hero of the day and in John’s opinion, he deserved the hero treatment. Everything he held valuable should be destroyed in the most thorough of ways. But it wasn't the little brother that John was interested in. He walked across the hallway to Bobby's room.
It was gone. Where there used to be band posters was floral wallpaper, instead of a bed a desk, the comics turned to literary classics bound in identical covers. For a moment John thought he had gotten the room wrong but by the door was a small cardboard box, the lid marked 'Bobby'. John opened it and ran through the stuff carelessly.
A book caught John's eye and he dug it up under the other knickknacks. It was a worn copy of Elliot's 'Waste Land.’ On the first page was written: 'To John, try not flunk! B.' John stared it, the true blast from the past. Bobby's wishing hadn't done much- he had flunked the test. Not because he had had trouble with the text, but because he didn't answer the questions the way they were supposed to be answered. He took the book because it was his and put it into his jacket pocket. He might have blundered on Xavier's tests but he wasn't going to repeat that on Lensherr's. He left the final flame dancing near the window, flirting with the curtains.
He went downstairs and out the front door. Any which way you tried to look at this, it hadn't been a difficult test. Obviously this house should be burned down and John had no qualms about it. He turned to face the house and brought his hands up like a conductor in front of the symphony orchestra. The little flames inside drew a deep breath and roared up on his command. The house was burning fast, the fire frustrated from such a long wait.
”You bastard.”
John swirled around, only to have a fist connecting to the side of his face. The surprise made him lose his footing and he half fell on the grass. As the training kicked in gear, John directed a hit behind Bobby's kneecap to shake his balance and when he was on the ground, John stood up. The fire didn't need his supervision anymore, so he kept his attention on Bobby.
”Got my message to come watch the show? Parents give you the shove and it turns out to be a lucky break. Imagine that.”
”At least I still have a home at the Mansion.” Bobby spat, getting slowly up. His hands sparkled as he formed ice. The boys eyed each other, both ready to move for the other’s attack. ”You ended up with nothing!”
”Yeah? It's not my house on fire. And don't bother with the ice, you can't save it. I've got new tricks.”
”That's what you trade it all for? Tricks? You stupid asshole.” Bobby said and tried to swing another punch. John dodged that easily and they ended up in reversed places, John facing the fire and Bobby with his back to it.
”Tricks... And this.” John pulled a gun from a concealment holster behind his back, holding it steady like he had practiced and pulled the trigger. The shot jolted his arm and the bang was much louder than he had imagined it to be. Bobby's body jerked and fell, a bright red spot growing right down from his shoulder. It felt better than John had imagined. The wound wasn't fatal, that much he could see.
”Like it?” He asked curiously, but Bobby was already falling into shock. John shrugged.
”A bright daylight shooting in the middle of suburbia? That was your best solution?” Mystique asked behind him, her voice cold and prickly. John swirled around again. The chubby middle aged woman stood behind him, her arms crossed across her bosom, with rather annoyed look. John smiled brightly.
”M! Well, you said you trust my artistic vision. Did I pass?” John asked, pretty pleased with himself. Mystique didn't seem to think so, but then again she had no sense of humor.
”From the arson, yes. But this...” She pointed at the gun and shook her head in mocking sadness. ”You couldn't think of anything more cliché?”
”I won, didn't I? It's a classic for a reason.” John said, getting rather annoyed as well. First she asks for destruction, and when she gets it... He just couldn't win with these standardized tests.
There was a sound of sirens in the distance. Mystique pointed at the car parked near the curb. ”Get in the car. We will talk about this later.”
John smirked and followed her. Yeah, he had earned the top grade and the golden star.