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Post by Rogue on Nov 19, 2006 2:17:55 GMT
It’s dark, but there’s just enough light to see by. It’s a greenish light, eerie, and a little nauseating, the way it’s moving…
No, that’s not the light moving. That’s…water. The reflection of the light on the water, cast onto the wall.
But he’s in the water – and breathing normally, somehow. Odd…
There’s pain, all over, suddenly – cuts. And he’s not in the water anymore, but on a metal grate, pulled out of the watertank and into the open, so they can work. Work on tearing open flesh, down to the bone. It’s not healing up fast enough – they have time to lay that metal over the bones in sheets - or is it rods? he can’t tell..
Then it’s getting hot – too hot. Feels like he’s burning alive from inside..he can hear a cry of feral rage, pain…coming from [her/him]self, and he can feel that he’s straining against the shackles, but can’t get free…
Eyes snapping open, Rogue finds herself on the floor, tangled in…something. She quickly, but ineffectively, begins to thrash against whatever’s tangled around her legs, trying to get it off.
It’s dark. Why’s it dark? It wasn’t dark a few moments ago…Or was it? She can't remember, but right now, it's getting hard not to outright panic, and whatever's got her legs won't let go...
It's odd, but thre're tears in her eyes. Panic? Frustration? She doesn't know, but she's sure those're tears...
A lamp clicks on at one side of the room, and Rogue stops fighting the…bedsheet? ...long enough to realize that her roommate is staring at her, looking mighty annoyed with the interruption to her sleep.
Maybe she'd screamed out loud, then..?
The door opens seconds later, and her head snaps up in that direction.
[Tag: Johnny!]
Title's a line from an Evanescence song...and I accidentally closed the window, and can't remember which one it is. >.>;;
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Post by Pyro on Nov 19, 2006 2:55:55 GMT
John’s always been a night person, an obsessive devotee of the *I’ll sleep when I’m dead* school of insomnia… because sleep is just a waste of time when you’re not escaping from something evil (like, say, mornings). Before Bobby arrived he had ways of entertaining himself, but since Iceboy got the balls to complain as well as the means to make that someone with John’s bizarre heat demands pay attention to that complaint it’s been awkward because - living by the book the way the kid does - anything that interferes with getting his eight hours is obviously hideous and evil and must be punished, and staying around doing nothing wasn’t much fun even before angsting about his untouchable girlfriend became more important than sleep. Which explains why he’s wandering the Institute at whatever-the-hell-hour this is, trying to find something to set fire to do. He keeps hoping one of his nocturnal rambles will lead him to whatever master controls govern heating throughout the mansion, because it’s still freakishly code despite its being almost summer and his wearing trackies and a black Certified Pyrotechnician hoodie (a birthday present from Icicle, and one he’s still refusing to wear in front of the kid, because it’s definitely neither cool nor appreciated… obviously it’s just on because it’s cold. Mm-hmm.) but someone up there still clearly hates him because he’s found… nothing. Not even one of the teachers, which would necessitate Mission;Impossible style sneakiness (or else just running like hell… whatever). Just… blah… … a scream certainly livens things up. Until he notices where it’s coming from. Her room, scowl. The ‘New Girl’ (yes, it seems ridiculous to keep calling her that now she’s been here for months and gone through all that Liberty Island shit, but whatever), the one with the poison skin and tragedy overload. Bobby’s delightful girlfriend. Of course, a mate should go and see that she’s alright, right? Right. And that’s what he does… sort of. Because sticking your head around the door and delivering an achingly charming ”Rogue, darlin'," - a touch of the Southern there... being clubbed to death with a hammer - "we’re all sick of having your angst rammed down our throats when we’re awake… Can you lay the hell off for once?” counts. |
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Post by Rogue on Nov 19, 2006 3:27:59 GMT
The person stickingt heir head into the room is John - one of the last people she expected to see, and not one of the top ones she'd been hoping for, either.
”Rogue, darlin', we’re all sick of having your angst rammed down our throats when we’re awake… Can you lay the hell off for once?”
With a glare shot in his direction, she wipes at her eyes. No reason to be crying over a stupid dream. Which was all it was. A nightmare is a dream, even if it's incredably vivid.
She pushes herself to her feet, picking up the sheet that had now come untangled from around her ankles, and depositing it back on the bed where it belongs.
"Can you not be an ass for once?" she tosses back in a shaky, but supposed-to-be-venomous tone. The venom fails miserably, and comes out as mostly-pathetic sounding.
She turns her own lamp on, the one on her nightstand, because one lamp is just not cutting it right now, and she's still irrationally really not liking the amount of shadows that are creeping all around the room.
"Can we all just go to bed now?" Paige questions, eyeing the clock.
She hesitates a moment, and looks towards the clock herself. Late - or, rather, early - as it is, she doesn't want to go back to sleep. What if she had the dream again?
Not that a dream could acctually do anything to her. She knows that. It's just...it feels real. Felt, rather. Whatever, it's not something she wants a repeat performance of.
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Post by Pyro on Nov 19, 2006 4:24:58 GMT
He gives her a heh-heh, think not sort of half-smirking glare, refusing to be even slightly sympathetic towards… fuck, she really does look like death warmed up, doesn’t she? He hasn’t got the full inside story on Liberty – a mixture of pretending not to care about gossip and not being allowed to know facts – but from what he’s gleaned from Bobby she died, or something… and seeing the pale, shaky, zombie-like Rogue on the bed he’s having less trouble believing that than accepting that she’s animated by anything other than B-movie necromantic mojo. The added light doesn’t serve to make her look any less corpse like, only to illuminate tear tracks, to make her shivering more obvious.
Nightmare, he’s guessing. It was a look you got to recognize amongst the institutionalized, traumatized and otherwise broken – one he’s sure he had down bat way back when before he mastered it in order to escape the awkward questions – and part of him at least empathizes while being quietly both intrigued and mildly terrified by what her nightmares might be…
… the rest glances around, trying to find something to throw energy at in order to prove that he’s still John, still an ass…
< Can we all just go to bed now?
Perfect. ”Fuck you, Scales. No sleeping tonight… Now while The Rogue Show is on in glorious Technicolor and Surround Sound.”
”Fine” she scowls, and flounces – yes, flounces – out of the room, with John ducking in as she pulls the door fully open ”Sofa’s more comfy anyway… and less likely to kill me”
"Sure" he grins as his choice of trajectory - totally ignoring her, and plunging straight in - necessitates that wierd little shuffling dance people do before she finally snaps and just elbows him out of the way "You keep kidding yourself the inanimate objects don't hate you too."
Self-satisfied grin firmly in place he thinks nothing of taking up the space on her bed.
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Post by Rogue on Nov 19, 2006 4:54:24 GMT
”Fuck you, Scales. No sleeping tonight… Now while The Rogue Show is on in glorious Technicolor and Surround Sound.”
Great, so he plans on staying? She's not sure if that's better or worse than going back to sleep...Acctually, it's likely better, even if he is going to annoy her. Heck, even having a lecture from one of the teachers for some reason would be better than going back to sleep...
”Fine. Sofa’s more comfy anyway… and less likely to kill me”[/color]
Rogue scowls as her roommate heads for the door. Was that aimed at her, or at John? Because it's hard to tell, really - she and Paige don't really get along that wonderfully, lately, anyhow.
"Sure. You keep kidding yourself the inanimate objects don't hate you too."
She smiles slightly as the two move in the doorway, one trying to go out, the other heading inside, and neither getting anywhere, for a few moments. Then he's inside, and on her bed. She automatically shoots him a look, and moves back a little - he's not that close, but still, she's not exactly fully covered.
"What, nothin' better t'do than bug me?" she questions, and, thankfully, her voice isn't nearly as pathetic as it had been when she last spoke, even if it's still a little shaky-sounding.
She brushes at her eyes again absently, then reaches over onto her nightstand where her gloves are. If he's going to stay, she should really put them on - absorbing him would really not be good.
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Post by Pyro on Nov 19, 2006 5:07:57 GMT
”Course not. Bugging you is the highlight of my day.”
If he believed in any sort hell beyond the one on earth he’d hand himself a one-way ticket now for tormenting the poor girl like this... because it’s really not fair, forcing this sort of proximity on her. But therein lies the manic joy of it all, watching her squirm, seeing her obvious discomfort… and hell yeah, however fucked up this makes him, it’s good to know he can make her skin crawl like that. Because that’s how he feels whenever she and Bob are doing their *couple* thing… P-lease. How the hell can that work when she can’t touch anyone? John knows it’s got something to do with Bobby wanting to save her, which is stupid and nauseating. Much better to accept that some things are broken – are meant to be broken, even. Clearly Rogue’s one of them, because from the little he knows of her… yeah, having her power would fuck you up no end.
But yeah, no sympathy. No guilt over shifting slightly to counter her moving away, or in rolling his eyes at her for fetching her gloves (though he’s kind of glad she does…) ”Aren’t you looking forward to some *alone time* without Test- - erm – Ice-icle around to ‘not-hold’ your hand? I’m crushed. Anyone would think you didn’t like me”
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Post by Rogue on Nov 19, 2006 5:19:06 GMT
”Course not. Bugging you is the highlight of my day.”
"Oh, o'course it is." she responds with a slight roll of her eyes, "But couldn' ya wait a few more hours int'a the day t'get that highlight in? It's only--" sharp glance at the clock "-- three thirty in th'mornin'."
As she picks up the gloves, she notices that he's moved back to the same distance as before she moved away. What is he trying to do, get himself killed? Or just get on her nerves? He's doing a fine job on the latter, whether it's his intent or not.
”Aren’t you looking forward to some *alone time* without Test- - erm – Ice-icle around to ‘not-hold’ your hand? I’m crushed. Anyone would think you didn’t like me”[/color]
She shakes her head slightly, almost wearilly, as she pulls on a glove. Not even going to get into the whole test-prefix to the nickname he had for Bobby - she's just not going to bother with it right now. Nor the mention of the touch-issue, because that doesn't seem like a conversation to have with him.
"S'not nessecarilly that I don' like ya. Jus'..." she shrugs slightly, as she finishes putting on the first glove, glancing up as she starts on the other one. "Not like w'even have anythin' in common, o'anythin' t'talk about, o'whatever, righ'?"
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Post by Pyro on Nov 19, 2006 5:49:45 GMT
< It’s only three thirty in the morning
His expression is all is it, really? in something between sarcasm and huh, I hadn’t noticed and somehow manages to pull off both well enough before he shrugs it off. ”Thought I’d slot myself in nice and early before Bob grafts himself onto you for the day… Besides” John yawns, and stretches, trying not to grin as that limb extension pushes the touch/not-touch boundary still further for a second or two. ”Didn’t stop you before… and hey, you wanted an audience, right?”
< Not like w'even have anythin' in common, o'anythin' t'talk about, o'whatever, righ' ?
Ooh.. a challenge. He thinks for a moment or two, trying to pluck some obscure link between them out of thin air (something other than Bob, which is a stupid link and doesn’t work because… no, just doesn’t), before realizing he doesn’t need to because there’s a much better and simpler argument.
”How the hell am I meant t’know, Roguey? I mean, fuck, you’re so fixated on being untouchable…” Another yawn, another causal shrug. ”We could be long lost twins and I’d have no idea” – and no, he tells the annoying little voice before it’s crushed by the rest of his brain that isn’t a link, the whole *keep everyone out* thing. Definitely not.
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Post by Rogue on Nov 19, 2006 6:17:25 GMT
”Thought I’d slot myself in nice and early before Bob grafts himself onto you for the day… Besides...[/i][/color] he pauses to yawn and stretch way too close, and she scoots away more. Didn’t stop you before… and hey, you wanted an audience, right?”
She frowns. "Audience? No... I wasn' tryin'a get attention. Sometimes a nightmare's jus a nightmare, not a ploy f'attention."
And da*nit, now she's yawning...though she doesn't stretch and make a big show of it like he had, instead covering her mouth with one hand, and shooting him a mildly annoyed look for spreading the yawning her way.
”How the hell am I meant t’know, Roguey? I mean, fuck, you’re so fixated on being untouchable… We could be long lost twins and I’d have no idea” [/color]
He yawns again, and she does too, after a second. Definitly getting old, now...
"Would y'stop yawnin'? Y'makin' me tired." she grumbles, crossing her legs under her, and leaning her back against her headboard. Back as far as she can get now - so he better not move.
"But y'd be "fixated" on it too if people kep' gettin' t'close f'their own good." She tosses a pointed look at him as she says this.
"Y'ain' seen what it does t'people, have ya?"
He does have a point, though, she notes - neither of them know anything about eachother, so she's probbably jumping to conclusions saying that they have nothing in common. But she can't honestly imagine him being anything like her - it's very hard thinking of him as anything but the cocky, sarcastic...ass he always seems to be.
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Post by Pyro on Nov 19, 2006 6:36:21 GMT
”Ooh, a nightmare” he perks up, making a silly and melodramatic show of interest, all earnest expression and overemphasized little hand-clapping oh goodie! gesture… before that expression segues back into his usual whatever you’re saying bores me stupid sardonic nonchalance.
< Would y’stop yawning?[/color]
”It’s only three thirty in the mornin’ “ he replies, a pitch-perfect and yet also scathingly mocking rendition of her dulcet southern tones only moments before, rolling his eyes and trying to dredge up another yawn… which doesn’t come. Heh.
Her *pointed* glare is met with a raised eyebrow and a erm… yes? And? sort of expression as she continues.
< Y'ain' seen what it does t'people, have ya? [/color]
”Sounds like an..” – oh, there’s the yawn – ”an invitation, Roguey. But no. It would be wrong. You’re dating Bob” (and yeah, there his tone is perhaps at it’s most mocking, the huh, yeah right going unspoken but crystal clear underneath… dating Bob. Ha!) He pauses for a moment, grinning…
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Post by Rogue on Nov 19, 2006 7:08:20 GMT
”Ooh, a nightmare”[/color] He looks almost childishly excited by the prospect for a moment, then his expression fades back into the bored one - which, if he's so bored, why's he here, anyway?
"Yeah." she responds simply, an an I'm not in the mood to talk about it tone. Because she's not - she doesn't even want to think about it.
”It’s only three thirty in the mornin’"[/color]
She raises an eyebrow at his attempt at her accent. "You mockin' me, fireboy?"
”Sounds like an..” He yawns again, and she looks away from him, fully planning on not yawning herself, this time...but, no, that doesn't work, and she's yawning too now. ”an invitation, Roguey. But no. It would be wrong. You’re dating Bob”
Did he not know how to have a normal conversation without warping everything she said into something she didn't mean?
"Like I'd offer tha' kind'a invitation t'you anyhow. Y'not m'type, sugah."
It's playful, her tone, and somehow, that's odd, though not unwelcome. Because usually, she doesn't bother to play back when he's like this, she just gets annoyed with him, and goes off with Bobby somewhere. But it...works. Somehow. And that in itself is odd.
But not that bad. Maybe he's not such a bad person to be hanging around?
Not that there's any sudden revelation, no light from the heavens, no flashing lights or anything, saying that he's friend material. It's just a possibility that comes to mind at three thirty in the morning to her sleep-deprived mind. Very deprived, if the yawn that follows is any indication.
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Post by Pyro on Nov 21, 2006 18:00:15 GMT
”Mockin’?” he shoots back, still using her accent and quirking an eyebrow at her oh-so-inspired choice of nickname. ”Ah’m hurt, leech-girl. Ah’d never mock you.” John briefly considers pushing the nightmare angle, but there’s a warning in her voice which has nothing to do with hurting her (because, of course, he doesn’t really care about that, given how she’s just blazed in and relegated him to third wheel…) and everything to do with how it’s opening something too big for his early-morning brain to deal with when there are far easier ways of getting a rise out of her.
< Y’not m’type sugah
Ignoring, for the minute, her tone (which is oddly removed from it’s usual piss the hell off, John undertone, the bite she’s too timid and polite to put into the words themselves) that comment, for example, affords him plenty of opportunities, mostly revolving around the one thing which above all else is stopping them from having any half-way normal conversations… and it’s not the powers issue. It’s another line which renders her totally untouchable.
”What is your type, then, Rogue? Drake?” A disparaging smirk, which doesn’t even make it to a laugh.
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Post by Rogue on Nov 22, 2006 4:07:54 GMT
”Mockin’? Ah’m hurt, leech-girl. Ah’d never mock you.”[/color]
She raises an eyebrow in return. He's obviously still mocking her - and his accent sounds more like a butchered version of her mom's than hers, since she's lost some of it somewhere in her earlier teens, and then upon being around so many Northerners.
"'Leech-girl'? Gee, now I sound like somethin' that lives on the bott'm'a a pond o'somethin'...Thanks, John. Appreciate it." she responds dryly.
”What is your type, then, Rogue? Drake?”[/color]
She gives momentary pause. What is her "type"? It's hard to define it. But Bobby must be - she's dating him, had a crush on him since she saw him. So, yeah, apparently he is her "type"...
"Well, yeah. I wouldn' go out with 'im if 'e wasn'. Tha'd be pointless..."
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Post by Pyro on Nov 22, 2006 5:10:50 GMT
< Appreciate it
”Any time” he shoots back, quirking an eyebrow and grinning.
< wouldn' go out with 'im if 'e wasn'. Tha'd be pointless
Oh yeah… like that can gloss over the pause. Not enough to suggest that Bobby-and-Marie is anything other than a bed of roses… but plenty to argue that she’s found the thorns therein. Well, brilliant. Maybe this way things might just end up sort of bearable.
”I dunno” – he yawns, stretches again – ”You’re the new girl, he’s the golden boy, first one t’show you any real attention… makes you a frickin’ ice rose and hell, you’re his. Bet y’don’t know that much more about him than y’do about me, and you’re saying he’s your type” John gives a disparaging little pffft ”P-leaa-ase. Whatever.”
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Post by Rogue on Nov 22, 2006 7:08:50 GMT
”I dunno...You’re the new girl, he’s the golden boy, first one t’show you any real attention… makes you a frickin’ ice rose and hell, you’re his. Bet y’don’t know that much more about him than y’do about me, and you’re saying he’s your type. P-leaa-ase. Whatever.”
Her expression is somewhere between angry and hurt and lost, flashing between the three in rapid succession, because she can't decide how what he says makes her feel.
Does she know Bobby that well? Surely she does - at least, better than she does John. They talk. In fact, all they ever really do is talk, or hold hands when she's got gloves on. Granted, they're not like most couples - all cuddly or anything - but...that's not everything.
What gives John the right to act like she wouldn't know her own boyfriend? She settles on something between hurt and angry, an offended, indignant scowl on her face.
"What makes you think I don' know 'im? Jus' 'cause y'don' overhear conv'sations an' all that, y'think we don' talk 'bout things?"
She pauses, then shakes her head slightly. "An' I've been here long 'nough f'you t'stop callin' me the "new girl"." Been through enough, she pointedly doesn't add, and tries not to even think, because then, suddenly, she's scared again, and she doesn't want to be, pushing it to the back of her mind.
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