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Post by Rogue on Dec 25, 2006 0:06:05 GMT
Somewhere along the way to her room, Rogue stopped crying – she’s not sure when, really, but by the time they’re there, she’s not hysterical – she’s not even really distressed…Kinda numb, really, even though the shaking’s still there. And she’s still not quite ready to let John out of her sight yet; the irrationally strong fear of him just disappearing into thin air, or leaving, or something, is still there.
…Which is why she’s still pretty much clinging to him when they get there.
Better, though, than before – by a lot. Numbness is better than hysteria, any day. She takes a step away, realizing that he’s got to be uncomfortable – he’s still hurt, after all, and besides that, he's never been much of one for being clung onto, really... Still, she doesn’t want to move too far off.
...She should really try to say something, though. Something that makes at least a little more sense than what she said last time she made an attempt at speech, hopefully…
“’M sorry. I didn’…mean t’freak out on ya like tha’...”
Good, it worked. She managed to make that sound mostly normal. Except for the odd sound her voice has from crying, and the fact that she’s tearing back up, anyway. But, still, better than she’d expected, so it’s good enough for now.
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Post by Pyro on Dec 25, 2006 1:01:40 GMT
The whole conviction that everything’s just the way it was evaporates fairly quickly on leaving Med Bay. Part of it has to do with Bob’s whole *not giving a damn* thing, though he can put that down to how before he wouldn’t have had any reason to, how back then he was still ignoring the far less blatant concentric circles the three of them were running on. Part of it’s how Rogue’s clinging, because she’d never been the type to be seen to stand on anything other than her own feet regardless of how many knights it takes to keep her upright, and because the intermittent stabbing it provokes makes him feel scarily old, which is something he never felt back then. Mostly it’s to do with how no one bursts out of the walls to kill him, because despite smiling and nodding his way through the *one of the family again* thing he’s fairly sure the rest of the Institute has yet to get Ororo’s sunshine and rainbows memo and wouldn’t drop the grudge that easily even if they had…
Arriving at Rogue’s room, however, swings him to the other end of the scale again, because the place hasn’t changed. And it’s not like the strange shrine quality haunting *his half* of Bob’s room (or at least, which haunted it on video night. It’s probably gone now. No way Josh would want anything of him around… and he can’t see Bobby protesting now) but a literal time-capsule. And it’s beyond weird noticing that, not to mention the way that stasis seems to drive home everything that’s different about them now so it’s almost like visiting a grave… and that weird mix of bungeeing between total difference and complete stasis is annoyingly disorientating (though he’s blaming that particular burst of breathless head-spinning almost-nausea on drugs which have had more than enough time to leave his system and injuries he’s by now trained himself to almost not notice, because there’s no way sentiment and nostalgia would have that effect even if he was the sort to surrender to them) and more than enough to distract him from what she’s saying.
”H-what?” … and John’s kicking himself for getting distracted because shit, she’s a mess (and idly wondering when exactly he became the least screwed up out of their weird trinity, though that voice gets squashed pretty quickly because seriously, it’s a scary thought), and blinking and shaking his head as if clearing it (and barely suppressing a half-wince, half-gasp, but whatever) ”Sorry…”
That would be a pretty damn good approximation of a normal grin, really. The forced quality’s totally invisible unless you squint, hidden behind the big shiny Look! John’s back! Just like before! banner. "It's been a while, huh?"
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Post by Rogue on Dec 25, 2006 3:01:52 GMT
”H-what? Sorry…”
She manages a smile – hit with a combined wave of grief and amusement at the Johnness in the momentary distraction and following grin. And she so shouldn’t be sad, because he’s home now, but it’s harder to just ignore than it should be.
“Jus’ said ‘M sorry for makin’ a scene like tha’. ‘M jus…’M a li’ll…screwed up righ’ now.” She attempts a laugh at her own expense, but it comes off weak, and more as an attempt not to cry than anything.
"It's been a while, huh?"
She nods slightly, “Yeah. Too long.”
It’s…oddly like old times – except that everything’s screwed up, and a mess, and all that, of course. Not only her head, either, because she has a feeling that he’s not exactly …right, right now. Something’s off, and she hates that she can’t figure it out, when she should know already, or at least have a clue, and hates that even aside from his shadow in her mind, she’d have been able to tell better before…
But he’s home now. That can be fixed, and it can all be normal again. Except it can’t all be normal; they’ve all changed. And…what if he’s not even staying? No, he has to stay. She’s struck again by that odd almost-paranoia that he’s going to vanish, and looks up at him with a worried expression.
“Y’not gonna leave again, are ya?”
[Merry Christmas, Sugah. ^_^]
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Post by Pyro on Dec 26, 2006 17:16:18 GMT
It’s… weird. Was there some point where he *un-learnt* how to read her, where she *forgot* his language? Because beyond that something’s wrong ( no shit, Sherlock) he’s… lost, and there’s something in the way she’s looking at him which is all like he’s on another planet, whereas before it was... okay, it sounds clichéd and trite to say they were in each other’s heads, but it was like that at times, and while there’s a fairly literal excuse for her losing that ability it had to be more than just Mini-John keeping her up to date, right? And there’s no way that can explain his clueless-ness… No, something fundamental’s changed. Maybe it’ll right itself soon enough, but he’s not holding out much hope; the one thing they had in common, after all, was being much better at staying broken than managing to mend. Shit, John thinks, he really must be (and yeah, it’s another cliché, but whatever) getting old, because there was a time – somewhere in between rejection and mutation – where that was what being a grown up meant; it’s not that they’ve stopped caring. You’re just… kinda intense for them. Or It’s not that we aren’t in love any more. It’s just a different sort… When you grow up you’ll understand. And either *Call Me Mom… Please* was lying or (which is more likely) *Y’don’t say it St. John any more, it’s Sinjin*, the kid she told it to, got older without really growing up, because he still doesn’t understand – at least, nothing beyond the revelation that somehow all those careful compartments are suddenly crashing together, and the sense that it should probably scare him more ( as it is, John – whoever the hell he is now – finds himself weirdly resigned to it. Everything else is shot to all hell now, so it only follows his sanity would shatter along with the rest sooner or later). Enough of that. The facts remain; he used to know the sound of a smile in her voice, and now she’s screaming at him and he can’t hear anything. And even the facts aren’t real, aren’t the whole truth or even a small part of it, because they’re playing out like he and she were lovers, and they weren’t. Not with Drake Icicle Bobby everything in the way (was he that the only thing? Can’t have been, can it? Not like the old him would have cared). ‘Course that’s not an obstacle now, is it? Except that it’s – he’s – still a huge stumbling block and… Okay, seriously, shut up, because… what the fuck? John, you’re losing it (At least the voice in his head still sounds like him… which means the rest will fall in line. Probably. Fingers crossed…. Can’ hurt to let that voice run things for a while, because thinking with other parts didn’t go too well even back before Bob was literally fucking them over, and feels uncomfortably like a recipe for disaster now said fuck over is presumably purely metaphorical…) < Y’not gonna leave again, are ya?”Honestly?” John drops (it’s not a collapse, per se, but definitely some heavier and more world-weary riff on sitting) on to the end of her bed, fingers twisting as if around some invisible object (which in a way they are, and the almost junkie-like reflex isn’t anywhere near as odd or surprising as the fact it hasn’t kicked in before now… but without anything to stop him thinking – or rather to force thought somewhere else without a breather where it can ask where his lighter is – it’s back, even if he’s ignoring and refusing to admit to it). ”Not so much that I won’t, Rogue, as that I can’t. Th’authorities want me ‘cos I’m a terrorist traitor to humanity, the terrorists want me ‘cos I’m a backstabbing traitor to mutantkind, and either way I end up dead if I run again… whereas for some reason provided I make it to graduation this lot don’t give a damn who I’ve betrayed... and I’m all for taking a vacation from the stupid long enough to get there… Shit, put like that, it almost sounds simple” |
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Post by Rogue on Dec 26, 2006 17:43:34 GMT
”Honestly?” [/color]
As he moves away and sits down on her bed, she turns so she can follow his movements with her eyes, making sure he doesn’t leave – though just watching won’t stop him, if it’s going to happen anyway.
”Not so much that I won’t, Rogue, as that I can’t. Th’authorities want me ‘cos I’m a terrorist traitor to humanity, the terrorists want me ‘cos I’m a backstabbing traitor to mutantkind, and either way I end up dead if I run again… [/color]
She gives a tiny nod in response to his words, though it’s not really needed, and her eyes drop to his hands as she listens, almost expecting to see a familiar shark adorned lighter there. Nothing, though…. he’s empty-handed.
…whereas for some reason provided I make it to graduation this lot don’t give a damn who I’ve betrayed... and I’m all for taking a vacation from the stupid long enough to get there… Shit, put like that, it almost sounds simple”[/color]
It does, actually. Simple, if a little unnerving and sad and still somehow complex. If they trust him enough, don’t care what he’s done, then why doesn’t he have his lighter, for one thing? And, yeah, maybe she’s dwelling, but she doesn’t like the blatant sign that he’s not entirely himself.
She glances back up to his face a moment, and nods slightly, “’Least y’ll stay, though. Ev’n if it’s f’that reason – ‘M glad y’back.”
She’s glad for the distraction this is providing, taking her mind off of her own issues, because it’s somehow more important at the moment, to her. Or maybe she doesn’t want to deal with it…or whatever. It works, though, and she steps over between the two beds in the room (they’ve still never gotten around to making it an official single bedroom, but she doesn’t really pay attention to that at the moment) and pulls the nightstand drawer open, fishing around inside with a gloved hand a moment, before it closes around the small metal object she’d sought, and she pulls it out.
“Here.” She straightens, and holds out the object to him with a small smile. “Noticed y’didn’ have yours…”
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Post by Pyro on Jan 3, 2007 3:09:50 GMT
< Ev’n if it’s for that reason
” For that reason? What the hell have I got to come back f…?” he starts, stopping when he realizes Oh, right, he’s got all the sensitivity of… something very insensitive. Possibly Toni on a bad day, though even she’s probably the mother of all bleeding hearts next to this rather monumental cock-up… well, life’s harsh. Can’t just say what she wants to hear, can he? Wouldn’t be fair. And definitely wouldn’t be him… because that’s what they want here, after all. The old him back, like Alkali never happened…
… that’s going to take a bit of work, really, because he can’t quite pull of the whole *sod the world, I’m going to be a git* thing like he used to. Though that may have more to do with it being her he’s talking to than anything else. Or with having finally gotten around to doing a little growing up. Or something. Whatever. Not worth worrying about. ”If you want me to say I’d come back for you… it’d be a lie… but if it helps, I wouldn’t do it for him either. An’ he did ask. A lot.” and he doesn’t know why he’s telling her this, why he feels the need to talk about Bobby as if driving home that yeah, we were together, and it was kinda serious…, much less to draw comparisons between the two when it comes to his relationship with them and… Moving on. Her comment about being glad he’s back drags him away from that tangent regardless of whether or not he’s finished with it, because it starts all sorts of guiltiness and complications and stuff if pursued, while the simple response is to drop the topic and deliver a slightly muted, but still pretty much genuine ”Fairly sure I’ll be glad to be back sooner or later. Probably.”
It’s about then, as he’s scrambling for a change of topic, that John finally has to admit the hands thing isn’t normal. If anything it’s weirdly disturbing, somewhere between hyperactivity and withdrawal symptoms… and for some reason admitting to either in front of her is… not exactly on the agenda (which is odd, because she’s seen him like this – worse than this, if memory serves (yep, he should totally be commending himself on dealing without a lighter so well for so long) – but… somehow not. Or something), so he’s crossing his arms to trap his hands and trying to make that tension seem halfway natural (and hell, because this is him, sort of succeeding) when she returns with…
No way.
He doesn’t snatch it the way he wants to, because part of him fears that somehow it’ll break or evaporate or something and part doesn’t need anyone else thinking he’s some sort of maniac who’d be better off deprived of anything that makes flame – though that part doesn’t stop him saying as much, really, a half-bitter ”No one’s told you John’s not allowed to play with fire any more?”, though the bitterness can’t quite hide the surprise at that because surely if they didn’t want him to have one they’d have warned people… unless they’re underestimating him, which is ridiculous – instead just, still almost disbelieving, taking it, swinging the lid open and just… watching. Which is itself halfway odd, that he’s not messing with the flame or anything, but also makes a strange sort of sense – got to trust himself not to torch them, after all… or something. In any case after a few moments he snaps the lid down and tosses her something near a genuine grin. ”Lifesaver, Rogue. Thanks.”
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Post by Rogue on Jan 3, 2007 5:10:00 GMT
”For that reason? What the hell have I got to come back f…? …If you want me to say I’d come back for you… it’d be a lie… but if it helps, I wouldn’t do it for him either. An’ he did ask. A lot.”[/color]
”Tha’s not why I wish you’d'a come back b'fore. Y’know I wouldn’ wan’ ya t’stay somewhere jus’ f’my sake.” she says, quietly, but no less intense for the lack of volume, “I just wish y’d feel like y’belonged here, wanted t’be here ‘cause’a that…. Tha’s it.” A small shrug, as if it’s nothing, like it should be obvious without her having to say so.
”Fairly sure I’ll be glad to be back sooner or later. Probably.”
“I hope so.”
She watches his expression carefully with a small smile as she waits for him to take it, almost unsure of what she’ll see. She doesn’t want to make him think she’s being patronizing, being [likely] the only one who really knows just how attached he is to his own lighter. She doesn’t mean it that way. Hopefully he won’t think so…
”No one’s told you John’s not allowed to play with fire any more?”
She shakes her head slightly. “I haven’ really been aroun’ anyone…” she half-shrugs, “But it doesn’ matter, anyway. I trust ya.” And it’s not just something to say, because she does. It’s weird that she hasn’t entirely lost that trust, considering he changed sides and all, but…she just knows he wouldn’t hurt her.
She sits down beside him, watching him watch the flame. She’s smiling, but it’s still somewhat sad. She just…can’t help it. It’s not something she can think away, will it not to bother her anymore. It should be, being all in her head and all, but, no, apparently it doesn’t work that way.
”Lifesaver, Rogue. Thanks.”
“Yeah, well, I owe ya, f’what ya did down there f’me.” she responds, “Really appreciate tha’, Sugah.”
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Post by Pyro on Jan 3, 2007 5:44:52 GMT
< I just wish y’d feel like y’belonged here
”Fat lot of good wishing does. I wish I’d never screwed Bob over… come to think of it, never screwed Bob, because fuck knows that would make things easier.” – and it feels really, really weird that he’s not at least suppressing tears, even if as per usual they don’t fall, at either that revelation or any of the emotions in that general vicinity, because the pause is just the perfect shape to house a sob, but it’s like this is… too big for that, or he’s too far beyond it, or something… and the half-melancholy edge skirts ever closer to an oddly quiet anger with each addition to the list – ”Never joined the Brotherhood… never left the jet… never” – right, that’s weird… really weird, and really wrong, but he can’t kill the half-smile at the next one which just… defies any explanation (or any rational one at least…) – ”roasted the cops in Boston… never enrolled here in the first place… fuck, I should never have fucking left Au… home” (yes, he still stops himself, because some things just don’t get touched on ever - he’s feeling truthful, sure, but not that truthful).
John pauses before he looks up to face her, like he’s actually thinking a remark through for once, though it’s no less intense or true or, well, John, for that. ”If this was where I belonged I wouldn’t have left… Would never have been seduced by some geriatric firebrand in a dorky helmet…” – and maybe that’s naïve, if something so innately world-weary and cynical can be naïve, because it’s a sort of twisted fairytale, isn’t it, this idea that he might one day find somewhere that *fits* and something’ll stop him running again? Probably… though that idealism is increasingly tempered with the resignation to the fact that such a place probably doesn’t exist and, by extension, that he doesn’t *fit*… which would once have been a point of pride and is now… something else, something uncomfortably like a death sentence.
He’s flicking the lighter again as she continues, slipping back into the old rhythm because, well, it’s there and he can’t not mess with the lighter – or, to be honest, with pretty much anything - once it’s in his grip…
< I trust ya
… though that latest in the long line of admissions and revelations breaks the beat for a moment or two, sure. But only a moment. And he doesn’t reply because he can’t think of anything, and because it doesn’t seem necessary anyway (maybe necessary is the wrong word… because he should say something, but… no, it’s sort of wrong to try because he wouldn’t get it anywhere near right. She’ll know.)
She sits next to him, and he resists the urge to lean in, or to slip an arm around her… somehow all of that, like the reply, is… not right, really, in a way that defies articulation but is no less real. And he can’t explain how it was right in front of Bob but isn’t now they’re alone because… no. That way madness lies… or at least awkward questions, which are sort of the same thing but harder to pretend away.
< Yeah, well, I owe ya, f’what ya did down there f’me. Really appreciate tha’, Sugah.
”What down where now? You mean in Med Bay?” John shrugs, a dismissive little pfft sound filling the pause ”Not like I *did* anything, really…”
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Post by Rogue on Jan 3, 2007 6:42:02 GMT
”Fat lot of good wishing does. I wish I’d never screwed Bob over… come to think of it, never screwed Bob, because fuck knows that would make things easier. Never joined the Brotherhood… never left the jet… never…roasted the cops in Boston… never enrolled here in the first place… fuck, I should never have fucking left Au… home”
Even if he’s not even vaguely sentimental over what he’s saying, there are tears in her own eyes, just listening to him. She tips her head back down for a moment, trying to blink them away, then realizing it’s useless – they’re gonna come back anyway - looks back.
”If this was where I belonged I wouldn’t have left… Would never have been seduced by some geriatric firebrand in a dorky helmet…”
“It doesn’t always work that way.” she offers quietly, “We don’t do what’s right the first time around…sometimes not even twice around. But it’s all for a reason.”
If that makes her seem like she’s stubbornly clinging to something irrationally childish, hopeless, then so be it. There’s got to be a reason, because she doesn’t want to think that everything bad that happens is just because their luck sucks. Because they’re just not destined to be happy for more than a short time, a matter days, weeks…. That’s not fair…and, no, life isn’t fair, but …it’s somehow just too far up on the unfair scale to work that way.
”If nothin’ else came of it, y’bein’ here in the firs’ place helped me. Y’helped with the nightmares, and the psykes…” And her voice doesn’t quite break at the last word, but it…wants to. She just doesn’t let it. “…An’ I’m sure I’m not th’only one who’d be differen’ if y’never came here. Even little things like tha' jus’…matter.”
She doesn’t want to think about what that would have been like, because it did happen, and it’s not like time will be backed up or anything, John erased, so…not worth thinking about, especially when she’s already overly emotional from the other erasing that’s recently happened.
”What down where now? You mean in Med Bay? Not like I *did* anything, really…”
She shakes her head slightly, with a small sad smile. It’s just so typical that he not think much of something so important... ”Y’did, Sugah. An’ it helped, trus’ me. Breakin’ down like tha’ alone…wouldn’a been pretty.”
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Post by Pyro on Jan 5, 2007 5:55:05 GMT
< It’s all for a reason… Even little things like tha’ jus’ matter
”If that’s true” – and she should know him well enough, of course, to realise that he’s firmly against the idea (at least as far as individuals go. Bigger causes... are kind of confusing right now, granted, but he knows he used to believe in them… didn’t he?) – ”then it’s gotta be a bigger reason than keeping you sane…”
… Ouch. Funny, though, how he doesn’t quite regret it. Sure, it might sting. But he… doesn’t really care. And whether that’s because he’s just too drained to give a damn about anything much beyond curling up and getting all maudlin or because he’s regressing back to the John they think they’ve reclaimed that callous apathy (because it’s the apathy that reigns, make no mistake, despite the casual arrogance which could so easily have been lurking in the words if he was really back) is something he should be welcoming, right? He’s flameproof, after all; it’d be stupid to start letting things burn him and ceasing to care about what he does seems like a good place to start as far as making himself as numb as Bob to where he fears they’re going goes. It’s not apologetic or nostalgic, really, just this is how it is, and he’s struck yet again by the just like old times as he shrugs, tosses a (admittedly a strangely good-natured pale shadow, as if he’s just going through the motions, but still) half-smirk and pulls his legs up from dangling off the end of the bed.
< Y’did, Sugah. An’ it helped, trus’ me. Breakin’ down like tha’ alone…wouldn’a been pretty
John shrugs again, yawning the first word or so (… was Rogue’s bed always this comfy?) ”Didn’t have to be me. Bob would’a done the same…” except that he wouldn’t have needed to if I hadn’t been around, would he? Because none of this crazy shit would have happened in the first place… Thinking like that, it’s even harder to see how her argument that things would have turned out “different” (he’s reading worse in there, because that’s her sort of random optimism, isn’t it?) without him could possibly make sense... and he backs away from trying to figure that out, because following it through - whether without him around Bob would have found a solution to the psyches thing back when they were dating, whether they'd even be dating, whether Rogue would have gone to the infirmary were it just Bob... too many what if's and yeah, but's - is just tying him in a knot.
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Post by Rogue on Jan 5, 2007 6:23:44 GMT
”If that’s true then it’s gotta be a bigger reason than keeping you sane…”
“We won’ know, f’ now... It’s a start, though. I mean…If I totally wen’ nuts, who knows what could’a happen’d? F’all we know, I…” She leaves off the could have killed someone that wants to come out, shakes her head slightly, and looks down absently. She doesn’t like to think she’d hurt anyone, even if something happened…but ever since the initial Template thing, she’s not so sure anymore.
“…I don’ know. I don’ wan’ to.”
”Didn’t have to be me. Bob would’a done the same…”[/color]
“Maybe.” She responds, a small half-shrug and tilt of her head as if half conceding his point, half still on her own side. “But it was. So thanks, sugah.”
She doesn’t voice the fact that, apparently, the things she’s come to expect of Bobby aren’t really accurate anymore, he’s changed so much that…she just doesn’t know if he would have, anymore. Maybe before, but…he wouldn’t have understood, even then. And, yeah, she never really went into explaining it to him, so his lack of understanding comes partly from that, but…she’s not convinced he wouldn’t have thought her totally insane.
”How hurt are ya?” she asks, looking back over at him, realizing, suddenly, that he had to have been down there for a reason, that he was, obviously, still hurt…And she’s pulled him down here, and he might be hurting, and she hadn’t even thought about it too much until now. ”I shouldn’a let you leave th’lab…”
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Post by Pyro on Jan 5, 2007 7:19:46 GMT
< We won’ know, f’now
Oh, great. John doesn’t like that kind of uncertainty; all this, everything since Alkali, couldn’t help but drive home just how fleeting ‘All This’ really is, which makes the prospect of wasting time trying thinking, but not knowing, that this is partway right far from welcoming. If it has to hit that no, this is all a mistake and we’ve got to move on again then he’d rather it get it over and done with rather than have him here, in stasis (besides, if the wrecking ball hits now, then he hasn’t really built much for it to destroy, right?).
< If I totally wen’ nuts, who knows what could’a happened?
”Not totally reassuring, as what if’s go...” he almost grins, more refusing to accept the gravity rather than attempting to lighten things... because no, it wouldn’t be good if Rogue flipped out. Soul-leeching had to be one of the nastier ways to go... There’s a whole ‘nother sort of scary in that the way she’s carrying on you’d think she’d been mid-breakdown back in the lab, or something, whereas sure, she’d been a little teary, a little shakey, but nothing that suggested she could snap like that, which makes her something of an atom bomb... and, just to make things heavier, the fact that his being around seems to be what she’s crediting with stopping that possibility is kinda awesome – in the breath-stealing-body-blow sense rather than the excited one. No pressure there…
… course not, because whatever the real reason she’s not snapping and leeching him dry. So there’s nothing to worry about.
< … I don’ know. I don’ wan’ to
”Yeah, well… don’t need to now. St. J…” – he stops, and corrects himself, because again that’s cutting too close to the edge of the map and it’s here be monsters sign – ”Allerdyce to the rescue.” The idea of that is so ridiculous he can’t half but let out a derisive half-snort at it… which masks, luckily, the slightly sadder laugh which wants to come out in it’s place.
< How hurt are ya?
… good question, really, though he’s obviously only going to concede to the obvious surface meaning, and even then admitting that yeah, they got me isn’t exactly coming naturally, because, well, he’s meant to be bulletproof and untouchable and everything (and, of course, it means admitting both to the kidnapping (and subsequent pulverising of their ‘telepathic little brother’) and to the fact that the Brotherhood are his enemies again).
< I shouldn’a let you leave th’lab
That, at least, is slightly easier to answer – ”Sure… how, exactly, were you planning on stopping me?” – though he almost immediately regrets letting the remark slip out, because… well, it’s obvious how she could, even if that would be sort of counter productive, and he really needs to stop bringing that whole topic up. ”Seriously… I’m fine. Head’s a few sizes too big, haven’t got anywhere near as many ribs as I used to, and there’s a nice new bullet hole, but otherwise…” The flippant half-shrug and the tone carry the Yeah, it’s nothing neatly enough, even if the awkwardness of the way he’s sitting and the occasional wince which is still making it past the determinedly totally fine front sort of contradict all that.
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Post by Rogue on Jan 5, 2007 8:01:19 GMT
”Not totally reassuring, as what if’s go...”[/color]
She smiles wryly, ”Tell m’about it.”
”Yeah, well… don’t need to now. St. J…Allerdyce to the rescue.”
“Mah hero!” She makes the attempt at a playful tone, as well as the exaggerated drawl, and... it mostly works, actually. She leans against him a moment, a brief nudge, almost like how they used to be, way back before, and tosses a small smile his way. “Yeah...Thanks f’that, too. Don’ know if I ev’r actually thanked ya, back then…”
There’s a part of her that catches his slip, notes it, and connects it…but she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t want him to know she knows what he almost said, that she would hold that bit of information (because if he never told her, he wouldn’t want her to know…that’s how they work…ed.. Still do? Probably – seems that way.) about him without him giving it to her willingly. Another stolen piece…and it’s one that sticks, not like the shadow, the Psyke, she notes with another stab of grief…this she remembers because she remembers it, not because he’s there remembering it…and she’s going to stop thinking about that, now, before she confuses herself., or starts crying again, or...something equally bad.
”Sure… how, exactly, were you planning on stopping me? Seriously… I’m fine. Head’s a few sizes too big, haven’t got anywhere near as many ribs as I used to, and there’s a nice new bullet hole, but otherwise…”
His wounds are worse than she’d thought – ribs? Shot? Where was he shot? She glances him over, as if making sure he's still whole, and sees nothing, at the moment - he's at least...mostly okay? Not a really serious wound, like he said..?
Or maybe it's just hidden, and that sparks more worry, and more guilt for dragging him out.
“’M sorry…Y’should be restin’. Healin’. I shouldn’a….y’should b’in the lab...” She shakes her head slightly, and stands, as if she’s going to take him down there right now, or maybe just because she’s a bit distressed that she hadn’t paid attention to how hurt he was before she’d thrown her troubles all over him. She should have made sure he was okay, been careful. Because, being John, even if she’d hurt him, he wouldn’t tell her, she just knows it; he wouldn’t admit to that.
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Post by Pyro on Jan 5, 2007 8:58:33 GMT
< Mah hero!
The drawl, and the nudge, and this could almost be some strange way back machine he’s stumbled into, save that he’s insanely grateful she continues so he doesn’t have to think about the instinctive ”Just like always” which accompanies his equally semi-playful, semi-nostalgic (semi-yearning?) nudge (… he’s not sure how he’d have continued it, had she not cut it off: except when I’m a supervillain? Always and never? When I’m not fucking B – okay, drop that one.).
< Don’ know if I ev’r actually thanked ya, back then
Another semi-derisive snort escapes – ”Back then y’wouldn’t have dared. I’d have torched your room or something… Inbuilt Anti-Mushiness System n’all.” – before he quirks a fairly decent approximation of a grin and slips back into… whatever this is. Anyone other than them it would be cosy, or something, but they’ve got too many jagged edges and harsh angles for that, and regardless of how many each casual line or playful shove knocks off, he knows enough of her, and how of how the world works, to guess there’s always more beneath the surface. ”But now?” Another nudge says You’re welcome far better than he could, the words feeling totally alien because… just no. Old or new John, it wouldn’t quite work right.
< y’should be in the lab
”Sure. Back behind glass… ‘ro and the fuzzball’s new prize exhibit” he snaps, all that *whatever* momentarily displaced. ‘Course that’s far from the only reason he’d rather be up here, though none of those lend themselves to coming off much better, and so he glosses over them, or tries to, by attempting to resurrect that ease they just had, to slip back into being her hero with the reassurance that he’s still indestructible. ”Lab’s the last place I need to be just now… probably go stir crazy if y’put me back in the box” (as she knows well enough, being stuck in one place never really sits well, and the lab’s feeling uncomfortably like a cage just now…) He can’t quite resist bowing to the cheese of ”View up here’s much better… not to mention the company”, though the grin fades somewhat at that last word, and makes him think that maybe worrying about how he is isn’t the best line of enquiry right now.
Besides, he’s being a prize git, isn’t he? They’re up here because of her drama, not his (yes, because of that. Nothing to do with letting Bobby toss around the idea of him and her doing… other stuff). He stretches – grimacing for a second at the stab moving his shoulder delivers before flashing her a quick no, I’m fine expression – and yawns, repositioning into something less defensive, more like when he used to just sneak up here and end up sprawled on the end of her bed talking about random shit (the nights when she was herself, when she didn’t need any stronger grounding than that façade of normalcy, that pretence that they were the kind of people who went in for idle chat) ”and if any of that *higher purpose* stuff’s worth a damn, then I kinda need to be here, right? S’all about your... thing, which… what the hell happened?” And yes, it’s flippant as all hell – which feels right, because last thing she ever needs when something’s wrong is him making a deal out of it, and because that’s how it always works because he never admits to giving a damn.
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Post by Rogue on Jan 5, 2007 10:32:21 GMT
”Just like always” The tone, the nudge back…it’s like old times, and it’s a combined good feeling and sharp pain that comes from it. She ignores the latter pointedly, smiling slightly, and giving a small nod. Just like always. Like it always used to be. And that shouldn’t be at all bad….wouldn’t be, normally.
”Back then y’wouldn’t have dared. I’d have torched your room or something… Inbuilt Anti-Mushiness System n’all. But now?” Another nudge, and she grins, this time more convincingly than before. His meaning is perfectly clear, and it’s…nice.
“…Now th’ Anti-Mushiness System’s all broken?” And, okay, probably not helping stray from ‘mushy’, because any mention of broken just…has that sort of effect. She covers any thought that the intended-playful question might spark something angsty with her best playful grin.
”Sure. Back behind glass… ‘ro and the fuzzball’s new prize exhibit”
The sharpness in his tones almost stings, but not because she’s hurt by it (even if it were something she should be hurt over, she’s gotten mostly-used to his bite, and she’s already stinging with other kinds of emotional pain that, at this point, make a barrier against anything minor) – but because she doesn’t want to upset him, and that wasn’t what she meant…
”Lab’s the last place I need to be just now… probably go stir crazy if y’put me back in the box” [/color]
She understands that, both his inability to be still (far as she sees, it’s one reason he always used to play with that lighter like he did…), and the being trapped, cooped-up feeling – especially now, with the flight, because she knows what it’s like to be able to be free...
Still, she can’t help but worry. It’s worth feeling trapped to be healthy in the end, right?
”View up here’s much better… not to mention the company…and if any of that *higher purpose* stuff’s worth a damn, then I kinda need to be here, right? S’all about your... thing, which… what the hell happened?”[/color]
Rogue sits back down, keeping her eyes fixed on the comforter on the bed, rather than on him, almost nervously fidgeting with the glove on one hand. She doesn’t want to answer – she should shrug it off like he did, always does, and just…move away from it…Except he won’t believe her. She doesn’t break down that easy over ‘nothing’ – not like that.
“One’a the psykes…killed the rest. She w’s stronger. Differen’. Absorbed ‘er too much, an’...” Tears are back in her eyes, now, against her very strong efforts to repress them, and she glances up from the blanket to him, a flash of something between horror and …something else, something she doesn’t like to think about, coming over her for a moment.
“I…don’t think she’ll wake up…”
Which is scary, but scarier is the fact that at this point, she’s glad. Template deserves a permanent coma – virtually a death – for what she did…
Except she knows she ‘killed her’ before she killed them…but Template had killed real people, in reality, before... Would have just as soon killed her.
It was right.
But wrong, and horrible, and she doesn’t like that she even feels that way, because it’s just…frightening to think that she’d actually do that, and then not be upset…But she pushes the thought away, before it has the time to take full hold on her.
”It’s too…empty now.” She says this in an almost disbelieving tone, and turns her face away from him a little, wiping at her eyes. It shouldn’t matter if she cries, but it somehow does.
It used to be hard to separate her own thoughts from theirs…and now, even with them gone, she can’t find herself right. It’s like they made her complete – too complete, too full, but more complete than she is on her own.
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