Bobby's got Mail

[Pyro]

From: [e-mail]
To: [e-mail]
Subject: The wrong guy

Fuck you, Drake.

I like drowning, did you think of that when you set out to save me, or whatever? Gave up clawing for the surface about the time you took up with Little Miss Leech. And wherever the hell you live these days, it's not in the real world.

'til next time, Popsicle. Because there will be one. Better start fitting the halo and harp already.

~ P

PS: You owe me a shirt, fucking pervert.

[Bobby Drake]

Bobby doesn't get a lot of email. The usual student chitchat, the occassional "welcome the new student" memos when Mr. Sheppard remembers to send them, nothing too urgent. So he doesn't spend a lot of time reading or composing the stuff.

Usually.

From: [e-mail]
To: [e-mail]
Subject: Re: The wrong guy

Have your shirt. Hell, have everything you left here when you ran away. Come by and pick it up any time, if you have the guts.
Del "Are you sure you want to delete this message?" Yes

Fuck you right back, Allerdyce. That is, if there's room in line.
Del, Yes

Send me a paypal link, I'll pay for the shirt.
Del, Yes

Send me a paypal link, I'll pay for the shirt. While I'm at it, what do you usually charge? 
Del, Yes

Didn't set out to save you, John. But if I can, I will.
Del, Yes

There doesn't need to be a next time. But if there is, I'll be the one left standing when it's done. So better start your pitchfork lessons now.
Del, Yes

DROWNING
The ocean quenches
Flame, drags living flesh to death,
While ice floats free. Hah!
Del, Yes

THEN GO AHEAD AND DROWN, YOU _STUPID_ OOASDFOQWKL:JASFI@$)!@r
Del, Yes

I meant every word, John.
Del

"Are you sure you want to delete this message?"
Bobby pauses.
No

And that makes one of us.

Send

[Pyro]

OOC: I know, I hate songfics too. This, erm, just happened really… because in RL I was listening to the album (One Hot Minute) while I ‘agonised’ over what to write and ended up jotting down random lyrics for no apparent reason (really, the page was a complete mess by the time I’d finished ;D)… which I’ve left in, as if John is listening to the album while he writes… sort of. Whatever. The album lasts 63 minutes, just to give you an idea, and all italicized quotes are lyrics from that album.

John never expected a reply. He doesn’t even know why he sent the fucking thing. Must have fired it off without thinking. Which doesn’t exactly make the contents so much as the email itself much less real; it’s not something he’d do, and therefore it can’t possibly have happened (this being one occasion where hallucinations are the saner option).

All the same, the first day after, he doesn’t dare touch the computer. It’s easy enough to invent excuses.

By day two he’s wishing it was slightly more difficult. Just complicated enough for Bobby to be unable to master the art.

Day three

Descend all the way
Warped and scared of being there

You have mail

I’m pretending, see,
To be strong and free
From my dependency

From: [e-mail]
To: [e-mail]
Subject: Re: The wrong guy

11 words shouldn’t be able to shake him that much. The thrill, he tells himself, it to do with power and control, and nothing to do with the damn email.

One note that’s not a ie

That first one wrote itself (mm-hmm, nothing to do with him at all). This is different. John as a rule, does not agonise over such things. But neither has his heart ever leapt or sunk over 11 words before, until now, when both happen in the space of about three seconds.

It started when we were little kids
free spirits but already tormented by our own hands

we got together and wrote on desks and slept in laundry rooms

& slipped through whatever cracks we can find

Downward spiral leaving trail of irretrievable vital life juice

From: [e-mail]
To: [e-mail]
Subject: Re: Re: The wrong guy

Liar
Delete? Yes

***

From: [e-mail]
To: [e-mail]
Subject: Re: Re: The wrong guy

Newsflash, Bob. You’ve got me confused with someone who gives a damn
Delete? Yes

We did some real bad stuff….
It’s better to regret something you did
Than something you didn’t do

From: [e-mail]
To: [e-mail]
Subject: Re: Re: The wrong guy

Shut the fuck up Drake. You think you’re the only one here who
Delete? Yes

Hoping that the truth would not be true

From: [e-mail]
To: [e-mail]
Subject: Re: Re: The wrong guy

Cute, Drake. Did you think that one up yourself or borrow it from those crappy novels Marie has to satisfy herself over with because you’re not man enough to risk actually doing something with your so-called girlfriend?

Is that why you want me, Drake? Fire you can touch? Or a toy you’re not afraid to break?
Delete? Yes

***

From: [e-mail]
To: [e-mail]
Subject: Re: Re: The wrong guy

Did you tell Marie that you meant every
Delete? Yes

What the fuck am I supposed to do?

From: [e-mail]
To: [e-mail]
Subject: Re: Re: The wrong guy

Say that to her too, Bob? That why she thinks you’re fucking Kitty?

Bet you did. You probably meant them then, too. Shame it’s my bed she
Delete? Yes

***

From: [e-mail]
To: [e-mail]
Subject: Re: Re: The wrong guy

You think you’re the only one falling here? Only difference is I’m not making this something it’s never going to be. It’s not a fucking crime to like the feeling.
Delete? Yes

***

From: [e-mail]
To: [e-mail]
Subject: Re: Re: The wrong guy

You haven’t fucked thermodynamics that much yet, Drake. Fire and Ice don’t coexist. Reality’s still too fucking real for us to ever
Delete? Yes

***

From: [e-mail]
To: [e-mail]
Subject: Re: Re: The wrong guy

Don’t doubt that you meant it, Bob. Doesn’t make it true

Delete? …
Delete? No.
Save as Draft
Exit?

Sleeping on it would be the only sensible course of action.

We are not the centre
Of this funny universe…
To think that you’re above the laws of nature is a joke

[/i]

Problem is, sensible isn’t really him… and this whole landscape is so alien he couldn’t possibly let go of everything

Exit? No
Open saved draft

From: [e-mail]
To: [e-mail]
Subject: Re: Re: The wrong guy

Don’t doubt that you meant it, Bob. Doesn’t make it true

Well, fuck you.

Oops, already did. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that matters. It’s not *making love* and never will be.

Grow up already. You’re too old for fairy stories.
~ P
Send[/color]

[Bobby Drake]

Finding the response in his inbox doesn't surprise Bobby, somehow.

Not that he'd expected it, exactly, but when it happens it somehow seems inevitable. That seems to be the way it always works with John, like somebody else is writing the script and Bobby is just along for the ride.

Sooner or later, he realizes, he's going to have to explain to someone why he's doing this. He hopes whoever it is is a telepath, because Bobby isn't sure he can put it into words.

Not that it stops him from trying.

Reply

John -

Things I did today:
Had a meeting with my guidance counselor, who controls the weather with her thoughts.
Had a medical inspection from a biochem professor covered in blue fur, who talks like he swallowed an encyclopedia and can leap from tall buildings in a single bound.
Put off yet another introductory chat with our new headmaster, who reads minds.
Practiced making ice-sculptures outdoors in mid-summer with my eyes closed.
Got email from a guy who makes fire dance with his thoughts.

Fairy tales, John?
Open your eyes and look around some time, will you?

> Don't make the mistake of thinking that matters.
> It's not *making love* and never will be.
You said it, John. Not me.
It is what it is.
Is your new Daddy making you a better offer?

It occurs to him, not for the first time, that he ought to stop. It isn't doing him any good, and he's not enough of a fool to think it's ever going to make a difference to John. They're enemies and always will be.

More than that, he ought to want to stop. He doesn't.

Send
This time he doesn't even hesitate. He wonders if that's a good sign or not.

[Pyro]

Reply

Am I supposed to be jealous? I'd tell you what I did today, Drake. But you don't need any more nightmares.

If Erik was, could you blame him? And why are you so interested?

Send

[Bobby Drake]

Bobby isn't sure how he ended up trading email with John. He wonders whether it's being monitored by anyone on either side. Or, hell, maybe by the Feds, who knows?

It doesn't matter. It's a point of contact, a thread to hold on to. Even if it's just insults, it's better than silence. John may not be listening, but he hasn't walked away.

That's something, right?

Reply
The first part comes relatively easily...

> Am I supposed to be jealous?

Are you?
No.
You're supposed to get that reality has room for a lot more than you we give it credit for.

The rest... less so.

> If Erik was, could you blame him? And why are you so interested?

Bobby stares at that for a long time, not sure what to feel. "Eric"? Are they really on a first-name basis, the way John refuses to be with him? Or is that just intended to get under his skin? Because if it is... it's working.

There's no point to being sarcastic at John... he's better at it. And becoming John's whipping boy isn't any better. An instinct he doesn't entirely understand warns him that whatever it is he's trying to accomplish here, nothing but honesty will get him there... while a fear he understand too well reminds him that too much honesty is a weapon delivered into his enemy's hands.

Finally he decides on a reply and sends it before he can change his mind.

Because you're more than a weapon to me us me. Because I still mean it. And because you're still lying.

--Bobby

[Pyro]

Sooner or later someone will find the emails. Sooner or later they'll tell him, or Bobby (most likely Bobby... because he can't see himself stopping being forced to do anything), to stop sending them, and that will be the end of this... whatever this is. That ought to be threatening, the only slight thrill derived from the risk of being caught, but instead it's liberating, means the responsibility for controlling this exchange lies elsewhere and not with him.

Reply

< reality has room for a lot more than we give it credit for.
Not enough, Drake. Nowhere near enough for what you’re suggesting…

What exactly are you suggesting?

He pauses. The line came easily enough, sure, but once it’s up he can’t let it stand… can he?

It’ll be a hell of a change in tone, if he’s going to pursue this line.

He can’t not.

Not that he cares either way what Bobby’s answer might be. It’s just the not-knowing which stings. Besides, the answer might be the thing that makes him stop. Maybe. No way it would spur him on, regardless of what Bobby has to say.

Fuck, Drake. You’ve no idea what the hell you’re saying here, have you? You’re still stuck in the fucking sandpit. Words are easy.

< you're still lying
Best part of belief, Bob. At least I’m not holding out false hope. Only one of us can say that

That line too gives him something of a headache. This doesn’t sound like him. Not the him that’s been filtering into the emails so far…

Fuck it. No room for half-measures in this – his – world. No second thoughts and no regrets. Ever.

Back off, Iceman. This is one blaze even you can’t survive. Reality might be big, but it’s still real.
~ Pyro John

Send[/color]

[Bobby Drake]

Bobby stares at his laptop like it's suddenly turned into a snake threatening to bite him... or maybe one that already bit him, he's not sure.

He hits Reply without thinking, now. It's a habit, a rhythm, a reflex. Only then does it occur to him he has no idea what he wants to say.

> What exactly are you suggesting?

[/color]Well, that's the million-dollar question, isn't it?

He could encourage John to come back to the Institute. That would be safe.
But they're already past that. He already offered to walk away from the war with John. And he's not going to take that back, even if it did end up turning into something he didn't mean when he said it. (Didn't you, though? Be honest with yourself at least, Bobby.)

He could say he wants to be friends again. That's... almost safe.
But they're past that too. Bobby doesn't know exactly what that furious coupling on the floor of Mimi's meant, but he knows enough to know it changed things. That they can't just be friends again.

> You’ve no idea what the hell you’re saying here, have you?
> You’re still stuck in the fucking sandpit. Words are easy.

[/color]Possibly the worst part of all of this is realizing John's absolutely right.

Back at Mimi's Bobby was going on instinct, and since then he's been furiously airbrushing out the details so he doesn't have to think about it. Words are easy.

> At least I’m not holding out false hope. Only one of us can say that

[/color]No, he thinks. That can't be John... or at least it can't mean what I think it means. Because what would John be hoping for? He wonders suddenly whether this is some kind of trap, whether Magneto has intercepted his mail or something.

Hell, what am I hoping for?

He's not sure how long he sits with that question, not exactly thinking. His laptop goes idle waiting for him, and he pokes it awake several times to read the message again, and it goes idle again.

After a while, he realizes he's stopped reading the mail and is just staring at one word:

> ~ John

[/color]And when he responds, it's with a kind of calmness he hasn't experienced in a long time.

John...
I'll be honest here: I don't know what I want. And I don't know what you want. And I don't know what reality has room for.

I'll tell you four things I do know, though:
1. I hate us being enemies.
2. I don't want us to be strangers. And I don't think we could be, if we tried.
3. I don't want either of us dead.
4. I'm willing to explore the alternatives.

[/color]Bobby hesitates. Then he crosses out "four" and replaces it with "five" and adds:

5. I'll be at Westchester Park, near the swings, between midnight and 12:15 tonight.

- Bobby

[/color]
Hitting Send doesn't feel at all safe. It feels like jumping off a cliff.

But Bobby's getting used to that.

It occurs to him that maybe that's exactly how it feels to fly.
He tries not to think about how it feels to hit the ground.

(OOC: continues in Other Other Locales: Westchester Park)

[Wanda Maximoff]

((OOC: The below implies that Magneto's nightmare is happening concurrent with Pyro's Westchester Park adventure, and I'm also kinda g'moding access to P's account. Py, if this bugs you in any way let me know and I'll retcon it away, but it seemed to work dramatically and I thought you'd like it.))

Wanda was intrigued by Pyro's reduced endurance, even more so by the enthusiasm he tried to conceal when their session ended. She knows exactly how strong her grip on his soul is right now... not strong enough to control him, not yet, but strong enough that anything he prefers to their sessions has a power over him worthy of consideration, and perhaps of subversion.

Not for the first time, she contemplates the intricate beauty of the web her father has created here. It would be utterly banal were it not for the sheer power these people represent... but the power exists, and Wanda intends to tap into it for her own purposes, using the fiery young boy as her initial foothold.

Which means, for now, finding out what else has such a hold on him.

The same spell that brought her to her father guides her to the information she seeks, although gathering the ingredients and performing the ritual takes until well past midnight, and she knows she is risking feedback... her simple existence here has involved a steady use of her powers at a subsistence level. But she judges it worth the risk.

She is startled at first, to find herself in the Brotherhood's computer room... annoying, since she knows little or nothing about the devices. She enters, however, trusting in the guidance of her spell. Intuition guides her to a machine in the corner, and a touch of the keyboard wakes it up. A warning message of some kind indicates that "logout" was interrupted because of some "application's" inability to terminate, asks her if she wishes to "continue" or "cancel". She presses a key randomly and the warning message goes away, leaving behind a screen with a message on it.

A strange sort of message, addressed to "John" (Is that the boy's given name? Likely. She's never pressed him on it, intuiting that the day he gives it to her himself is the day she will own him.) from someone named "Bobby".

The text is superficially simple, but as with so much in this place difficult for her to make sense of without context. But it is clearly an invitation to meet at roughly the time Pyro left, and whoever this Bobby is, he or she clearly has a relation of some significance.

She smiles and nods, sitting in front of the machine. She may not be familiar with its use but she has no doubt she can make it reveal its secrets -- or, rather, Pyro's. She calls again on her powers, unconcerned about the risk of feedback, closing her eyes and typing randomly at the keyboard.

Without warning, the machine makes an angry sound, the room goes dark, sparks fly, the machines themselves go flying across the room into each other, as do chairs and everything else with metal in it. Wanda is bruised and cut by flying debris and shrieks in dismay, diving clumsily under a table and cowering until it all stops.

When it's over, and she's able to think clearly again, the metallic attraction is a dead giveaway as to the proximal source of the... whatever that was. And, much as she knows the real cause was her own power overload, she's curious as to the symptoms. So, gathering up the shreds of her dignity she strides imperiously upstairs to Magneto's room.

(( OOC: Picks up again in Nightmare of You ))