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Post by Rogue on Sept 22, 2006 13:30:19 GMT
”Don’t think this changes anything. This doesn’t make us friends. And I’m not paying for your stupid stunt.”[/color]
She keept walking, not looking back at him, still, even though he's there, following her. A small smile crossed her face, an almost sad smile. He was so defensive - he always had been, but even this was a lot, for John.
"We've always been friends, John." she responded quietly. And in her opinion, her mind, it was true. She'd never thought of John much differently once he'd left - a little less happilly, yes, because she wishe he hadn't changed his mind, but she still always thought of him as her friend, a friend she sorely missed.
She'd missed him a lot, especally in the first few weeks after he was gone. Everyone had been mourning Jean, but Rogue had found John's absense a sorer spot than the absence of her teacher. It had been a secret, though, and she'd never mentioned that fact to anyone, not even Bobby.
The John in her mind spoke to her sometimes, as did the rest, but is voice was always a reminder of his leaving, and it almost hurt to hear the witty retorts to her thoughts that he threw out.
She hadn't been there during the battle, at Alcatraz, having left after being "cured", but she'd heard that he'd been involved - that he and Bobby had fought. Her boyfriend had won, and she hadn't heard what happened to John afterwards. Whatever it was, though, she knew it had changed him, more than being with the Brotherhood had.
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Post by Pyro on Sept 26, 2006 0:27:44 GMT
”You’re wrong”
The answer is shot back with customary venom... though, saying ‘customary’, he’s never really used it on her before. About her, sure, back when he was the third wheel on the Ice-Leech bicycle, and afterwards when he found out about her wanting the cure so she could get into those tight leather briefs the Iceman had taken to wearing... but never to her, for some reason. They’d never got on, really, because neither was the type who did that with others, but they’d tolerated each other and sort-of-hung-out – on the strict understanding, of course, that they were not really friends, just strangers sharing the same sparsely-populated wavelength (me against my neighbour, me and my neighbour against the world... or something). Now there’s not even that holding him back.
And yet it’s not really at her now either, more a blanket response to anything touching on life at the Institute – No, it was never good. Yes, I always hated it. No, I have no regrets. Fuck off.
The walk to the ice-cream place seems to be taking forever, probably because neither is sober and both have little idea where they are or where they’re going. It’s late, and the alcohol and the darkness and something else chill him so he draws his jacket a little tighter, flicks the lighter a little louder, scowls a little deeper. Anything to remind himself that he’s still flame, because following her around like this isn’t natural.
Neither is having to make conversation, though anything’s better than awkward silence. Maybe he can scare her off... or spark something of the old her. Who knows? Their *talk* in the bar, if one can call it that (since they weren’t really talking, just firing words at each other as if they might turn into bricks and make some sort of wall between two people sitting beside each other but not together) has given him plenty of ammunition, plenty of topics she seems reluctant to address, and a mix of curiosity, sadism and intoxication means he can’t resist pursuing a few of those lines.
”So, how’re things working now you’re a flat-lining useful member of society? Aside from having to watch your boyfriend screw someone else… bet that’s a bitch.”
He wonders briefly who this girl with better legs and a prettier backstory might be (ignoring the voice arguing both that whoever she is Bobby shouldn't be with her (a voice he doesn't quite understand, because it can't be jealousy speaking) and that he'd be hard pressed to find such spectacular legs) before letting the matter go, since it doesn't matter. Maybe if she has another outburst he'll find out, maybe not. Either way the important thing is that they're no longer the golden couple.
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Post by Rogue on Sept 26, 2006 0:45:44 GMT
”You’re wrong”[/color]
She didn't understand the response, at first. What did he mean by that? That they'd never been friends? Maybe he'd never viewed her that way, but she'd always thought of him that way.
Well, not always - at first, John was Bobby's friend, who she hung around with by association of being the latter's girlfriend. But, eventually, he'd become a friend, seperate from Bobby entirely.
"I think you're just in denial, Johnny."
The nickname sort of slipped out. It was what she'd started referring to him as in her mind, when he was getting lippy. It seemed effective in silencing the Pyromaniac, since he didn't prefer it, in her mind. Like using a child's full name in scolding.
”So, how’re things working now you’re a flat-lining useful member of society? Aside from having to watch your boyfriend screw someone else… bet that’s a bitch.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't turn her head towards him. This was obviously a game, and she wasn't sure she wanted to play it anymore. Games got people nowhere. Games only tore things apart, because no one was willing or ready to be honest about anything.
"I don' watch him screw anyone. I'm conveniently not aroun' while tha's goin' on." she retorted, still wondering when, if ever, she would admit that she was a mutant again, that she was dangerous again.
"B'sides - I don't see that being your busisness if y'refusing t'admit that we're friends."
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Post by Pyro on Sept 26, 2006 1:29:34 GMT
< I think you're just in denial, Johnny.
”It’s not Johnny” he shoots back on autopilot, both dark eyes and silver zippo flashing dangerously beneath the streetlights like half-drawn switchblades in a darkened alley, indiscriminate, deceptively small, and deadly. His tone doesn’t fit with this, however, though it’s weary been here before, fed up saying it slurred deadpan is understandable. ”It’s not even John. It’s Pyro.”
Another random thought flickers for a moment until he smothers it in cynicism and bitterness and other stuff he knows how to deal with; is John the voice in her head, or is that Pyro? He can’t claim to know, though whoever it was he sort-of half hopes it’s still there, still driving her mad from time to time. He wasn’t paying that much attention, of course, immediately post Boston, but you couldn’t miss the spark she had, and he likes to think that was him, because maybe that way he’s got something worth saving under all the shit.
< B'sides - I don't see that being your business if y'refusing t'admit that we're friends
”Ah hate t’contradict, sugah” he says, in a hideous though somehow pitch perfect reworking of her inescapable accent, expression cool, tone otherwise deadpan. It’s not mocking as such, and seems uncomfortably like friendly ribbing rather than banter between adversaries, but it’s unavoidably vicious none the less. It’s a crappy joke whatever, and he switches back to his own anonymous tones for the punchline. ”Taking sadistic pleasure in watching you screw your life up is totally my business now. Practically compulsory”
No way he was letting this game go. Sorry sugah.. one way or another y'gonna get burned tonight
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Post by Rogue on Sept 26, 2006 2:03:01 GMT
”It’s not Johnny. It’s not even John. It’s Pyro.”
She simply shook her head slightly. "'M stickin' with John, at least. I'll try not t'use Johnny, but I'm not calling you Pyro. This isn't a fight."
But was she being hypocritical? She usually insisted on being called Rogue by most people, rather than Marie, simply because Marie had been dead to her since she'd run away from home. Was that how he felt - as if John was someone else entirely, another lifetime ago, and Pyro was who he really was, now?
"An' y'can get away with callin' me Marie, like ya've been doin'. Jus' so it's fair. Y'use my name if y'want to, but I'm usin' yours. End of discussion."
The tone she spoke in left it clear she wasn't going to be convinced to call him by his codename, his "mutant name". She didn't much care if he decided not to use Marie anymore - it was his decision, but she'd made hers.
”Ah hate t’contradict, sugah,”
John was butchering her accent, and she tossed a slightly playful glare in his direction, the first time she's looked his way since leaving the bar.
”Taking sadistic pleasure in watching you screw your life up is totally my business now. Practically compulsory”
That...hurt.
Not because of his words, per say, more because of the probblems she was already dealing with - the return of her powers being the reason her and Bobby's relationship going down the drain like it was. He didn't even know about her powers, but she had a feeling that if he knew, he'd just make it feel worse. She hoped it didn't show in her expression as she eyed him for a moment in silence.
And that was what this whole game was really about, she mused. Hurting the other, and not letting them know how bad they hurt you in return. Well, she wasnt going to hurt back, give him reason to be angry. She'd just play it her own way, and hope he didn't break her down.
Her expression shifted into a playful smirk, and she shook her head a little. The lightness in her tone when she responded was forced, strained, but still sounded fairly normal, to her ears.
"Y'not gonna get anythin' else outta me, then. Get y'sadistic pleasure someplace else, Sugah. Ah'm not offerin' anythin' but ice cream an' friendship."
She crossed her arms, and returned her gaze straight ahead, no longer looking his way. They were almost there, now. The John-psyke was taking - but she couldn't hear him clearly over the acoholic babble the rest were spouting. He seemed to be trying to tell her something, though. She told him to be quiet, and focused on the outside world once again.
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Post by Pyro on Sept 26, 2006 11:03:00 GMT
< Y'use my name if y'want to, but I'm usin' yours
”S’not my fucking name, Marie. Never has been.” he smirks back – the dark smirk that means haha, yeah, you’re hilarious. Now I’m going to tear your throat out. And it’s true. John’s nothing more than a transition phase between Australia and global terrorism, someone who was never real and never will be. ‘Associates’ get to use that name, because it stops them getting to the ‘real’ him and makes what he does cease to matter, but she’s… something else. He’s not sure what, and would rather not consider that right now. ”Keep calling me that and I’ll stop answering”
He’s not sure whether that threat carries as much weight as his tone would seem to suggest, because why should she care whether he stops talking to her or not (come to think of it, why should he think she cares?)? Surely not buggering off would be far worse punishment?
Whatever. He doesn’t want to pursue that line of thought either, since that would only lead to his admitting that this *whatever it is* is the nearest he’s had to a proper conversation, she’s the nearest he’s got to a friend, and both are things he’s reluctant to give up. It’s the last part which stings most, because Pyro doesn’t get attached to things, and people don’t get attached to him.
< Y'not gonna get anythin' else outta me, then
That sounds like a challenge…
< Ah'm not offerin' anythin' but ice cream an' friendship.
”Can I take the first and skip the second? Making friends with flatliners sort of turns my stomach.”
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Post by Rogue on Sept 26, 2006 16:58:58 GMT
”S’not my fucking name, Marie. Never has been. Keep calling me that and I’ll stop answering.”[/color]
"No ya won't." she responded simply. There was a chance he would, but she didn't think so. He'd followed her out of the bar, he hadn't had to - it had been is choice. A way out, so to speak, but he'd followed. That indicated, to her, that he wasn't going to just leave, or ignore her.
No, there had to be a reason he was still there, she knew. John didn't do things for no reason - even his leaving hadn't been for no reason.
”Can I take the first and skip the second? Making friends with flatliners sort of turns my stomach.”
Gritting her teeth she glanced back at him again for a moment. He had honestly not made the connection? She was wearing gloves, and it wasn't cold. A scarf, for crying out loud. Unless he knew, and these comments were just jabs, to make her feel what she already felt magnified several times.
But wouldn't he be jabbing about the fact that they were back, if he knew? The fact that her chance at normal was erased? So how had he just not realized?
"Jus'...don' think of me that way."
They were almost there. Finally almost there. Maybe once they sat down with their ice cream, they could stop this pointless dancing back and forth, an get a somewhat normal conversation going. Maybe something light, or maybe serious - it didn't matter. What mattered was getting him to drop this game, without losing. Because losing meant letting him see that it hurt.
She was the Rogue. She didn't feel pain. Pain was a weakness that others used to grab ahold of, take advantage of.
Smile on her face, she didn't look hurt. She looked happy, content. Friendly.
"C'mon, we're almost there. Race ya?"
Despite the question, she didn't pick up her pace any.
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Post by Pyro on Sept 26, 2006 17:14:23 GMT
He wants to keep pushing that angle, to fire off something along the lines Why the hell not? It’s what you are, but like the neverending name battle it’s going nowhere. She’s gotten better at this since he left, colder somehow, as if her human side is putting up extra barriers now (as far as he knows, anyway) the poisoned skin can’t protect her any more... though thinking about it, she always was harder to get to than Bobby (not that that’s much of an achievement)... No, he doesn’t like thinking about that. Implies that they somehow understood each other, or something. Which is stupid.
He settles instead for a half-arsed ”Why? How do you want me to...” which is cut short by her proposition. Plunging ever further into the ridiculous, it seems, with yet another childish suggestion he can’t quite understand. Is this part of her becoming *normal*, doing all these silly things she’s never really had the chance to? If so she’s picked an odd time, and an odder companion. If not... well, maybe she’s changed more than he likes thought.
Then again, maybe it’s just the alcohol talking. It’s definitely the alcohol which *replies*, with John quirking a mischevious grin which seems alien and yet totally natural amidst his dark and annoyingly juvenile (in his mind, at least) features before speeding up, not quite to a run, just to the exaggerated walk kids use to outpace each other before they break into a true run. ”If you insist. Just don’t expect me to take it easy on you”
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Post by Rogue on Sept 26, 2006 17:26:54 GMT
Disreguarding the first almost-question, without even an expression as a response, she graced the second with her own version of his mischevious one, less dark, more childish, maybe. But wasn't that the point?
"I never do, Sugah."
Double meaning, there, but she didn't make it obvious. If he caught it, he caught it. If not, it didn't matter. Of everyone, he was pretty much the only person she knew who blatently said what they wanted, without reguard to the reaction. It was good, in a way, refreshing, but, at the same time, it stung sometimes. She wasn't that blunt, she couldn't be.
John's psyke resumed it's attempt to talk to her, and she finally caught what he was saying. A tiny smile crossed her face, and she thanked him/it, and sent it back into the rear of her mind with the rest.
Skipping the formalities of a "ready, set, go", Marie took off running towards the ice cream shop ahead, assuming he'd catch up to her soon, if not overtake her.
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Post by Pyro on Sept 26, 2006 17:38:04 GMT
Caught up wondering whether she meant never expecting, or never taking it easy on him, or both, and then why he cared what she meant whatever it was, John was just a split second behind events, letting her take an early lead. His immediate instinct was to bowl after her, steal back the lead and win this race, but some part looking at the bigger picture points out that that’s what she wants him to do. Much better, in that case, to hang back, make her wait for him, and take his own sweet time… and, naturally, to regard her immaturity with a scathing sidelong glance implying that he’s above such things…
Which is a fine plan until the other voice points out that she’s getting away and he has little hope of winning now… which prompts a gut reaction he can’t ignore. Bugger that. Full pelt he dashes after her, pulling level with a superhuman effort given how the pavement is swaying and his head swirling (no more cheap beer, he resolves, though déjà vu suggests he’ll have little luck keeping to that) but unable to break cleanly ahead. They were always pretty evenly matched, except for the fact that he was more than happy to play dirty while she’d never risk anything on account of her *gift*.
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Post by Rogue on Sept 26, 2006 17:52:33 GMT
For a moment, she couldn't tell if he was running after her or not, or if he was just a quiet runner. She didn't spare a glance backwards, the momentary compulsion to win, to not waste time looking back.
Then she heard him following, close. She was pushing hersel ot get there first, now. The door was very close, and she reached out for it. She was still running, so she slammed against it, turning around to throw a grin towards John.
Still running, himself, he ended up very close to her. Uncomfortably so, but she didn't let on. He thought she was human - then fine. She'd act like it.
"I won." she mumbled with a grin, trying to catch her breath.
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Post by Pyro on Sept 26, 2006 18:33:34 GMT
Literally a heartbeat separated them, but yeah, technically she’d one, scowl. He was getting slow (getting, though he hated to admit it because no 19 year old should ever think like that, old) and she’d beaten him. Well, let her have her moment of glory. Not like a stupid race mattered, really.
”Only ‘cos I let you” he half-grinned never the less, bent over and trying not to sound like he was gasping from the run. Catching something like breath – something near enough for his purposes anyway – John straightened, returned to a more customary half-slump against the door next to her… more next to her, infact, than she’d probably have liked. Next move in the game, of course. Making her uncomfortable. Not like there was any risk to him, being that close, was there? Not now she’d been neutralised.
How far could he push it? No harm in experimenting.
Repositioning himself so she was pinioned against the door, his one arm out with the palm flat against the glass to the side of her face, he grinned again, darker and yet at the same time more childish. What came next didn’t make much sense, really, but what else about this evening had? The fingers of his free hand lighted on her scarf, sliding under it against her neck as he went to move it off with the languid awkwardness of the sort-of-drunk-but-not-showing-it (hmm.. the drink was a good excuse. Better than anything else trying to explain why he felt the need. Because it was random as all hell). She was another sort of fire, wasn't she? And there was no way he could resist playing with fire, especially when he knew full well he couldn't be burned. ”Why do you still wear this?”
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Post by Rogue on Sept 26, 2006 18:48:17 GMT
”Only ‘cos I let you”
"Not." she retorted with a grin in return. But maybe he had. It didn't matter, though, it wasn't like it was anything important, who could run faster when slightly intoxicated.
He was moving closer. She managed not to shrink back, or duck out of his arms. He wouldn't touch her, she told herself, because he had no reason to. He was only trying to make her uneasy.
But why try to make her uneasy by closeness if he thought she was cured?
Then he was reaching out, and his fingers had slipped beneath the scarf, against her skin. She tensed, waiting, hoping nothing would happen, knowing it would, but unwilling to push him away yet - she wasn't entirely sure as to why, though.
”Why do you still wear this?”[/color]
She felt a flood of John entering her mind, then, before she could respond, and pushed him away, hard, with both gloved hands, to break the contact.
She hadn't expected him to touch her, to do something like that. This was John, though, she should have known better. He was impulsive. She should have known better.
"Th' cure worse off. Y'assumed it hadn't - I jus' didn' correct ya." she murmured, notlooking at him, down at her feet instead.
The psyke that bore John's imprint had grown a little larger, stronger. It was talking to her, almost accusingly, but she silenced it, telling it later was a better time. She'd learned staunching the pskes for too long madet hem angry - promising attention later pacified them, and left her with her mind to herself for the most part.
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Post by Pyro on Sept 26, 2006 19:02:28 GMT
He pulls back almost before she pushes him away, feeling the familiar tug, – though a moment or two where he hoped sheer disbelief and illogic would outweigh reality passed where he should have moved back earlier, making the whole headspinning-swirled-up thing worse and feeling like his brain was receding from him, his *self* being stolen – that sensation, and her push, leaving him reeling.
”Fuck” he eventually manages to say, regaining some colour though he’s still weirdly still for someone so customarily hyperactively mobile, unnaturally silent, pauses between each ragged breath as if he can’t quite decide whether to risk taking another one. It’s nowhere near what she stole from him in Boston, of course, but the sheer shock paralyses on its own. He’s no longer looking at her like she’s pathetic, though the accusatory disgusted glare is probably not much of an improvement.
Re-evaluation is in order, isn’t it? Forget all that ‘she is disposable, and what he does with her will never really happen…’ shit, because Rogue is back, and that should be enough to make them enemies…. All the same, he can’t help but sort-of twisted-ly admire her new devious streak, nor feel an odd stab of relief that she's not a flatliner, and of betrayal which has no place here any more but refuses to die. It’s the betrayal which proves more eloquent, sadly. ”And you didn’t say anything? Didn’t think to tell me you were still fucking poisonous?”
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Post by Rogue on Sept 26, 2006 19:15:17 GMT
”And you didn’t say anything? Didn’t think to tell me you were still fucking poisonous?”
"I didn' think I had any reason to. It wasn't your busisness, 'till y'touched me!" she responded hotly, not pausing long before she continuted. She didn't want him to get a word in, not now. She wasn't in the mood.
"An' I knew y'd use tha' against me, too, as soon as y'found out. Jus' another li'll thing t'use t'hurt me, 'cause y'never happy until 've hurt anyone tryin'a get near ya. God forbid y'have a normal conversation with somone without playin' games with 'em!"
Her own temper, blended with the bit she'd stolen, was flaring violently right now. Arms crossed, now, eyes narrowed, she eyed him. Part of her felt like crying, but she wasn't going to allow that. Not now, not here. Not infront of him.
The other part felt like burning something.
She didn't bother asking if he was okay - it had only been a few seconds, and he was still standing. She'd done more damage last time.
Besides, frankly, she was upset enough not to care, at the moment, if he felt like puking.
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