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Post by Pyro on Oct 8, 2006 17:04:33 GMT
”And that’s not even slightly hypocritical.” He contemplates fighting fire with fire (and hey, that fire’s unmistakable… and it’s weird and almost nauseating to watch, but at the same time he can’t look away…) but she’s probably expecting that and in any case has got the drop on him, what with his temper adding to hers and not being all *leeched out*. Sarcastic tone it is, then, still unmistakable between the last razor-blade snatches of recaptured breath, unusually wordy. Her own damn fault if she underestimates that. Being wiry, not packing much of punch before his powers came through, the kid he was found other ways to win… and so he’s never really needed to shine a blade to cut, and doesn’t have to rely on flames to burn.
”You probably never even took the cure, did you? Not Rogue. Far too risky, that, because without your magic touch how’re you going to keep everyone out?” He leans back against the door, doesn’t look at her, focuses on the one thing that never fails to distract him.
”We’re not all that different” – click-fwoosh – ”when it comes to the keeping people at arm’s length” – click-click – ”Only difference is,” – click-fwoosh – “I’m not pretending it’s the rest of the world that’s screwed up”
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Post by Rogue on Oct 9, 2006 1:16:35 GMT
”And that’s not even slightly hypocritical.''[/color]
Rogue shook her head slightly, expression one of confusion. "How's tha' hypocritical..?" she questioned in a low, almost muttering tone.
"You probably never even took the cure, did you? Not Rogue. Far too risky, that, because without your magic touch how’re you going to keep everyone out?”[/color]
Gazing at him with a look of indignant hurt, she found her fists clenched at her sides. What did he know about her? He was just ...an arrogent little self-absorbed jerk! He didn't understand. Of course, how could he?
This was what she got for trying to be nice to him...
”We’re not all that different” – click-fwoosh – ”when it comes to the keeping people at arm’s length” – click-click – ”Only difference is," – click-fwoosh – “I’m not pretending it’s the rest of the world that’s screwed up”
As the flame surged from the lighter the last time, she extended a hand, drawing on his powers to pull the flame to her. She couldn't resist - part of him, within her mind, wanted to touch the flame that was so teasingly available to her in that moment. It hovered just above the palm of her hand, over the glove, a small puddle of heat.
"I did, John. I did get th'cure." she murmured, her own eyes on the fire, now, not on him. "Y'have no idea how badly I want'd t'be normal..." Her voice sounded weak, even to her own ears, and she let that sentance hang. She didn't want to think about that right now.
Under her stolen control, the flames were obeying her. It was a wonderful feeling - she wondered if he felt like this every time he touched his powers, every time he manipulated a spark into the blaze she'd een him create.
He was lucky, in that reguard. A power like this had so many purposes, yet was something so simple that it was enjoyable to play with, too. A comfort.
"I don' think th'world's the only thing screwed up. I know I am. I keep people 'way so'I don' hurt them. Not s'they can't hurt meh. 'M not like y'are, tha'way."
She finally glanced up, the orange flicker illuminating her face for a moment, before she felt the last flickers of his powers starting to falter, and she closed her fist around the flames, effectivly putting them out before she got burned.
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Post by Pyro on Oct 13, 2006 20:24:53 GMT
”Normal?” he sneered dismissively, taking cue from her and mimicking her manipulation of the flame. ”You mean like them? Fuck, Rogue, you’re insane.”
Pyro considered shooting back some further comment as to how she couldn’t possibly know what he was like in that or any other way, but thought better of it, given how well, John, you’re in my head was something of a conversation stopper in that regard (Bobby had confided that much, and John, half-arsedly doing the whole ‘sounding board’ thing roomates were supposed to, had wondered in the passionate-apathetic way only he could how exactly that worked... maybe once she lost the boost he’d given her he’d ask). Besides, he was more than a little distracted by the sight of her playing with the flame - by the flame, he told himself, nothing to do with her except that that look was...
Nah, that was just the drink talking.
As she put out the flame, he did likewise, still copying her childishly before shrugging - ”Whatever”
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Post by Rogue on Oct 13, 2006 22:44:26 GMT
”Normal? You mean like them? Fuck, Rogue, you’re insane.” [/color]
She glowered at him for a moment, locking eyes with him. Her sanity was a touchy point with her, and, even though she didn't think he had acctually meant it in that way, it sure felt like it.
"Is it really insane to wan' t'be able t'touch someone? T'be sick an' tired'a havin' othah people's voices in m'head, havin' othah people's nightmares evr'ytime I close my eyes?" she questioned, tone obviously both hurt and angry. She found herself annoyed by the fact that it was hard to conceal the hurt in her voice, because she was sure he'd just view it as weakness, and she wasn't weak. If she were weak, she'd be dead already.
"Y'don' und'rstan', an' there's no way y'could, John. Y'power's simple. It doesn' hurt ya, doesn' involve pushin' people away f'their safety, an' y'sanity. Y'could still live a normal life, if y'wanted." she added, slightly quieter than before. "I wouldn' min' bein' a mutant if I didn' have all this t'deal with."
She finally lowered her head, breaking eye contact, simply to hide the tears trying to gather in her eyes. She wasn't going to cry, da*nit! She wasn't going to let him make her cry. PsykeLogan cheerfully suggested beating him to a pulp, but she shushed him. She hadn't intended to fight at all tonight. Tonight had been supposed to be just for fun, for simply rekindling a friendship she missed dearly.
It was definetly not turning out how she'd anticipated.
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Post by Pyro on Oct 13, 2006 23:16:52 GMT
”You’re right… I really don’t” and damned if I’m going to apologise for that. ”If you wanted it badly enough, you would. Sod everything. It’s your hang-ups, not your mutation, which fucks everything up”
He wasn’t one to whine… and what he was doing definitely didn’t sound like whining within the confines of his own mind. True, it didn’t measure up to her angsty little rant, he wasn’t quite deluded enough to think that, but to say anything else would have been a betrayal of the clear black and white divisions which made up his world, and on which his sanity depended, and so the words come out before he can check them (something else he blames on the alcohol.. that slip, and the fact that he’s saying so goddamn much, revealing so much of himself, sounding so pathetic).
”I can’t possibly understand that. Just like you can’t understand being terrified that today, tomorrow, the day after, someone’s going to take away what gives you those powers. Normal’s never going to be punishment for you, is it?”
Oh hell, he shouldn’t have said that. He looks away about the same time she does, cursing his slip, alcohol or no alcohol. Fuck, this is turning into such a downer.
Looking back up only confirms how depressing things have become… because she’s crying. And while he’s telling himself he shouldn’t care, it’s a voice which kicks in just a second or two too late, only making itself known once he’s sighed ”Oh hell and re-adjusted himself so he can slip an arm safely around her shoulders, a small gesture which probably means a hell of a lot to her just now (and he shouldn’t be thinking that either)… because for every part reminding him that they’re enemies there are others shouting just loud enough to drown those out, telling him that, sod everything else, this is an old friend who feels like shit, and, sod their being enemies and all, he can't feel good about being the one to provoke that. It’s not a gesture anyone, least of all himself, could expect him to make, but he doesn’t care. It feels natural enough just now for him to let that hesitance slip, balancing out with a carefully cynical remark dredged up from alcohol-drenched philosophizing. ”Fuck normal. Normal’s not big enough for *special* anyway.”
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Post by Rogue on Oct 13, 2006 23:39:44 GMT
You’re right… I really don’t. If you wanted it badly enough, you would. Sod everything. It’s your hang-ups, not your mutation, which fucks everything up”[/color]
He was right, and she knew it. If everyone else could control what 'gifts' they'd been given, there had to be a way for her to control hers. She just didn't know how, or even how to try.
”I can’t possibly understand that. Just like you can’t understand being terrified that today, tomorrow, the day after, someone’s going to take away what gives you those powers. Normal’s never going to be punishment for you, is it?”[/color]
His words made her wonder. Wonder just what he meant, what he really thought of his abilities. She'd always assumed he loved them - there was a strange freedom in the way one could simply make the flames dance, make them do your bidding. The very few times she'd snagged a bit of them, she'd loved it.
But maybe he didn't see it the same way. If he didn't have a lighter, he had no power. The very thing that made him normal was what he hated? She'd tried to stay out of most of his personal thought, so this came as almost a revelation to her - the reason he disliked normality.
He must have noticed her attempt to hold off tears, because in a moment, he was beside her, arm around her, and she looked up, almost startled. This wasn't what she'd expected. It was so rare for him to show it when he cared, even before...all of this crap. That he still cared was enough to make her tears acctually fall, and she wasn't entirely sure what to think, at the moment.
”Fuck normal. Normal’s not big enough for *special* anyway.”[/color]
She carefully, but impulsivly, returned the embrace, burying her face against his chest, stilll trying - but failing miserably - to stop crying. She hated crying. Hated it. It made her feel like one of the annoying female steriotypes, and she was anything but a steriotype.
But da*n, she'd missed him.
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Post by Pyro on Oct 14, 2006 13:11:16 GMT
It’s weird, considering how much is usually going on in John’s head, that everything seems to have condensed down to just a few unusually clear thoughts...
... how this isn’t what he’s supposed to be doing
... how supposed to can go fuck itself, because since when has he cared?
... and, most of all, how much he’s missed this.
‘This’, of course, doesn’t mean the impromptu embrace, because they were never like that, even before. Hell, he doesn’t quite understand what this is, or was, and isn’t sure either of them understood it at the time. It was never what Rogue had with Bobby, that was for sure, and it wasn’t what John had with him either. ‘Friends’ didn’t quite do it justice, because most of the time even they were wondering why the hell they chose to share the same breathing space, and although John’s *live fast, die young* attitude had allowed them a casual *hang the whole poisoned skin* intimacy they weren’t ever going to be lovers. But they had… a connection, cheesy and clichéd as that sounded. Some sort of weird unconscious thing which meant they *got* one another even when they didn’t really understand each other…
And shit, the alcohol’s still talking there. But he’s not as bothered by that now.
It's odd how they can still be impulsive when everything has to be so careful, but somehow it works, and so without really thinking he tightens the embrace slightly, running one hand down her back in a wordless attempt at overcoming his customary ineptness when it comes to these things.
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Post by Rogue on Oct 14, 2006 16:13:05 GMT
The psykes were quiet.
That was one of the few things she was noticing right now, aside from just how strangely right she felt like this. They were quieter, muffled. She didn’t know why, but she wasn’t going to wonder – she was glad, because she was sure that at the very least Logan would be having a fit. Possibly Bobby, too.
But she didn’t care. There was nothing wrong with this, even if it was fairly strange simply because of who they both were.
“I miss’d y’.” she murmured, as she felt his hand on her back. Her tears were mostly stopped, mostly just burning her eyes and wanting to fall, but she was suppressing them. No reason to cry, not really. And she’d already gotten his shirt wet enough with her tears. But she didn’t move away. She wouldn’t, not until he did, because she didn’t want to break this…this moment?
She’d always connected to him better than with Bobby, but in a totally different way. Bobby’s life had been almost perfect, up until he’d lost his family’s love. He didn’t understand what it was like to feel alone and isolated, not really, because even once he got back to the institute, everyone had been the same towards him, ad everyone loved him, for being the kind of person he was. And there was nothing wrong with that.
John’s past was almost as much a mystery to her as to everyone else. Almost, because she’d tried to avoid peeking into his memories, simply because she didn’t think he’d like it if she knew everything about him like she potentially could have, but she’d seen a few things, a few flashes. She knew that it had been rough on him, knew that there was a reason for most of what he felt, thought, and did, even if he didn’t understand that reason at the time.
There was a reason.
That thought was almost troubling. Was there another reason for this? Was it something other than simply wanting to comfort her? She didn’t want to think about that anymore, she decided. Whatever happened happened, but right now, it didn’t matter, because she was comfortable here, and because she didn’t think something like this was likely to happen again anytime soon, and she wasn’t going to let go of it if she could help it.
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Post by Pyro on Oct 14, 2006 19:25:11 GMT
”But of course” he grins, giving her a slight chivvying squeeze, ”S’only right”
… well, he wasn’t going to say anything stupid like missed you too now, was he? It wouldn’t have sounded… right, even given how they were now. No way he could make it feel like anything other than words, an obligation rather than genuine sentiment.
Besides, just letting himself be himself around her had to mean something, right?
”Come on” He doesn’t remove his arm, or loosen the embrace any more than necessary, as he leans back on the door, feeling the slight dull *clunk* as it slips open behind him and rebalancing to compensate for how it’s not there to hold him up any more. ”You owe me an ice cream, remember?”
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Post by Rogue on Oct 14, 2006 20:04:35 GMT
"But of course. S’only right.”
She didn't respond verbally, only a tiny nod and a smile in reply. It was. She didn't now if he missed her, too, but she didn't bother to ask, or even think on it long. If he hadn't, she didn't want to know that. She'd just let it go.
”Come on...You owe me an ice cream, remember?”
He opened the door slightly, off balance for a moment before steadying, and she shifted, doing the same, and tipping her hed up a little to look at him, smile on her face.
"Yeah....Thanks, John."
She didn't clarify what the thanks was for - she was pretty sure it was obvious. She finally did move back, albeit reluctantly, so they could acctually walk inside properly, without getting odd looks, or tripping, or just the general awkwardness.
"I'll ord'r, y'can get a seat awhile..."
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Post by Pyro on Oct 14, 2006 20:17:39 GMT
John doesn't need to ask why she's thanking him, just shrugs. "No worries"
He notices that she pulls back as they go inside - as if it’s the old days when a shared sundae was the solution to any problem the three of them could dream up, as if she’s still Bobby’s girlfriend and somehow the people here, seeing them bunking off lessons together, know that and will let spill to him if they cross some stupid invisible line – and, just like old times, has to remind himself that he’s not disappointed by that. It’s just... what has to happen. How things work. Besides, with them both this drunk it’s not the best time to try and walk like that, not if they don’t want to end up in a tangle with too many legs and the floor in entirely the wrong place...
... not that it seemed to want to stay in the right one just now either (shit. How much had he drunk? Not enough for that, surely... Probably a side-effect of her powers). ”Sure. That’d be good” John heads carefully over to one of the wierd booths off to one side, where they can talk without being heard, without feeling eyes on them. Not that there are many people eating ice cream this ridiculously late. It occurs to him that maybe he should have specified some preference so she’d know what to get him... but hey, maybe Little-John, running around inside her head, will pass on the message (he wonders if that’s how it works, and grins at the image, until Little-Logan makes an appearance. That couldn’t end well, could it?).
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Post by Rogue on Oct 14, 2006 20:34:50 GMT
”Sure. That’d be good”
She tossed a smile over at him, and moves to the counter, while he goes and takes his seat. Ordring, she notices she's getting a bit of a look from the woman behind the counter. Maybe she smelled the alcohol. Or maybe it was the mascara that had run when she'd been crying. She absently wiped at it once the woman moved off to geth their ice cream.
Once the order had been finished, and given to her, she moved over towards where John was sitting, and set the tray down on the table with a smile.
"Irish Coffee, righ'?" she rhetorically asked, motioning to the ice cream she'd gotten him, as she slid into the booth across from him, tucking a leg beneath her, and tossing the two clear-wrapped plastic spoons onto the tray.
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Post by Pyro on Oct 14, 2006 20:46:31 GMT
He refuses to be spooked... she’s just got a good memory, that’s all. As has he, come to think of it. Some things you don’t forget, and two can play at that game, so he smiles thanks and nods casually to hers ”Choc.. erm.. mocha-chip-swrily-something...”
Okay, maybe that isn’t going to work... but he’d tried. Casual conversation, now they're not indulging in variations on the mental breakdown or having an undignified and pointless bitchfight, isn’t going to be much easier, especially given his complete lack of skill in that department.
Fuck, he hates small talk... and no doubt his efforts at it really, really suck, the fake-casual tone almost painful as he slides the spoon out of it’s sleeve, leaning over and taking a first dig at the ice-cream. They have his old *fuck-sensitivity-I’ll-just-say-whatever* edge, sure, which might be a good thing, but he doesn’t really want to risk setting her off again... and only realises how much what he’s saying is likely to sting after he’s said it. Bloody alcohol.
”So, how are things? Beyond the obvious, I mean. Ignoring that, erm, no one’s telling you anything, your skin’s all toxic again, and you miss me to death”
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Post by Rogue on Oct 14, 2006 21:02:47 GMT
”Choc.. erm.. mocha-chip-swrily-something...” [/color]
She laughed slightly, as she fumbled with her own spoon. "Close, sugah. Expresso Chip." she responded with a grin. She didn't really know where the "sugah" had come from. She didn't call many people that - if any, on most days - but it had simply slipped out without effort this time, and she decided to ignore it.
Her gloves made opening the plastic around the spoon hard, and she growled slightly under her breath as it slid from her grasp, then used her teeth to tear it open, successfully retrieving the cheap eating utensil from it's clear wrap.
"There w'go..."
”So, how are things? Beyond the obvious, I mean. Ignoring that, erm, no one’s telling you anything, your skin’s all toxic again, and you miss me to death”[/color]
She shrugged a little. "Oth'r th'n all tha', s'been jus' fine, acctually." she responded wryly, as she scooped some of her ice cream into the spoon. "An' how're things w'you? Aside from...well...all th'crap you're dealin' with...?"
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Post by Pyro on Oct 15, 2006 0:35:28 GMT
He smiles, in spite of himself, at the sugah, and laughs – the dark laugh when something’s not really funny unless you have a particularly fucked up variant of extreme gallows humor, the laugh which says you don’t know the half of it – as she continues and asks about the crap he’s been dealing with. ”Other than all that?”
He stops before he can toss away a casual fine the way she did, swallows a mouthful of the ice cream (which, as the lady had said when convincing him to run off on this mad errand (and he smiles again at how he’s calling Rogue *the lady* as if they’re actually sort of close), is really, really good) before looking up, the very embodiment of mischief. Because there have been more than a few questions flying around his head, things sparked by what she’s said and done, and this seems a perfect chance to get something near an answer.
”Wait.. you don’t need to ask, do you? You can just read through my mind, can’t you, Rogue? It’s all in your brain now, isn’t it?” That thought – that he’s suddenly become so transparent, so readable – should terrify him, or drive him insane. Right now the alcohol, and being back with her, are both sort of intoxicating, and so drown out those instincts while heightening the lingering curiosity.
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