Two for Tragedy. [attn. Bob.]

[Arthur Coleman]

"Don't be nervous," Arthur murmurs gently, nodding to his student seated on the piano bench. The two had been a tagteam at the piece for the past hour at least, and Arthur would be ashamed to say that he is almost ready to give up. He is a patient man, and Bobby was no exception, although he was quite certain that he's never had a student that has had as difficult a time as Bobby has with Chopsticks.

Leaning against his desk, partially for support, Arthur nods to his student once more to try again. He raises a hand to his brow as though to rub at his temple which was increasingly foretelling a migraine in his future but quickly brings it back down again, frightened as though this would insult his student. Even so, it would not be unusual for Arthur to become victim to a migraine. He had been ill on and off for the past several months, taking great strides to keep up with his students even when he was forced to stay in bed. He wouldn't eat, he could barely sleep, but Arthur still pushed on. Every corner he turned was a new reminder of Alkali..

Shoving the thought from his mind, Arthur attempts to shift his entire focus onto his pupil, a nagging sense of foreboding drifting about in his head. "Don't focus as much on the notes as you do the rhythm, Bobby.. they will come with practice." He rakes a hand back through his curly hair, putting his hands down into his pockets and slowly approaching Bobby and the piano. Standing still, he methodically taps out the tempo with his foot, silently concluding that perhaps a metronome would be better.

Breathing slow and even, he suddenly turns his head to one side as though hearing something small and insignificant. "I.. I'm sorry.. please continue.. I just thought I heard something.." The words had barely left his lips when a raw wave of power touched his mind like a stroke, heavy and hard, as though he'd been struck. He staggers backwards a little, nearly toppling over the top of his desk at his height, his hands gripping the end of his desk so hard that he was certain he would break his own fingers from the force. Shakily, Arthur releases the end of his desk, breathing raggedly as a look of terror crosses his features in the split second that follows.

An inexplicable amount of pain richochets through Arthur's skull like a gun being fired too close to him. He keeps hearing this strangled, crying noise.. and it took him a few moments to realize as he clutches his head that it is him screaming. There is pain in him and around him, intensified by the agony and panic that everyone around him is feeling. <Make it stop!> <Please.. no!> Some of their cries are loud, shrieking while others are just soft sobs and cries. It's endless, a tunnel of warped torture. His mind is being attacked with thousands of pinpricks of perpetual stabbing pain, colors actually flashing across the backs of his eyes in explosions.

Just as quickly as it all started, it ends, because Arthur collapses into a heap to the floor as his forebrain has a hemorrhage and everything in his mind goes blissfully quiet.

[Bobby Drake]

> "Don't be nervous… Don't focus as much on the notes as you do the rhythm, Bobby.. they will come with practice. "

Bobby frowns and nods, trying to not-focus on the notes. Which shouldn’t be too difficult; after all, it’s not like there’s a lot of notes! It’s freakin’ chopsticks, for crying out loud; his difficulty with it is ridiculous.

Concentrate on the rhythm. Right. Got it. It’s not a novel concept… really, it isn’t. It’s the same principle Storm and Logan beat into him all the time about evasive martial arts… it isn’t about the individual movements, it’s about the flow of events. But somehow it’s easier for him to flow in response to something, like in sparring sessions, than in isolation like this, with just a piano. He wonders, idly, whether he’d do better working on some kind of martial-arts piano-robot-thing in a Danger Room session.

He tries not to wince at his own playing as he stumbles through yet another run, flubbing both the timing and the notes this time. Great… now I’m not focusing on anything except how much I suck at this. He takes a deep breath, shakes his head as if to clear it, mumbles "Sorry…" under his breath and tries again, then stops for a moment at a sudden headache.

"Sorry, again… it’s just I may need some aspirin or some-- " he cuts off as Arthur screams and collapses, and absurdly the first thought running through his mind is Oh, come on, it’s not that awful… before he realizes it has nothing to do with his piano-strangling… something strange is happening, he can feel it in his own mind, and he’s willing to bet it hit Professor Coleman a heck of a lot harder, with his psychic radar-sense and all.

"Professor? Are you all right?" He doesn’t slap his own forehead, but he wants to… yeah, brilliant question, Drake. Because screaming like someone stabbed you in the temples and collapsing in a heap is what “all right” people do. Moron! He gets up hastily, puts out a hand to steady himself at his sudden dizziness – yeah, something is messing with our heads… why isn’t Professor Xavier doing anything about it? – and pulls back hastily at the discordant BRAMMM of his hand leaning on the keys Hell, maybe he is doing something about it and this is just what’s spilled over? There’s a scary thought.

Anyway, it doesn’t matter. The X-Men can take care of the big threat, for now Bobby’s job is to take care of Professor Coleman. Who doesn’t seem injured, except bruised a little from the fall, but is out cold and unresponsive, and his pupils seem dilated. Well, he’s breathing, that’s something

"OK, Professor, we’re getting you to the medlab, let Hank take a look at you, OK?" He carefully scoops the older man up into a fireman’s carry and heads towards the elevator, hoping he’ll snap out of whatever this is quickly. They’d already lost one teacher – two, if you count how broken up Mr. Summers is – and a student this month, and Bobby has no desire to lose anyone else.

[Arthur Coleman]

[Several hours later...]

He is lying supine on the medical table, the shallow dip and rise of his chest the only clue that Arthur is merely at rest instead of beyond all help. Although it might be an ill thought, he looks almost peaceful this way, albeit the fact that he's hooked to various devices and resembles a waxen cadaver with his hollow cheekbones and complexion in such intense lighting. The slender piano fingers twitch as the humming of fluorescent lighting seems to grow louder in the stillness.

He is awake.

It takes several moments for Arthur to fully come to, his ribs contracting sharply and expanding as he releases a noiseless gasp of air. The medical table is cold and slightly uncomfortable and he shifts, realizing with sudden horror that he has been this way and in this place before. The smell of sterility is enough to clue him in on the location and the fact that the blue linen of his shirt has been removed. He has been here before.

Weakness isn't hard to determine in him, and Arthur knows by know that if in his mind he can only see white.. then he will not wake up in his bed.. or on the floor.. where he would rather be instead of on the medical table, stripped of his dignity--almost, at least--and his shirt.

Arthur moves his head slightly to one side, wincing as the area behind his forehead gives a sharp throb to remind him just exactly what a forebrain hemhorrage feels like--much like a lance through the skull. His powers flicker weakly--dully, undoubtedly momentarily surpressed by some sort of medication, either that or weakened from his mental blow. "Where..?" Arthur hoarsely asks to empty air, as though hoping by some miracle that he had not been taken down to the medical labs. Lines crease his forehead as he tries to focus his psychometry, desparately reaching out as far as possible, hoping that there was someone..

"...Bobby..?"

Arthur's body untenses, his muscles having slowly contracted from the effort. He breathes slowly, wondering what time it is, but dreading to ask. His mind reels, and Arthur shivers, recalling the explosions of agony and terror that had erupted within his mind. What source had that power come from..? He struggles to recall in his memory if there is anything he can use, but it only seems to worsen his headache.

[Bobby Drake]

> "Where... Bobby..?"

Bobby’s been sitting by Radar’s – um, Professor Coleman’s – table since he got him hooked up to the automatic diagnostic thingie, not wanting him to wake up alone... it must be creepy to be blind and find yourself somewhere unfamiliar, he figures, even if the guy does have psychic powers and stuff… and after that psychic whatever-it-was that had zapped him, Bobby wasn’t even sure Prof. Coleman would remember his own name.

So it’s a relief to see him move, finally – or, well, move more purposefully than the previous shallow breathing and occasional eye-flicker – and even more of one to hear confirmation that his memory’s intact. Bobby puts down Introduction to Thermodynamics, vaguely aware that he’s been staring at the same two pages for about an hour without really concentrating on them, and steps closer to the medical table.

"Yeah, I’m here… it’s OK, everything’s fine, you’re in the medlab, is all. I brought you down here after you, um, kinda collapsed, and the diagnostic thingie said something happened to your brain…?" he shrugs helplessly, "Anyway, I didn’t really understand the readings or anything, but it said you were stable and stuff, so I figured that’d be OK, but boy I’m glad you’re awake… nobody knows what’s going on, or nobody’s telling me at least. I tried to call the Professor – I mean, Professor Xavier – to see if he could, you know, " Bobby waves his hand vaguely in the general vicinity of his head before remembering Radar can’t see him, "give you some kind of psychic treatment for whatever’d happened, but he’s meditating or something, and Dr. McCoy isn’t around and Miss Munroe and Mr. Logan took off in the Blackbird, so I guess there’s some kind of X-Man thing going on. So I figured I’d stay here just in case, well, you know, in case anything happened, but I’m glad nothing did, ‘cuz you seem kinda OK now, right?"

Bobby finally pauses for breath. Dear God, I’m babbling like a mental deficient.
"And, um… I have your shirt, if you want it back?"

[Arthur Coleman]

Yeah, I’m here… it’s OK, everything’s fine, you’re in the medlab, is all. I brought you down here after you, um, kinda collapsed, and the diagnostic thingie said something happened to your brain…? Anyway, I didn’t really understand the readings or anything, but it said you were stable and stuff, so I figured that’d be OK, but boy I’m glad you’re awake… nobody knows what’s going on, or nobody’s telling me at least. I tried to call the Professor – I mean, Professor Xavier – to see if he could, you know, give you some kind of psychic treatment for whatever’d happened, but he’s meditating or something, and Dr. McCoy isn’t around and Miss Munroe and Mr. Logan took off in the Blackbird, so I guess there’s some kind of X-Man thing going on. So I figured I’d stay here just in case, well, you know, in case anything happened, but I’m glad nothing did, ‘cuz you seem kinda OK now, right?

Arthur breathes in and out slowly, listening calmly as Bobby relays the incident. Inwardly, Arthur cringes at the fact that he had collapsed in front of his student--in the middle of a lesson no less. And, um... I have your shirt, if you want it back?

"Please...," the man rasps with a nod, his thin hands hesitantly trailing to the patches that have him hooked to the machines. Surprisingly, it is slightly difficult for him to pull them off, although he seems to have done this before. Arthur is no medical expert, surely, but he would not sit 'idly' by. In fact, Arthur had made more trips to the medical labs than some of the most reckless students. The last time had been a few months ago when he'd been bedridden with a terrible bout of the flu, and the time before that had been for his verge on a mental breakdown, so intense that he couldn't eat anything at all without becoming sick.

Fragility is not only for glass and fine china it seems.

After managing to disengage himself from the machines, Arthur slowly, painfully sits upright, shivering as the blanket falls away from his chest, exposing his ghastly excuse for a torso, the shadows of his ribs, and the sharp points of his shoulders. He tries not to think about how pathetic he must look, gripping the ends of the medical table so that he wouldn't sag down onto his side. A wave of dizziness is pressing onto his forebrain, the pressure feeling as though it is increasing, and he feels small and exposed without his powers to guide him, muffled by his mental injury. Arthur is shaking slightly, rattled from the powerful mix of emotions that had felt as though they were scalping the top layer of his brain.

"I-I.. ah.. I... apologize for this, Bobby..," Arthur suddenly says in little more than a soft murmur.

[Bobby Drake]

Bobby tries not to stare at Radar’s emaciated frame as he helps uncouple the monitors and feeds, tries not to show how disturbing it is. He looks like one of those pictures of starving people in Ethiopia, or an AIDS victim or something.

And Bobby knows it’s silly of him to even try and conceal his reaction, Arthur being an empathy and everything, but… well… it seems polite, anyway.

> "I-I.. ah.. I... apologize for this, Bobby..,"

Bobby shrugs. "Nothing to apologize for… I think pretty much everybody got nailed by that whatever-it-was… just hit you harder than most, I guess. Any idea what it was?"

[Arthur Coleman]

Nothing to apologize for… I think pretty much everybody got nailed by that whatever-it-was… just hit you harder than most, I guess. Any idea what it was? The shock eminates quickly enough from Bobby, and Arthur doesn't even have to think about why. As quickly as he can, he puts his shirt on, slipping his thin arms into the sleeves and fumbling with the buttons, starting from the top and working his way down. "I.. I don't know what it was, Bobby. It was frightening.. how.. powerful it was. ...how emotional..," he finishes this in a murmur, as though leaving it hanging in the air will give him some answer as to where the power came from. For a moment Arthur sits still, his hands working a button but his fingers refusing to cooperate.

"..I.. I was the only one who was afflicted in this way..?" he suddenly asks--slowly, painfully. Despite the question, he already knew the answer, but Arthur had to make sure. Surely.. surely he was not the only one who had blacked out. Surely someone else had--the second these thoughts come to mind the man berates himself for even thinking of such a thing, of wishing someone else had fallen as he did.

It is tiring.. incidents like these day after day. Arthur certainly had his fellow staff and friends for support.. but he feels as though he's relying too much on them, too much on his family too. He had his own two feet, it was time to use them. But how..?

[Bobby Drake]

((ooc: sorry for the delay, I completely forgot this thread! ))



> "..I.. I was the only one who was afflicted in this way..?"

Bobby shrugs apologetically. " I don’t really know… I mean, it hit me too, but not as hard. Nobody else came down here though, so I guess probably?" He can’t tell whether Professor Coleman is worried about whether anybody’s hurt or about feeling like a wimp. It must suck having a power that makes you more vulnerable instead of less. I guess Marie is a little like that, too… never really thought about it that way.

"You seem OK now, though…?" he offers tentatively, annoyed at how it turned into a question without his meaning to. He doesn’t really seem OK, and lying to a telepath is really never a good idea, but sometimes he can’t help it. What am I supposed to say… ‘Wow, Mr. Coleman, you really do look like hell!’?

"Do you… I mean, is there anything I can do? Get you some aspirin, or some Gatorade or something? I get really dehydrated sometimes when my powers slip out of control…" Bobby doesn’t actually kick himself, but he wants to"…or, you know… stuff…" Yeah. Good save, that. "… like, maybe we could find out where that whammy came from, or something?"