No Turning Back (open)

[Sherridan Kaine]

Did I fail them? Am I still doing it? They certainly didn't want me to turn out this way. What the fuck am I trying to do here?

-You did fail them. You're hiding behind a facade of money. Is that your answer to everything? Buy them or kill them? Pathetic.

Shut up! That's not true! You know it's not.

-I know it's not true, but does the rest of them know that? They see you as a snob who's trying to make his way in the world by buying everything.

That's true...but how could I prove them wrong? Magneto started this whole money-spending project, and the rest of them are all deranged in one way or another...

-And you're not?

What?! Of course not! I'm perfectly sane!

-Then why are you yelling at a voice in your head?

Fine...but everyone has something.

-They didn't fail their parents.

Dead parents! They are dead! It's their fault that they believed in such stupidities!

-Is it really? Do you really think it's their fault that you turned out the way you are?

Listen, I have overpaid my dues a long time ago, and I still keep doing so. From now on, that's it! They died for their cause, fine. They wanted their cause to be mine, but it isn't; mine is the opposite, and I will die for it one day. That's IT.

-Is it?

STOP THAT!

CRASH!

Sherridan turns around to see that his tail had made the noise by braking a statuette that used to stand on a shelf on the wall opposite to the door. I didn't need that anyway. he thinks, awaiting the familiar voice to answer. It doesn't. "What the..." he says out loud as he gives a few more seconds to the voice to respond. It doesn't. Are you there?

No answer. A grin spreads across the cat man's face. The voice is gone. He can now actually feel it. How invigorating the feeling only is, to have his whole mind just to himself. His eyes flail around to look over his room. All of it is decorated so tacky. So revoltingly posh. Lots of pictures, statuettes, a few vases, allot of glass. And the wallpapers are revolting also, some kind of "artistic expressionism" deal.

He walks over to his bed, the only thing that has remained the way it was before he got here, and lifts the mattress, revealing a katana in a pitch black case. He grabs it, and takes the sword out. A merging of black and gray metal, lights shines off its smooth, extremely sharp surface in intricate patterns. "Odd what you can get on auctions." he says as the grin on his face widens and becomes malicious.

With a sharp swing, another crash spreads through the room, and probably a part of the hallway. Then another, and another. As he spins around the sword clashes with the large amounts of glass, and then he turns once more, the finishing swing, splitting the last statuette standing into two, his body followed by a whirlwind of glass shards.

Then, it takes him only about fifteen minutes to scratch all the wallpapers off as only a cat can, revealing an ancient black paint job, semi worn off, which was probably made that way by the previous owner of the house.

His head down, eyes closed, Sherridan puts his sword back into its case, and drops it on the bed, which is now a sea of various parts of art. Even the pictures are all ripped apart. He knows how to appreciate art, but he won't buy any more of it, since there is no need. His own mansion is perfect the way it is, and this place is going to be that way once he cleans up the fragments of everything.

My real name...is Ferus. he thinks, forever closing a painful chapter of his life, a torturing set of memories which he has payed attention to for far too long.

[Manslaughter]

"Your room exploded," a voice suddenly and softly notes. Standing in the doorway suddenly, having appeared like a ghost, was none other than Roger, his slight figure positioned between the door and the doorway. The boy is clinging to the doorway, his reddish-blonde hair shoved up into short, messy spikes.. and barefoot, revealing his pale toes. He had heard the crashing all the way up in the attic, and it was quite natural for him to investigate. He regards the room with mild interest, his blue-grey eyes soaking up the damage done to it. The glass glimmers in the dim lighting like tiny bits of sugar, and for a moment Roger has the distinct feeling of wondering if that was what it really was.

He seems to have no problem with his own intrusion on someone else, and also seems to care little that he often frightens or angers others by appearing so quickly and suddenly. As usual, his gaze locks upon Sherridan's tail, having been fascinated with it since the first time the two had encountered each other. Curiously, Roger makes a questioning 'poke' at Sherridan's mind, as though wanting to further get his attention.

[Sherridan Kaine]

Sherridan does not react at at first, having noticed the boy just by the sound of his feet on the floor. His hearing was better than that of a cat, since his mutation seems to not only give him feline traits, but also increase them. Rare are the sounds that can escape the two unnaturally pointed ears of Sherridan Kaine.

As the mental prod comes, however, he shudders lightly. He has never been comfortable with another presence in his mind, and has had a few encounters with telepaths. The problem with this boy's mutation, however, was that he did not read thoughts. He killed them, it seemed.

His eyes open, his fur drifting from the usual white tiger pattern to a creamy gray color, one uncommon among house cats, but still present.

"I would appreciate if you did not do that, Manslaughter." he says quietly as his tail wraps itself around his waist. Finally, he opens his eyes and turns to gaze across the room, his slitted ice blue eyes finally resting on the other as his head turns, his golden blond shoulder-long hair resting messily around his face.

"It indeed does seem like it has exploded, doesn't it. I was simply imploring some redecorating techniques." he replies finally, his voice conversational, as if he did not just have a mental break down and destroy hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of art. He walks idly to the bed, and simply shoves the blanket away after picking his sword up, revealing the mattress, which was now completely without any traces of broken art. There was a loud and long noise as the various shards fell across the floor, joining their relatives.

"Feel free to come in and sit, just be careful of the broken glass and things." he says, without a smile. It is indeed a weird mood he is in, one completely untypical.

[Manslaughter]

I would appreciate if you did not do that, Manslaughter. Roger blinks as he draws back into his own mind like a begrudgingly retreating predator, now tugging on the end of his fraying sleeve with his teeth. His gaze flicks back to Sherridan's tail as it seems to cuddle against his waist. It indeed does seem like it has exploded, doesn't it. I was simply imploring some redecorating techniques. Roger tilts his head to one side, nodding a little, as though it makes sense to him. He nudges a few bits of glass with the toe of his shoe, his eyes traveling upward to glimpse Sherridan's sword.

Feel free to come in and sit, just be careful of the broken glass and things.

Roger seems to contemplate this invitation before crossing the room silently, nimbly stepping around the tiny shards of glass until he takes a seat on the corner of the mattress, slightly bouncing on it a little as though to test the tension of the springs. "Why?" he suddenly asks, as though the inquiry had taken forever to reach him to question Sherridan's proclaimed 'redecorating' techniques. With a single finger he points to a pile of glass, then a destroyed painting, then letting his finger travel in dips and bounces around the room until it comes back into a rest into his lap.

[Sherridan Kaine]

His eyes follow the other's hand intently, amusement showing on his face. A rather interesting individual, he is... he thinks as he shrugs lightly, cleaning up some of the mess and then sitting down in his usual lotus position. His tail is now moving idly back and forth across the floor, sweeping the broken pieces up slightly.

"A good question. I do not know the answer, however. I guess I just decided I did not like the way it was set up..." he replies finally, after a few minutes of pondering silence.

It was time for a change, that is all... he reassures himself as his head tilts to one side, producing a series of cracks as he chases the stiffness out of his neck. His eyes are transfixed upon the other, studying every motion he might produce, every detail about him.

He said his previous name was Roger. That was not good enough. I need his last name as well... he thinks, still intent on doing the usual research he performed whenever meeting new people. It was his defense. There was no other way of making sure he was protected. As long as he did not kill the person, of course. Pulling someone's history against them was Sherridan's specialty, and it was the basis on which he worked when "social murder" was the requirement.

[Manslaughter]

A good question. I do not know the answer, however. I guess I just decided I did not like the way it was set up...

"Oh," Roger says on a sigh, leaving the statement to hang in the air. He smooths his hand out across the mattress, tracing the thread patterns with his index finger and kicking his feet slightly. "Do you like the way it is now?" he asks, as though not quite convinced that Sherridan like the current state his room was in. His gaze rises to fleetingly meet the other male's eyes before casually trailing down to the slow flick of his tail.

Kitty! He almost purrs, outstretching his arms over the back of his father's shoulder and reaching for the tiny ball of fluff just behind the window. He puts a hand on the window and the kitten bats at the impression of his hand with a paw. Roger cries when his father carries him away..

A reoccuring thought was surfacing in Roger's mind to pet Sherridan's tail, but another tiny, doubtful thought kept him from leaping over the mattress to stroke the soft, grey fur.

[Sherridan Kaine]

He arches an eyebrow. Does he like the way his room is now? An odd question at best, but Sherridan seems used to questions like these. "Well, not-" he is cut off by Beethoven's Fuer Elise, which started ringing from the cell phone, which just so happened to be right by where Roger is seated.

Sherridan stands up, a look of discontent on his face. He walks to the bed, and leans over, his tail swinging around seemingly out of his control. It is a reflex buried so deep within his conscious that he practically does not. On its way, it passes a few times in front of the boy's face, and as the cat man answers the phone and hears the voice of a particularly irritating employee, his whole fur changes to a deep red suddenly.

"No...no...yes...I told you to ship it...no, you were supposed to have signed those papers once it entered your jurisdiction...No, just contact Michael, he will tell you where to send it after...I don't care, bye..." he finishes the conversation with a seething voice.

Dropping the phone down onto the bed, he assumes his lotus position again, but this time only a foot or two away from the bed. "Sorry, they are just so annoying at times. In any case, to answer your question, no I do not like it now. But I will once I have all of this mess cleaned up." he says finally, and then falls back into a silence.

[Manslaughter]

Roger watches in an absent-minded sort of way as Sherridan's reply is interrupted by his phone. His eyes follow the tail as it swings close to his face, his hand coming up slowly and taking a quick bat at it before it flicks out of his reach. The boy makes a face, as though annoyed, but he does not pursue the tail, remaining on his position on the bed, actually stretching across the mattress quite comfortably. Sorry, they are just so annoying at times. In any case, to answer your question, no I do not like it now. But I will once I have all of this mess cleaned up. Blinking slowly, Roger looks around the room again, tracing more imaginary nothings with his finger as it dances across the scene of the wreakage.

"....what color will it be?" he asks off-handedly, as though he had an idea of what color it should be already, seeming to think that Sherridan would go ahead and slap on a new coat of paint as part of his redecoration process.

[Sherridan Kaine]

Sherridan decides to not say anything about the boy's attempt at his tail, and looks around the room instead, taking a few moments to realize just what Manslaughter was asking.

Quite a random character, this one. he thinks to himself, wondering just how dangerous was his mutation, especially so in his hands, or, rather, mind.

"I am not sure. Black, most likely. Hm, yes, and a black carpet possibly..." he stares off into space, deciding to simply make it black all the way. It was stylish, and it did not include any art, which he somehow has a severe distaste for at this point in time.

As he thinks, the tail wags around idly, showing that he quite clearly is in a sort of relaxed state. His fur drifts back to the dull gray as he calms down from experiencing the stupidity of yet another employee.

[Manslaughter]

I am not sure. Black, most likely. Hm, yes, and a black carpet possibly...

"Black..," Roger repeats aloud, his eyes flicking towards Sherridan's tail as it waves in a seemingly at ease manner. He stretches out across the mattress and props his head up in his hands, his gaze never leaving Sherridan's waving appendage, watching as the fur distorts and mutes itself to a neutral gray. "...why does it change colors..?" he asks, as though he were asking why the sky was blue or why grass was green. The boy rolls over on his back and then on his stomach again, peering over at Sherridan from the end of the bed, his chin resting on the corner trim. His hair is even more mussed from his movements, suggesting that he has been napping and has only just woken up.

[Sherridan Kaine]

His questions would disturb many a person. Not what they are, for that is quite casual talk. But the way he asks them...suddenly, unrelated to any talk of before, and even perhaps a bit hauntingly. And that stare. It is empty, it would seem, or perhaps filled with sights from a world not apparent to those around him. I see how he disturbs many people. He must have missed a critical part of social growth...but how? he wonders, watching the boy's actions. And then the thought strikes him as he remembers a few other people who have acted a similar way around society. Could he have been in an asylum? That narrows the search...

He blinks, having been snapped away from his thoughts, at the boy's question. Disturbing to many, and yet it does not bother me. Why?

"Well, I am not sure. I wish it to, or a strong emotion causes it to. From my research, I have come to a hypothesis that at some point in time this was a key aspect of my mutation, and that my actual feline abilities depended highly upon which type of cat's fur I had on. But it has strengthened critically since then, and my capabilities now exceed those of any cat, and this does not include the fact that I am more sentient and capable of higher levels of thought. So now, it is either a nice decoration, a good warning sign, or an excellent camouflage." he explains, somehow certain that the kid would understand every single part of it. And if he does not, Sherridan is quite confident with the conclusion that Roger will just ask for the meanings.

Many disturbed, many afraid of his mutation, and yet I have a feeling that he will not hurt me if I do not hurt him... he thinks, staring off at the boy, his bright blue eyes slightly fogged up. He is certain that he will not get hurt. It is just one of those instinctual feelings all cats seemed to have. And Sherrdan had long since learned to trust his own on every matter. The mind often did not have all the information needed.

[Manslaughter]

Well, I am not sure. I wish it to, or a strong emotion causes it to. From my research, I have come to a hypothesis that at some point in time this was a key aspect of my mutation, and that my actual feline abilities depended highly upon which type of cat's fur I had on. But it has strengthened critically since then, and my capabilities now exceed those of any cat, and this does not include the fact that I am more sentient and capable of higher levels of thought. So now, it is either a nice decoration, a good warning sign, or an excellent camouflage.

Roger blinks, tilting his head, but there is understanding on his face, although he does not confirm this aloud; obviously the boy contains more intelligence than meets the eye. For several long moments, he just stares at Sherridan's fur, his eyes seeming to mentally pick apart every shade of grey. He stretches languidly across the bed, tucking his arms underneath his chin and burying his face deep into the folds of his sleeves for a moment, as if thinking and not wanting Sherridan wanting to guess his thoughts by the look on his face.

Curling his fingers, Roger then lifts his head up again, perching his chin on the sharp bone of his forearm. "Which is your favorite?" he asks slowly, raising and lowering the pitch of each word in a sing-song tone. Roger wishes there were songs about colors.. cat fur colors.. His mind opens and he mentally brushes against the nerves in the tip of Sherridan's nose in a feather-like sensation, arching his dark brows and letting his expression go blank in the stillness.

[Sherridan Kaine]

Sherridan's eyes follow every single move the boy makes, soaking in every detail. He does not, however, delude himself with the thoughts of being able to understand Roger. Not even partially. No, the boy is much more complex than one would think. Many a person would just call him a "crazy little psycho" and think that they are done with any possible analysis.

There is more to it than just that...each one of them is different. And Roger...he is one of the more different ones... he thinks as he shrugs to the other's reply. "I would have to say white tiger. They are my favorite type of cat, after all." he replies, and then within a second his fur changes to that of the said animal, black stripes visible along his neck and arms, spiking over the white fur.

His blue eyes seem a bit lighter, an optical trick made by the bright fur. "But, of course, if I am trying to sneak around in the night, it would have to be panther's fur. Black is always in style." he smiles lightly, closing his eyes for a few moments as his tail goes on idly swinging back and forth, back and forth.

[Manslaughter]

I would have to say white tiger. They are my favorite type of cat, after all. Roger makes a noise in the back of his throat that seems to pay a semblance to a purr as he watches Sherridan change his fur color, his eyes widening in almost wonder. He furrows his brow a little, as though willing his own hair to change, but then relaxes his muscles and lets them go slack into his usual expression. But, of course, if I am trying to sneak around in the night, it would have to be panther's fur. Black is always the style.

"I like black kitties..," Roger murmurs, his gaze snapping back to Sherridan's tail. Back. Forth. Back. Forth. His eyes never strayed from the waving appendage, fascinated by the tiny bones that could make it curl and flick its tufted tip. His hands twitch in anticipation, wanting to reach out and snag the tail with his fingertips and touch the fur that was glinting in the lighting. He can't resist it. Thrusting his arm out from underneath his chin, Roger watches and waits, his muscles contracting in preparation, the thrumming of nerves that controlled the tail coming towards him and retreating.. coming back.. retreating.. and then..

Roger flicks his hand out, the tips of his fingers aiming to barely graze the tip of Sherridan's tail.

[Sherridan Kaine]

At the exact same moment, however, Sherridan, who has been staring off into space and not paying attention to what the boy was doing, moves his tail a bit closer, a twitch causing it to come right under the other's hand.

The sensation of the boy's hand on his tail sends a wave of various emotions up the appendage. First, there is the annoyance he received when anyone else touched less...conventional parts of his fur-covered body. Second, which was also the reason why the first existed, the primordial instinct of enjoying a petting sends shivers up his spine. Third, he is surprised at the boy's actions, having absolutely not expected that, and, fourth, he has to keep himself in check, restraining from lashing out with his claws and causing a psychotic child with the power to turn one's brain into stew to kill him.

His head does snap back however, and his blue eyes gaze at the other. "Why did you do that?" he asks, every emotion, both the pleasant and unpleasant ones, bottled up and completely invisible in his tone of voice.