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Never thought I'd be in this place It's someone else's life I'm living Wish I were living a lie The hardest part is when the bough breaks Falling down and then forgiving You didn't kiss me good-bye I'm choking on the words I didn't get to say I'm praying I get the chance one day I still run, I still swing open the door I still think you'll be there like before Doesn't everybody out there know they never come 'round Somethings a heart won't listen to I'm still holdin' out for you. -SheDaisy
Cordelia Chase had long battled with her sanity - but she knew the distinction between a vision and reality. Lately, the line had become increasingly blurred and ever fearful, Cordelia always wondered when the time would come when she would wake up from a vision and find there was no difference, that she could no longer distinguish which feelings were hers and which belonged to others. When she came to with a start, a fleeting moment of panic washed over her when she came to one, very important decision: It wasn't better. It was almost tangible, the alien feelings - doubt, fear, worry, love, panic, and it wasn't hers and it wasn't better, and she feared that she had lost all comprehension as it slid over her. Moistness hit her cheek where the tears slipped down, marking that place with cold, salty fluid. She trembled, whimpering even as the her body came back to her, and the weight of reality came with it, beyond the splintering pain of her arm, along with the emotions that never escaped her. Touch alleviated it somewhat, she was able to discern the soft hands that slid up her forearms, gentle over something covering her right forearm, and she heard a soothing, firm voice that must have belonged to Jean, "Cordelia, breathe. I need you to breathe and just concentrate on the sound of my voice. Block everything else out." She swallowed, her eyes shut tight, as her voice was hoarse with emotion, "I… can't-" "Yes you can. You can make it stop, Cordelia. Breathe in and out for me. Concentrate only on the breathing, and only on me." There was no room for argument, and Cordelia, who most likely would have argued her head off at the absurdity of the whole yoga wannabe ritual, was beyond desperate. She wanted it to stop, she wanted it to go away because it was worse than the pain - it was unfiltered raw... Her eyes never opened, but the emotions were still there, and it wasn't getting better, even as she took the breath that caught in her throat. "Everyone out - NOW. Get downstairs and stay downstairs until I say you can come up again." She heard a growl, wasn't sure who it came from, but the door slammed, and suddenly everything was easier. Cordelia took in a breath, harder this time, deeper, and all there was was Jean - and there was nervousness and fear but it was all coming from her own body. There was nothing alien - nothing at least that was overwhelming, and she felt a sigh of relief jolt through her. She opened her eyes. Jean Grey was settled in beside her, on the bed, regarding her with eyes that were tinged with moisture behind the glasses, but her expression was unreadable, as she gently massaged at Cordelia's palms. "Welcome back," she said gently. Cordelia felt a slip of a smile slide over her face in thankfulness, and Jean gave one back, moving down and completing her task of dressing the wound on her arm. "That'll leave a scar, and you lost some blood - a lot of it. But I think you'll be fine with some rest." Rest? What rest? There was no time for rest- "NO, Cordelia. You're NOT Superwoman, okay?" Jean's grip was surprisingly firm, as she pushed her back, keeping the palms on her shoulders as she gave Cordelia a firm glare. "You need to rest. You lost blood - and whatever happened back there took a lot out of you." Cordelia felt a sigh of frustration bubble up from within her, but she didn't have the strength to argue, as she closed her eyes again, breathing in, breathing out - boy that really seemed to work, and she swallowed, and opened her eyes and tried again. She looked at Jean, who wasn't looking at her, instead inspecting the arm that ached, hands expertly cleaning around it. Cordelia breathed yet again, and concentrated on the beautiful doctor. Jean Grey was stock still, and it was faint, but she felt it - Immediately Cordelia flinched, moving away. "What's happening to me?" It was more than a question; it was a demand. Jean's hand stilled for a second, before she let her breath out and placed her hand back next to her body, straightening and looking directly into her hazel eyes. "You've gained a new mutation, Cordelia. Empathy." Empathy. The word washed over her, and Cordelia licked her lips, processing it, taking another deep breath, and shaking her head, wiping the bangs out of her face. "Empathy." She said it again, rolling the words on her tongue, as if just by saying it, it could become more real, because it sure seemed surreal as hell. "Looks like it. You don't read thoughts - but the feelings… " "The mutation made me empathic?" Jean nodded. "Something about how we increased - the mutation… the visions are no longer the only things coming through the PTB pipeline." "But I didn't feel it before-" "Mutations manifest themselves usually during puberty. I know you're well past that, but - perhaps some sexual activity-" Uh huh. Like being ravished against a wall, for instance? Geez. Sex was just plain evil. Cordelia was never one to beat around the bush, and she took no time in parlaying the question that really mattered. "Okay, so how do I get rid of it?" "You don't." Cordelia tried to calm the panic that was so easily summoned within her. What the hell did she mean `you don't'? Why the hell not?! "Why?" "You made your choice, Cordelia. I told I didn't know what would happen if we went through with the operation." There was no sympathy in her voice, and Cordelia cocked her head slightly, eyes narrowing as she studied the older doctor. Jean Grey's features, however fine, were set in a grim, determined, frown. Her hand squeezed hers and she continued with, "You have a gift, Cordelia." Oh yeah. This was a gift. Yay her. "So I'm empathic? That's it?" "'Fraid so." She sighed, leaning against the backboard of the bed. "There's an odd sense of irony in that." This time a smile graced Jean Grey's face. "There usually is." The long-haired brunette studied her before continuing, in a more serious tone, "You learn to control it, filter it. Eventually you can block things out and it almost becomes unconscious." Cordelia looked away, down at the bandage on her forearm. "It happened to you didn't it?" "Yes. I learned. You'll catch on eventually." There was so much acceptance in that, and Cordelia didn't want to take it. She never believed that things were unchangeable, she never did. That's part of what made her a damn Chase. But there was no time. "How can I keep it from overwhelming me now?" Jean didn't say anything, and when the door clicked open, and the denim clad Logan slipped into the room, leaning against the door, she looked almost relieved. Immediately she leaned forward, speaking low and fiercely into Cordelia's ear. "Take the new emotions, filter them. Put them aside, set them in their own special place and make sure yours are dominant." Cordelia narrowed her eyes, studying Logan - the emotions came unfiltered from him, but as she watched him, the beast man with the intensely feral eyes, as they bore into hers, they were alien, different - Logan. She breathed a sigh of relief. "Angel?" "He's coming," Logan said, and when Jean nodded, he tapped the door. Immediately it opened, and before Cordelia quite knew what was happening, she was pulled into a rock hard embrace - one that put her aching forearm in direct contact with Angel's body, and making her wince - hard. "OWW." "Angel, her arm." "Oh, right." He pulled away, and Cordelia smiled, her eyes shining brightly at the look of complete relief on his face. Angel rarely let such a show emotion on his handsome face, and if it hadn't been for the pain and the serious trauma Cordelia had just gone through, she would have teased him about it. "Hey." "Hey." He looked unsure, and Cordelia merely smiled, sliding her palm down his cheek before pulling away, sitting on the edge of the bed and gripping the sides. Rogue slipped in, and Cordelia caught her own peculiar sense of emotions - Weird. The woman with the streak in her hair was out of sorts, and what Cordelia was filtering was ... Cordelia's eyes flew to Angel, but he only squeezed her hand. "How are you?" She swallowed, blinked, and shook her head. There wasn't time for that. "What the hell happened down there?" Rogue shifted, and Logan frowned, while Angel licked his lips slightly, but Jean simply answered, "We were attacked by a group of mutants and demons - from what I can gather from Professor Xavier, Magneto sent them." That didn't make sense. "Why would Buffy work for that guy?" Again the glances were passed around and Cordelia felt her own irritation overwhelm the other emotions. "Can we STOP with the let's be delicate around Cordelia looks? I need to know." "That wasn't Buffy," Angel said, his voice slightly hoarse. "That was... someone else." "A shapeshifter," Rogue said. "Mystique. Bad-Ass and dangerous as hell." Great. Just... peachy.
Gunn wasn't by nature a neat man. But he liked things ordered, and uncomplicated. He wasn't a simple man, but he liked things to have their place. Being thrown out on his ass about certain situations wasn't something he appreciated, and if there was something that REALLY pissed him off it was end of the world situations. Especially when he had NO idea what the HELL WAS GOING ON. He sat on the chair, watching as Fred and Wesley poured over the books at the counter, feeling helpless as hell and not knowing a damn thing to do about it. "Maybe I should check outside," he suggested. "See if maybe those mutant guys have given up yet?" "Storm created the winds," Wesley said without looking up. "That will keep them occupied for the time beings." He sighed. "Check on Cordy?" "She's fine," Jean said, coming down the stairs, running fingers through her bangs. "A little disoriented." Okay - scratch that. "Maybe I can help Angel-" "I got it," Rogue said, following Angel down the stairs and to the weapons closet, both vampire and mutant disappearing as the door closed. Damn. Fred glanced up, gave him a half smile, and he sighed, leaning back against the chair as he waited. Damn apocalypse was coming around and he was useless. The ringing of the phone brought him out of his self pity, and he jumped to get it, answering it with a hurried hello before even remembering about the whole stupid slogan. "Hello- Uh... I mean - Angel -" "Gunn." Immediately his tone changed, straightening and recognizing the voice immediately. "Hey." His old friend sounded worried, in the background was the sounds of crying, shouting... chaos. "You busy?" Fred looked up, and Gunn's eyes immediately met with hers. The concern in the brown orbs was evident, as she listened intently to his side of the conversation. "I'm... what's going on?" "Oh you know... END OF THE FUCKING WORLD! We could use some help here, dog!" Shit. The lump in his throat quelched the automatic words, "I'll be right there," as once again his eyes caught Fred's. "I... dude I.." Fred's eyes widened, and before he could say another word she plucked the phone from his hands and began speaking into it. "Where are you?" "FRED!" She was really damn good at keeping him away from the phone. Even with his flexibility, she still managed to keep away from his searching hands. "He'll be there in five minutes." She hung up, and he found they had ended up in the darkened corner of Wesley's office, as she put the phone in its cradle, looking up at him as he kept her against the wall. His hands had slipped to her waist involuntarily, but he swallowed, and smiled, and kept them there, letting the irritation only go so far as he pulled the phone out of her hands, bringing her closer to him in the process. "I can't leave you, Fred," he whispered, his voice low, making sure the group on the other side of the room couldn't hear. "It ain't an option so just get used to it." "Why not?" she answered back, her dark eyes searching his. "You've had no problem with it before." "That was different." "Why?" "I don't know." "They need you. They're on Wilshire and 6th." They did need him. Gunn closed his eyes, sighing, and his body froze when a gentle hand caressed his cheek, a soft pad of a thumb lining his lips as a warm mouth pressed against his neck and he heard in a breathy whisper, "I'll be fine. They need you." His eyes opened, hands keeping her close in an embrace as he studied her face. "And what about you, Fred?" She wasn't sure how to answer that, he could see it in her eyes, the way she hesitated, and he almost cursed the way his heart gave him away with it's loud, audible, skip of a beat. "I know you'll be back." Her answer wasn't nearly good enough, but there was a faith there that hadn't been there before, and he still smiled, still traced the line of her lips with a finger before nodding. "I'm coming right back, Fred. I don't have a choice." "Why?" Leave it to crazy old Fred to want to know the reason behind it all. "Destiny and some other shit." His answer wasn't nearly good enough, and Gunn felt they were oddly even. She just smiled and shrugged, not comprehending. But her mouth tilted up, meeting his with a breathy sigh as he gently kissed her, pulling her closer to him in a seal of a promise. When he released her, her eyes were shining, and he strongly suspected his own weren't exactly dull. "I'll be back," he promised. She pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, looking mousy and cute and so completely Fred. "I know you will." He stepped backwards, picked up the ax, and went to let Wesley know exactly where he was going. He didn't look at Fred again. He knew he didn't have to.
Research was often underrated, this Wesley knew well. Not many people quite understood the tedium, the strain on your eyes and your back, the paper cuts that hurt awfully, the long hours of sitting staring at texts that were barely even legible, and often in a language you barely understood. It took a person of infinite patience to be able to unravel the clues, to think in a way that caused the `eureka' that he knew they all waited for. But even he was stumped. A prophecy that began with something called First Night was incredibly vague, and the only factors he had to go on : an eclipse, and chaos roaming free, weren't exactly particular to one thing. Jean had long ago fallen asleep, curled onto the sofa that remained in the lobby. Fred, who was agitated about Gunn's whereabouts, had called him yet again, from the other line where she felt she could have some privacy. Wesley wondered about that. He knew that when cut off from their family, two people were bound to get a trifle closer, but Wesley was unsure exactly how close Fred and Gunn got. It was something to consider, and at the thought, Wesley felt a slight pang in his chest. He and Cordelia had been friends, close friends, on the brink of something more when a very bad kiss and yet another coming apocalypse had put an end to that relationship. When he had met up with again, this time in Los Angeles, she had already become great friends with Angel, bonded by the loss of their mutual friend, Doyle. When Angel left them, Wesley had been the rock that Cordelia and Gunn had both clung to, and he had found a friendship with the renegade leader that had been both surprising and rewarding. Gunn was his closest friend, his confidante, and although he knew he carried a special place in Cordelia's heart, it was Angel she turned to, Angel she loved. The inclusion of Fred in their group had shaken, stirred the group slightly, but he hadn't minded. They were very good friends, like minded when it came to academic pursuits, and he knew that Cordelia had often expected something to pop up between the two of them. On the subject, Gunn had always been remarkably quiet, and now, viewing Fred's obvious agitation for Gunn, something he felt as well, he wasn't quite sure why he felt the jealousy - or who it was directed toward. Footsteps on the staircase made him look up, and he breathed a sigh of relief when Ororo Munroe descended the stairs, looking tired, and weary. Immediately he stood, walking over to her and helping her, as she offered her thanks with a gracious smile, utterly exhausted as she leaned on him, wincing slightly from a wound on her shoulder. "I take it wasn't exactly a picnic?" "Oh it was marvelous fun," she quipped back, quiet when she saw Jean's still form. "Any luck on the research?" "None whatsoever. And Scott?" "With the plane." He nodded, sat beside her as she gently moved her wounded shoulder, looking down at it with a grimace. "That will hurt later." He nodded, and immediately reached for her sweater, helping her shrug it off, before grabbing the first aid kit he kept handy behind the counter. "Jean has been awake for some time," she remarked with a nod in the sleeping telepath's direction. "I doubt she has had a good night's sleep since last week." Wesley nodded, taking in a breath at the bloody wound marring the graceful shoulder, before shaking his head, moving his fingers over it, frowning when she gave an indrawn hiss. He cocked an eyebrow. "You hold off mutants and vampires for the better part of two hours and this is painful?" Her eyes shot to his and they twinkled slightly in challenge when she responded evenly, "Perhaps you could do better?" He conceded, holding his gaze until he realized his hand was still stroking her shoulder, long after it had been bandaged, and perhaps that was not altogether appropriate. "Any luck on the research?" Fred asked, coming in, settling beside them as Wesley jerked his hand away and moved to his side of the desk. "Unfortunately no. Blasted bloody chaos out there that we should be stopping and Angel is holed up in the weapons closet with Rogue, Cordelia is under empathic attack, and we haven't the first clue what is bloody going on!" He finished the emphatic exclamation with a thump on the counter, the dust rising and settling back down, coming close to their surprised faces. "Perhaps this might help," Ororo said, holding up a book she had carried in with her. "Wait… is that the…" Jean gently moved off the couch, coming forward, rubbing at her arms in a sleepy manner. She took the book thoughtfully, staring at the cover. "This is the book that got delivered by accident." "I thought so too," Storm said, "But after the recent turn of events I took a second look." Gently, she took the book back and turned to the middle of the pages, opening them and finding a highlighted passage. "Look familiar?" Words written in a scrawl that was neat and small - easily missed in the black pen on the faded yellow pages. Wesley took it, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose as he stood. "I've never seen this book before. It's rather… old." Carefully, he turned the pages over and skimmed. "Written in Sanskrit." Jean gave Ororo a glance, as Fred stood with him, moving to behind his shoulder to gaze at the pages. "Apparently your friend left you a present," she said, after glancing, "And a note written in German." "Anyone here know German?" "I do." Storm gave Wesley a smile as he began to read immediately, one that faded into her face as he continued to read, and translate. "Contrary to what you might think, I have always believed in fair play, and I do have a heart. I believe strongly in destiny, old friend, and I believe, consequently so do you, so with that mentality I give you your only chance to stop what is by now most likely completely in motion. It is not much to go on, that is true, but if you can stop it - then perhaps you were right all along. "I trust to see you soon, Charles, and the children you have deluded into believing the world will completely accept them. There is far less danger in this world - than what is capable with hate. Perhaps, in their meandering to save a planet that will never be their's, they will learn that. Erik." Jean looked away, Ororo showed no expression at all, but Wesley did not dare speak after reading the obviously personal notes. Only Fred, who pried the book from him, deigned to break the silence, eyes squinted in concentration as she read over the passage next to what he had written. "First Night, right here guys," she chirped, leaning over the text, making Ororo and Jean come over, almost grateful for her intrusion. It took a second, and her words were halting as she struggled to make it out, her Sanskrit passable at best, but Wesley helped her, and they pieced it out. Chaos Reigns on the First Night
As the demon engulfs
And the watchful become blind Night will be as day
Day will last forever
Until the demon consumes many
And the animals are tamed
May the soul reign forever And may the pain engulf all
As all becomes equal
And the demon reigns free
Cordelia stood next to the window, leaning against the frame, letting the lights of the fires that burned in Los Angeles sparkle their reflection in her eyes. Behind her, Logan was processing what she had said, and she could feel his uneasiness, the utter denial, before the acceptance that almost bordered on panic. But his voice, gruff and rough and every bit abrasive as she expected it to be, told nothing of the panic she knew he was enduring. "Are you afraid?" "Of what? Angel going killer again? Mystique knowing personal stuff she couldn't have possibly known? The end of the world?" "Take your pick." "I'm a lot of things," she said finally, never looking at him as she answered. "But being scared shitless is definitely in the top ten." She kept her eyes on the window, on the dark, black chaos, on the mass that was floating around, the evil so tangible, and it was seeping into her soul. It made her want to run, to fly outside and do whatever it took to stop the chaos, stop the fear, stop the panic before it drove her nuts. But there was nothing she could do, because although the impending doom was written in her heart, there was no action, no plan. There was nothing because all they knew was the end result - not the map or how to get there. Logan, the feral man with the claws, and the pain that never seemed to quite go away in his heart, was silent behind her. She took the silence as an invitation to talk, and finally did, letting the emotions speak for her, guiding her words. "I've been living a life like a nun because I've been afraid of Angel's demon. I've seen Angelus, he's touched me, and it's nothing like Angel. It's dark and sinister and there's evil in the eyes , and he scares the hell out of me. My whole life it seems, I've been scared of a bastard that lives in the body of my best friend and I'm TIRED of being afraid, Logan. I'm tired of waiting and hoping and wanting, and sacrificing, because no matter WHAT THE FUCK I DO, it's never enough. He's gonna lose it anyway." Her body was trembling as her words finished, and the tears slipped before she had a chance to reign them in, and once one started the multitude followed and Cordelia Chase sobbed, falling against the wall as her arms wrapped around herself, barring herself from the world. Hands pulled her away from the window, and suddenly she was leaning against something warm, soft, and firm, and there was an embrace that was curiously human in the form of a mutant. She closed her eyes, buried her face in his neck and clung to him, shuddering as she wept, keeping him close to her as he stroked her back, and the warmth she received, the very real comfort, extended to her in waves. He didn't say anything, he didn't have to, it was in his touch and in his eyes, as she pulled back, and he, almost reluctantly, let her, as her heart beat slightly harder, and her breathing was a little raspy, and when his dark, intense eyes met hers, she forced herself to swallow. Suddenly the hug wasn't safe anymore, and she pulled back, the blush tingeing her cheeks as she crossed her arms, stepping back, out of his embrace. He didn't say anything, and the silence was beginning to unnerve her, before he adjusted the denim jacket and took her hand, pulling her toward the door. "Let's go find Angel and Rogue." Damn, she couldn't think of a better idea.
Rogue had been more than her share of trouble at the mansion. Even before she developed her first mutation, she had been known as sassy, witty, clever. Her mother often called her trouble in the form of a Southern Belle, and for the longest time, little Marie had believed her. Years later, the Southern Belle had taken on the role with gusto, but she wasn't quite sure if she believed that was who she was anymore. Rogue knew that she possessed talents to weave men around her finger, she had done it often enough, for all the wrong reasons. And now, thinking of life's bitter irony, all she could understand and think about was that there was a man in the room with her that she was achingly aware of, a man who had pressed fingers against her body and it wasn't Logan. There was an odd sense of irony in it. She was silent, mind processing his movements, the hauntingly handsome vampire methodically choosing the weapons, bringing them down, handing them to her to polish. She held the rag in her hand, giving them a good wipe, but they hadn't said a word and she knew it would probably be better if she never said anything at all - there was too many complications surrounding this. But he touched her. "Why?" she finally asked, her drawl thicker, raspier when she saw him freeze, his back turned to her as she watched him with the dark eyes that were so focused on him. He knew what question she was asking, she didn't have to elaborate. "I'm... dead. Technically." He turned, and her heart caught in her throat when suddenly a demonic face that was hideously disfigured presented itself on Angel's previously angelic face. "I may look human. But I'm not." She wasn't sure what exactly he was trying to do with that. Intimidate her, perhaps? Maybe he knew what she was thinking, maybe he was trying to second guess something that was incredibly tempting, even while their prospective lovers were on the next floor. Contact... no strings attached. She pushed away the traitorous thoughts, shuddering slightly before breaking the gaze and looking down at her weapons. "You may not act human, sugar," she drawled, finally regaining her composure, meeting his eyes again with sparkling brilliance in her own orbs. "But you act more like one than a lot of 'em Ah've met." He paused, the demonic face faded away and he leaned forward, placing an ax in her hands, her face inches from his as he studied her. "Humanizing influence can do that to you." She grinned. "Touché." He nodded, stepping away, and she continued to watch the tall, hulking form. Different from Logan... Different from her... But... "You ache for that contact, don't you?" she whispered, and he froze again. "In your mind, your body, just an animal instinct that cries out inside of you... the need to touch, to be touched-" He growled slightly and jerked his head, a warning sign. "I'm not hitting on you, sugar," she said, but she wasn't sure if that was a lie and neither was he, as she slipped off the desk, letting the weapons fall to the grounds. "I know how you feel. When I touched you... You reacted-" He growled again, louder, harder, on the edge of his patience, and he startled her when he gripped her elbows, pushing her back against the weapons with loud thud, making her wince slightly. "Don't." It was almost a plea. He was almost begging her, and her eyes closed and the moisture came. "Dammit, Angel. I wish I could stop. Ah wish I could stop..." but her hands still fumbled, the gloves still came off. He wasn't Logan. She wasn't Cordelia. But it was touch. It was the basest of instincts and she could have it with him. And he wanted it, even as her bare hand floated to his face, even as the growling grew louder and more violent, he didn't stop her, just gripped her body tighter and closed his eyes. Her breath was so constricted as she placed her fingers gently on the cold skin, and her body reacted with warmth when he let out a low moan. He jerked, and his hand caught hers and held it away from the sensitized fleshed, and her attention was now on the digits, the rough fingers that felt so different without the gloves. Her fingers tangled in his, and it was SKIN and it was TOUCH and God how had she lived for so long without feeling the satin smoothness of it, the warmth and life pulsing beneath and it wasn't Logan and GOD- She swallowed, hard, looking up at him, and his face was agonized and there was no perfect happiness there- But there was contact. There was attraction. There was need. The fingers fell and her hand slipped about his neck, pulling his face forward, closer to hers. She should have heard the door, he should have heard the door. The blood pounding furiously in her ears must have been the reason, when the door opened and they didn't pull away fast enough - And Cordelia and Logan walked into the room.
The punch came out of nowhere. Gunn winced, stumbling back, landing on his ass as immediately trying to backpedal from the cop and the baton and his swinging hand. "Let's GO!" He felt a pull on the collar of his jacket and it gave him the help he needed to get on his feet and turn, following his fellow fighters away from the blue uniformed officers, into the dark alley. Joel was bleeding from a cut on his face. Little Tommy was holding his hand, and he was limping. "Let's go," he ordered, and they continued to move. They walked hastily, and Gunn was thankful the bulk of the rioters had kept the panicked officers from following them further into the alleys of downtown. Of course that was leading them RIGHT into more mutants and demons and wasn't THAT a hell of a lot of fun? He turned the corner, helping Tommy as they jogged to the place that they had all considered a refuge at one time or another. He swallowed and faltered to a stop as soon as he saw it. "ANNE!" Anne, the blonde who ran the runaway shelter, looked close to tears. Immediately her head whipped around, away from the destruction that had once been her home. "GUNN!" The blonde young woman flew into his arms, sobbing into his chest as he tried to get out exactly WHAT his normally sane friend was trying to say. "I... they just came in... they... it's all GONE, GUNN." He pursed his lips, embracing her as he looked up at the shelter, the kids that were watching the flames with astounded expressions of sadness. "All right Anne," he whispered. "It's gonna be all right." "It's NOT, Gunn. Where will these kids go?" Police sirens in the darkness. Cries and echoes of pain. Kids crying. He thought, and took a breath, and prayed Angel would agree. "With me. Come on." Anne looked surprised but he only moved with her, pushing her and Joel to the front. 'LET'S GO!" he yelled to the teenagers, waving toward them. A few looked suspicious, but the majority followed, walking with him as he urged them on, looking up at the darkened night and Dammit this night was getting long. He needed to get back to his friends. He closed his eyes and took a breath and grabbed Anne by the shoulders. "You go to Angel's hotel, you got it? Go to the Hyperion and tell them that I sent you." Anne looked ready to argue, but when Gunn shook his head, she finally nodded. He knew she knew there was no other choice. "The other kids-" "I'll get them. Just go. Get outta the streets. Take the kids with you, and Joel," he turned, eyeing his friend. "Make sure they get there." "Hey, man. We're not abandoning our crib like you did." He whirled, and Joel was rightly surprised when a flying fist made him land sprawled back on the hard concrete. "You get your ass over there, and protect these kids and the team, or there ain't gonna BE a crib to come back to." It was what Joel needed. He didn't look happy, but he obeyed, taking Anne by the elbow and calling out to the other kids. Gunn watched them go, and grabbed his ax, taking a breath and running the other direction, away from home, away from his family, away from Fred. He'd go back soon enough.
The incessant singing was going to drive him mad. Being in the damned plastic bowl was almost better than listening to the half mad vampiress who sung to herself and swung the blasted doll around and around. Almost. He waited, in his chair, feeling curiously out of control as he watched the blonde interact with Mystique, now in her token form. Darla was not to be trusted. She was a means to an end. Mystique apparently had not been there for the memo. They spoke in low whispers, and he watched, with clenched fists, until finally the patience got the better of him, and a finger twitched and the metal snapped, making them turn their attention to him. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble," he began through hissed tones. "Perhaps you might want to fill ME in?" Mystique smiled, and he was only slightly appeased when she settled in his lap, fingers sliding idly through the white strands of his hair, tickling his scalp. Darla grinned, but she looked more amused than anything as she leaned against the machine. "Nothing you would know about, my darling mutant," she said, tilting her head with fluid grace. "Magic isn't exactly your department." He stiffened underneath Mystique's body, but she held him down, her fingers continuing their constant stroking. "It's a means to an end," she whispered, slow, almost a purr in his ear. "I have my qualms," he announced. Drusilla laughed, and came forward, leaning forward almost like a panther, pointing two fingers in his direction while Darla watched in amusement. "Metal man has qualms," she whispered. "Mrrowrrr. Bad Metal Man. Doesn't like to play." He glared at her, hands on Mystique's hips to get her off his lap, but she stayed, tongue flicking out to lick his earlobe as she watched Drusilla with a smile on her face. "Amusing. Danger in the form of a kitten." Danger in the form of a kitten? Erik turned, eyeing Mystique, but her eyes were on Darla, who finally turned away. His eyes floated to the machine that was waiting. Dormant, glistening, waiting to be brought to life, to change the course of history. "I do not take death lightly." That earned him another chuckled from Drusilla, as Darla froze slightly, and whipped around a pleased smile on her face. "Good. Neither do we. Death means life to us." He pushed up, getting Mystique off his lap finally and walking toward the Blonde Shedevil. "You and I are not the same. We are doing this plan my way." Darla's face froze, and the deadliness of her countenance was never more apparent than in the cold stare. "My dear Eric. How deluded you are." "Pretty seer's blood - like a poem..." Drusilla held a flask of blood, and she sniffed it, tilting it back. Darla's eyes widened, and she strode forward. "Give me THAT!" She snatched it away, sloshing some of the red liquid onto her hand. With a roll of her eyes she proclaimed, "Can't take her anywhere these days." Magneto crossed his arms, regarding her. "And this machine. You've made the modifications? It will not kill everyone?" Darla's eyes widened slightly, and she paused. "Now I never said that." When he opened his mouth again she just sighed, slapping him on the arm. "Relax, Metal Boy. They no longer matter." "Those who carry the gene-" "Will be mutated. Those who don't... It doesn't matter, does it?" They didn't. Erik knew that. But mass murder still did not sit well. The time in jail had not helped, because Charles and his stupid visits had managed to drill something in Erik's thick head. Was he any better than the men who killed his family? But he didn't a word as Mystique moved past him, watching in fascination as Darla licked the seer's blood off of her hand, saying a few words in a language he didn't quite understand, before dropping the remaining blood into the chute - their own modification - the magic he was so weary of. And Mystique smiled, when Drusilla wrapped her arms around her blue body and danced around her, when Darla clasped her hand and kissed the scaly cheek. He was losing control. He knew it. The loyalty was failing. He didn't care. Darla and Drusilla would outlive their usefulness soon enough. Then he would have his control back. It was a means to an end. And he would see it through.
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