Post by tingrin on Sept 15, 2006 17:20:38 GMT -5
Piotr had had the most fantastic of days.
His confidence hugely bolstered by his growing affection for Sibyl and how happy that made him, he had headed up to New York City to try his hand as a street artist for the day, sketching portraits for tourists for a ridiculously cheap amount of money. He'd actually done rather well for himself and had enjoyed the ambience completely.
He had walked to the Institute from the bus station, enjoying the day, a gift for Sibyl in his pocket and was whistling cheerfully as he rounded the top of Graymalkin Lane.
The whistle faded out as he discovered the two Sentinel imprints in the lawn.
He stared at the inexplicable craters for a while, perplexed. Odd things weren't unusual here at the Institute, that was for sure - but this, accompanied by the fact that as he walked through the halls, the place seemed oddly quiet and subdued made him start to wonder if something might not be amiss.
He headed for Sibyl's room and knocked anxiously on the door.
Oracle answered, her hair down and loose, a soft lavender dress covered by an ancient looking white lace shawl that appeared to have been brought with her from her home.
Her smile was radiant as she realized he was standing there.
"Petya," she said sweetly, and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. "You have been gone most of the day, did you find what you were looking for in town?"
"I found many interesting things," he said, happily. "I still find New York something of a puzzle, though. It is so busy, always. I sat in Central Park for a while and fed some birds, then I shopped for this."
He delved into his pocket and emerged with a small box. Inside the box were a pair of exceptionally simple, but elegant teardrop shaped silver earrings. "I thought they were most beautiful," he said, shyly. "Like you. I would be happy if you would accept them as a gift."
Oracle blushed a beautiful shade of pink, her delicate fingers touching the little earrings within. "Oh Piotr I do not deserve them," she whispered, laughing softly simply out of overwhelmed shyness. "Thank you... so much."
Putting them on immediate so he could see, she toyed with one, a girlish smile on her face. Then her arm slipped around his neck and she pressed her lips to his.
"You make them look more beautiful, not the other way around," he said, when their kiss broke off. It was a startlingly romantic thing for him to say, and he looked as though he had surprised even himself.
"How has your day been?" he asked, stroking her hair and tucking it behind her ears so he could look at the earrings.
Taking his hand, she pulled him gently into the room and shut the door, pulling over the stool in front of her desk for him to sit on. "Quiet. I only went down for breakfast and I've been reading the rest of the time... it is nice, this room.." she looked around, nodding. "The walls are thick, you don't hear others." She looked at the clock on her nightstand. "Oh..." she chuckled. "I've been here longer than I thought."
He looked faintly puzzled. "There are two very definite strange indentations upon the front lawn. It looks as though there was something happening down there. And the mansion seems strangely quiet. The television room is empty." He shrugged and sat down. "Ah, I am sure it is nothing."
Then he proceeded to tell her about what he had been doing that day, the street artistry and how much he had enjoyed it. He didn't tell her about the two people who had recognised his face from the X-Men publicity and who had pestered him for, of all things, an autograph.
Sibyl had romantic notions she could not share with him; days passing with only the quiet rhythm of drawing and coffee and the happy conversation of strangers on the street. A small home in the city perhaps. Nothing of this mutant conflict. But she knew his heart... and until he sent her away, she would stay with him. So here she stayed.
"Have you spoken with Storm yet... about teaching?" She encouraged gently.
"I have not," he admitted. "I have yet to find...the right moment. She is so very busy and everyone is still a little out of sorts since Baltimore." He smiled warmly at her. "But it will pass. I am sure of that."
He gazed at her for a while, simply content to just look at her.
Sibyl thought for a moment, then frowning softly, looked at him. "Piotr... was your brother older, or younger than you?"
"Mikhail?"
Surprised by the question, he blinked. "He was five years older than me," came the reply. "He was twenty one when he - at the time of the accident. Why do you ask?"
Her frown deepened, and her eyes unfocused. Shaking her head a bit, she sighed. "Nothing... a dream. That is all. I..." Sibyl didn't want to frighten him or make him think she was crazy. People either had to believe or not believe. There was no use in trying to convince them of something they chose not to see.
Sometimes she wished the same for herself.
"It was just a dream." She smiled softly.
Piotr rarely spoke of his beloved older brother. "I would like to know, if you wish to tell me," he said, anxiously, reaching out a hand to catch her delicate fingers in his own large hand. "I am not afraid of your dreams, Sibyl. I would gladly listen."
He was earnest and naturally curious.
Almost absently, he stroked his thumb along her hand in a gentle caress.
"It was..." she shifted her free hand outward as if describing waves or the surface of something. "A field. Grasses, golden like in the summer. Trees in the distance and the smell of wildflowers coming on the breeze." She didn't mean to be lyrical as she lapsed into their native language- occasionally slipping in Rom slang he may or may not have understood.
"A man and two children were running. A young girl, eight or nine. A taller boy, broad across his shoulders but still thin, not yet a man. And you." She looked at him, the dream rolling behind her eyes so that she was not truly focusing on him as her eyes pointed in his direction.
Sibyl shook her head. "It is the beginning of something. There will be more dreams but that is all that came to me last night." A frown clouded her face. "This was not only a dream. There is a difference between my sleeping dreams and my visions."
He listened to her vivid description, a description that called to mind the flowers and fields of home. Homesickness pierced him with a sudden pang of viciousness, to the point that he couldn't look at her.
"My family," he murmured. "They mean everything to me and yet...I linger here in another country, away from them." His head bowed and he stared down at the floor. "They are so far from me..."
He snapped out of whatever reverie he'd fallen into and smiled at her. "It would bring me much pleasure if you were to share dreams of the homeland with me. You describe them so beautifully."
She laughed a bit, subdued. "But why a young man with your sister and you? And why was your sister so young? Perhaps she wasn't meant to be your sister. Did you have any young relatives other than Illyana?"
He considered.
"There are some cousins," he said, his tone a little doubtful. "But I cannot think of why I would be there also." His brow furrowed as he considered. "How old do you think I was? As I am now?"
She nodded. "Many things can be symbols, metaphors. It may not be you, but someone that represents you, or that you represent." Sibyl sighed, taking his large hand in both of hers.
"When was the last time you heard from Illyana, Piotr?"
"Last week," he said, then saying it out loud seemed to startle him. "That is...most unusual. I would normally hear from her every two, three days."
He began, in his way, to worry considerably at this sudden change in circumstances. His sister wrote to him regularly - as he did to her. Had he actually written to HER in the last week?
He realised with a shock of guilt that he had not.
Sibyl lifted her eyes to his, and watched him as their silence lingered longer and longer.
"I may be nothing... it may be only that I picked up some memory." She reached up and touched his face, ran her fingers along one broad shoulder. "But it may be something else. Petya...." Sibyl didn't have the heart to make him feel worse.
What could she say to make him feel better?
"I..."
Piotr blinked. "I should write to her at once, of course. I have been lax in my duties as a brother. Sibyl, what if something has happened? I cannot telephone there as there is no such communication facility on the farm. I do not wish to contact the local militia close to my family's home, that would be panic on my part..."
He looked worried.
Sibyl kissed him quickly, a light press of her lips to his. Then she sat back and took his hand in hers again.
"Listen to me. If it is something you can help with, there will be time for her to tell you by letter. If you are unable to help, there will be no harm in the delay it will take for a letter to arrive and return to you. Be strong my Piotr. You will do whatever is within your power to do. And that is all you can expect from yourself."
"You are right, of course," he said, calming down. "I will write to her and await her reply. It would be foolish to over-react at this point. I have just been distracted lately. But if I may so so...it has been a most pleasing diversion."
He kissed her back and stroked along her cheekbone.
Sibyl smiled slowly. "I'm sorry if I frightened you. I never want you to feel fear.. not on my account." A soft sigh followed shortly after.
"Did you wish to investigate what happened outside?"
He nodded. "It seems that whilst the cat is not at home, the mice cause mayhem." His brow furrowed. "I do not think that is quite the right saying."
She laughed, standing and kissing him on the top of the head. "Perhaps not. But it works well enough for me." She took his hand and stepped out into the hallway beside him.
His confidence hugely bolstered by his growing affection for Sibyl and how happy that made him, he had headed up to New York City to try his hand as a street artist for the day, sketching portraits for tourists for a ridiculously cheap amount of money. He'd actually done rather well for himself and had enjoyed the ambience completely.
He had walked to the Institute from the bus station, enjoying the day, a gift for Sibyl in his pocket and was whistling cheerfully as he rounded the top of Graymalkin Lane.
The whistle faded out as he discovered the two Sentinel imprints in the lawn.
He stared at the inexplicable craters for a while, perplexed. Odd things weren't unusual here at the Institute, that was for sure - but this, accompanied by the fact that as he walked through the halls, the place seemed oddly quiet and subdued made him start to wonder if something might not be amiss.
He headed for Sibyl's room and knocked anxiously on the door.
Oracle answered, her hair down and loose, a soft lavender dress covered by an ancient looking white lace shawl that appeared to have been brought with her from her home.
Her smile was radiant as she realized he was standing there.
"Petya," she said sweetly, and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. "You have been gone most of the day, did you find what you were looking for in town?"
"I found many interesting things," he said, happily. "I still find New York something of a puzzle, though. It is so busy, always. I sat in Central Park for a while and fed some birds, then I shopped for this."
He delved into his pocket and emerged with a small box. Inside the box were a pair of exceptionally simple, but elegant teardrop shaped silver earrings. "I thought they were most beautiful," he said, shyly. "Like you. I would be happy if you would accept them as a gift."
Oracle blushed a beautiful shade of pink, her delicate fingers touching the little earrings within. "Oh Piotr I do not deserve them," she whispered, laughing softly simply out of overwhelmed shyness. "Thank you... so much."
Putting them on immediate so he could see, she toyed with one, a girlish smile on her face. Then her arm slipped around his neck and she pressed her lips to his.
"You make them look more beautiful, not the other way around," he said, when their kiss broke off. It was a startlingly romantic thing for him to say, and he looked as though he had surprised even himself.
"How has your day been?" he asked, stroking her hair and tucking it behind her ears so he could look at the earrings.
Taking his hand, she pulled him gently into the room and shut the door, pulling over the stool in front of her desk for him to sit on. "Quiet. I only went down for breakfast and I've been reading the rest of the time... it is nice, this room.." she looked around, nodding. "The walls are thick, you don't hear others." She looked at the clock on her nightstand. "Oh..." she chuckled. "I've been here longer than I thought."
He looked faintly puzzled. "There are two very definite strange indentations upon the front lawn. It looks as though there was something happening down there. And the mansion seems strangely quiet. The television room is empty." He shrugged and sat down. "Ah, I am sure it is nothing."
Then he proceeded to tell her about what he had been doing that day, the street artistry and how much he had enjoyed it. He didn't tell her about the two people who had recognised his face from the X-Men publicity and who had pestered him for, of all things, an autograph.
Sibyl had romantic notions she could not share with him; days passing with only the quiet rhythm of drawing and coffee and the happy conversation of strangers on the street. A small home in the city perhaps. Nothing of this mutant conflict. But she knew his heart... and until he sent her away, she would stay with him. So here she stayed.
"Have you spoken with Storm yet... about teaching?" She encouraged gently.
"I have not," he admitted. "I have yet to find...the right moment. She is so very busy and everyone is still a little out of sorts since Baltimore." He smiled warmly at her. "But it will pass. I am sure of that."
He gazed at her for a while, simply content to just look at her.
Sibyl thought for a moment, then frowning softly, looked at him. "Piotr... was your brother older, or younger than you?"
"Mikhail?"
Surprised by the question, he blinked. "He was five years older than me," came the reply. "He was twenty one when he - at the time of the accident. Why do you ask?"
Her frown deepened, and her eyes unfocused. Shaking her head a bit, she sighed. "Nothing... a dream. That is all. I..." Sibyl didn't want to frighten him or make him think she was crazy. People either had to believe or not believe. There was no use in trying to convince them of something they chose not to see.
Sometimes she wished the same for herself.
"It was just a dream." She smiled softly.
Piotr rarely spoke of his beloved older brother. "I would like to know, if you wish to tell me," he said, anxiously, reaching out a hand to catch her delicate fingers in his own large hand. "I am not afraid of your dreams, Sibyl. I would gladly listen."
He was earnest and naturally curious.
Almost absently, he stroked his thumb along her hand in a gentle caress.
"It was..." she shifted her free hand outward as if describing waves or the surface of something. "A field. Grasses, golden like in the summer. Trees in the distance and the smell of wildflowers coming on the breeze." She didn't mean to be lyrical as she lapsed into their native language- occasionally slipping in Rom slang he may or may not have understood.
"A man and two children were running. A young girl, eight or nine. A taller boy, broad across his shoulders but still thin, not yet a man. And you." She looked at him, the dream rolling behind her eyes so that she was not truly focusing on him as her eyes pointed in his direction.
Sibyl shook her head. "It is the beginning of something. There will be more dreams but that is all that came to me last night." A frown clouded her face. "This was not only a dream. There is a difference between my sleeping dreams and my visions."
He listened to her vivid description, a description that called to mind the flowers and fields of home. Homesickness pierced him with a sudden pang of viciousness, to the point that he couldn't look at her.
"My family," he murmured. "They mean everything to me and yet...I linger here in another country, away from them." His head bowed and he stared down at the floor. "They are so far from me..."
He snapped out of whatever reverie he'd fallen into and smiled at her. "It would bring me much pleasure if you were to share dreams of the homeland with me. You describe them so beautifully."
She laughed a bit, subdued. "But why a young man with your sister and you? And why was your sister so young? Perhaps she wasn't meant to be your sister. Did you have any young relatives other than Illyana?"
He considered.
"There are some cousins," he said, his tone a little doubtful. "But I cannot think of why I would be there also." His brow furrowed as he considered. "How old do you think I was? As I am now?"
She nodded. "Many things can be symbols, metaphors. It may not be you, but someone that represents you, or that you represent." Sibyl sighed, taking his large hand in both of hers.
"When was the last time you heard from Illyana, Piotr?"
"Last week," he said, then saying it out loud seemed to startle him. "That is...most unusual. I would normally hear from her every two, three days."
He began, in his way, to worry considerably at this sudden change in circumstances. His sister wrote to him regularly - as he did to her. Had he actually written to HER in the last week?
He realised with a shock of guilt that he had not.
Sibyl lifted her eyes to his, and watched him as their silence lingered longer and longer.
"I may be nothing... it may be only that I picked up some memory." She reached up and touched his face, ran her fingers along one broad shoulder. "But it may be something else. Petya...." Sibyl didn't have the heart to make him feel worse.
What could she say to make him feel better?
"I..."
Piotr blinked. "I should write to her at once, of course. I have been lax in my duties as a brother. Sibyl, what if something has happened? I cannot telephone there as there is no such communication facility on the farm. I do not wish to contact the local militia close to my family's home, that would be panic on my part..."
He looked worried.
Sibyl kissed him quickly, a light press of her lips to his. Then she sat back and took his hand in hers again.
"Listen to me. If it is something you can help with, there will be time for her to tell you by letter. If you are unable to help, there will be no harm in the delay it will take for a letter to arrive and return to you. Be strong my Piotr. You will do whatever is within your power to do. And that is all you can expect from yourself."
"You are right, of course," he said, calming down. "I will write to her and await her reply. It would be foolish to over-react at this point. I have just been distracted lately. But if I may so so...it has been a most pleasing diversion."
He kissed her back and stroked along her cheekbone.
Sibyl smiled slowly. "I'm sorry if I frightened you. I never want you to feel fear.. not on my account." A soft sigh followed shortly after.
"Did you wish to investigate what happened outside?"
He nodded. "It seems that whilst the cat is not at home, the mice cause mayhem." His brow furrowed. "I do not think that is quite the right saying."
She laughed, standing and kissing him on the top of the head. "Perhaps not. But it works well enough for me." She took his hand and stepped out into the hallway beside him.