Post by Pyro on Jul 20, 2006 6:53:09 GMT -5
After his conversation with Mystique, John had returned to his room to finish changing. He swapped the now-damp olive t-shirt for one in utilitarian black and pulled on his socks and boots. He actually took a little time (for once) over his hair and got it into some sort of order, using the very last bit of hair gel he possessed.
Mystique’s little ‘pep-talk’ had fired up his fierce belief in Magneto’s cause, had reminded him what it was that had driven him to leave the Institute – and the best friend he’d ever had – behind him. They were fighting for the rights of ALL homo superior. John pulled his thoughts back to Magneto’s television broadcast shortly before his loss at Alcatraz.
”To my fellow mutants, I make this offer. Join us – or stay out of our way.”
So it wasn’t like they hadn’t been warned, right? Hell, they knew the score. So if the accursed so-called ‘X-Men’ DID show up in Baltimore, well, so help them. If he had to go up against Bobby again – well, so help him.
If he had to go up against Kitty…
John pulled his mind away from that particularly dangerous rail of thought and kept his train on the mainline.
They were becoming a respectable number again. It was a slow process, but with the arrival of Dead Man – who quite frankly gave John the absolute creeps – they could potentially draw a much larger army together. The stench of corpses alone would be a major weapon in their arsenal.
He reached for his adapted fuel-glove that allowed him to create fire with a downward flick of his hand and slid it on. He and Python had worked together to create it. The Zippo had been good and served its purpose, but in a panic, it was easily dropped. This didn’t. It was supplied with normal lighter fuel and a little fuel went a long way with John: he only needed the barest spark to make a flame.
Holding his hand out before him, he turned his palm downwards so he could see the Zippo shark logo on the back of his hand. That had been his idea, an affectionate nod to his ‘past’. Mystique had told him not to dwell on his past, but it was such a big part of turning him into who he was now.
He checked his reflection in the mirror properly for the first time in weeks and was alarmed when the reflection looking back at him didn’t match the memory he had of himself. He’d remembered himself as being less thin, without the shadows of insomnia under his eyes. He’d remembered himself as looking younger and more boyish.
Haggard, was the word that sprang to mind. Frankly, Allerdyce, you look like shit.
He was broken.
Now that Mystique was back, he figured, perhaps he could spread the load of the weight of the world across more than one set of shoulders. She’d told him he needed to learn to relax. He pondered. What had he done in the past when he’d wanted to relax?
Played basketball. He’d captained one team, Bobby had captained the other.
He considered this against the people now on Genosha and decided that maybe a different hobby might be in order. The thought of the Juggernaut pounded across a basketball court was cringeworthy in the extreme.
Maybe it was time for him to try writing again.
He squirreled that thought away and drew himself up a little taller, a little straighter. After the briefing, he was going to take a break. No research, no worrying, no stressing – he was going to go outside for a bit of practise with his ability (you can never practise enough, Pyro, Magneto’s voice said somewhere inside his head), and then shut himself in his room for a few hours and get some sleep. He would tell everyone at the meeting that in his absence, all questions, queries and qualms should be brought to Mystique or Python.
And IF he managed to sleep, then when he woke, he’d be refreshed and – well, for want of a better word, fixed.
Running his fingers through his spiked hair one more time, John’s shoulders squared and the leader of the Brotherhood of Mutants strode purposefully down towards the briefing room, the very picture of confident, self-assured young manhood.
Mystique’s little ‘pep-talk’ had fired up his fierce belief in Magneto’s cause, had reminded him what it was that had driven him to leave the Institute – and the best friend he’d ever had – behind him. They were fighting for the rights of ALL homo superior. John pulled his thoughts back to Magneto’s television broadcast shortly before his loss at Alcatraz.
”To my fellow mutants, I make this offer. Join us – or stay out of our way.”
So it wasn’t like they hadn’t been warned, right? Hell, they knew the score. So if the accursed so-called ‘X-Men’ DID show up in Baltimore, well, so help them. If he had to go up against Bobby again – well, so help him.
If he had to go up against Kitty…
John pulled his mind away from that particularly dangerous rail of thought and kept his train on the mainline.
They were becoming a respectable number again. It was a slow process, but with the arrival of Dead Man – who quite frankly gave John the absolute creeps – they could potentially draw a much larger army together. The stench of corpses alone would be a major weapon in their arsenal.
He reached for his adapted fuel-glove that allowed him to create fire with a downward flick of his hand and slid it on. He and Python had worked together to create it. The Zippo had been good and served its purpose, but in a panic, it was easily dropped. This didn’t. It was supplied with normal lighter fuel and a little fuel went a long way with John: he only needed the barest spark to make a flame.
Holding his hand out before him, he turned his palm downwards so he could see the Zippo shark logo on the back of his hand. That had been his idea, an affectionate nod to his ‘past’. Mystique had told him not to dwell on his past, but it was such a big part of turning him into who he was now.
He checked his reflection in the mirror properly for the first time in weeks and was alarmed when the reflection looking back at him didn’t match the memory he had of himself. He’d remembered himself as being less thin, without the shadows of insomnia under his eyes. He’d remembered himself as looking younger and more boyish.
Haggard, was the word that sprang to mind. Frankly, Allerdyce, you look like shit.
He was broken.
Now that Mystique was back, he figured, perhaps he could spread the load of the weight of the world across more than one set of shoulders. She’d told him he needed to learn to relax. He pondered. What had he done in the past when he’d wanted to relax?
Played basketball. He’d captained one team, Bobby had captained the other.
He considered this against the people now on Genosha and decided that maybe a different hobby might be in order. The thought of the Juggernaut pounded across a basketball court was cringeworthy in the extreme.
Maybe it was time for him to try writing again.
He squirreled that thought away and drew himself up a little taller, a little straighter. After the briefing, he was going to take a break. No research, no worrying, no stressing – he was going to go outside for a bit of practise with his ability (you can never practise enough, Pyro, Magneto’s voice said somewhere inside his head), and then shut himself in his room for a few hours and get some sleep. He would tell everyone at the meeting that in his absence, all questions, queries and qualms should be brought to Mystique or Python.
And IF he managed to sleep, then when he woke, he’d be refreshed and – well, for want of a better word, fixed.
Running his fingers through his spiked hair one more time, John’s shoulders squared and the leader of the Brotherhood of Mutants strode purposefully down towards the briefing room, the very picture of confident, self-assured young manhood.
