Post by Pyro on Jul 28, 2006 15:44:03 GMT -5
Timestamp: The night following the attack on the Cure clinic as seen in X-Men: The Last Stand
"You did a good job."
Pyro looked up from his book briefly and shrugged his shoulders lightly by way of acknowledgment. Of course he'd done a good job. He always did a good job. He didn't need her telling him that.
He returned his attention to the book, signaling that for him, at least, the conversation was over.
No such luck.
Callisto sat down cross legged opposite him, under the shelter he'd rigged up at the back of the encampment. They'd only arrived in the forest a few hours ago and already his privacy had been invaded. He checked a sigh and carefully replaced the bookmark, setting the book down. She was like some sort of fly, buzzing around constantly, irritating him. The time would come when he'd swat her.
Pyro did not like Callisto. He didn't like her and he didn't trust her. He knew that part of this intense dislike was childish; that he harboured a jealous streak at the fact that for now, at least, Callisto was Magneto's favourite; her ability to locate and identify mutant powers had him intrigued.
And Pyro didn't like the sense of displacement he'd felt.
When Magneto had gone to fetch Jean Grey, he'd asked to go. But Magneto had taken Juggernaut and Callisto instead. He, John, had been sent out to torch the Cure clinic, which had all been going fine until he'd bumped into Bobby Fucking Drake.
"You did a good job," repeated Callisto.
"I did what I was told to do. Nothing impressive or clever about it."
"Do you always do what you're told to do?"
One side of his mouth quirked up slightly. "Not always, no. Why, do you?"
"Never. Nobody tells me what to do. I'm independent."
Sure you are. That's why you jumped at the chance to follow us instead of carrying on your pitiful little crusade.
The smile turned briefly into a sneer, which didn't go unnoticed. Callisto didn't like Pyro either. The Brotherhood wasn't exactly the sort of group that was built on mutual trust and friendship. Many of the mutants under Magneto's lead were simply, for now at least, marching in the same direction: nothing more, nothing less.
Pyro suspected that Callisto was one of these. Out for what she could milk from Magneto while the going was good. If things turned to rat-shit, she'd be gone faster than you could say 'retreat'.
"It looked excellent on the news," she continued. "The place was totally destroyed, they said. Most of the people inside got out before the roof collapsed, but there were thirty eight fatalities. You did a good job."
Outwardly, John did little more than simply shrug again. Inwardly part of him did a bizarre somersault and threatened to exit his body through his mouth. He'd specifically aimed low, hoping that it'd be enough of an early warning to get people out before the thing collapsed.
Magneto would be pleased, though.
Oddly, he found it hard to take any comfort from that whatsoever. But he couldn't let Callisto suspect that he felt that way. Compassion was not one of the prerequisite qualities expected in a member of the Brotherhood. It was a war, after all.
Any morals John Allerdyce had had were left with the rest of his stuff at Charles Xavier's.
At least, it was easier to keep telling himself that.
That's what he tried to tell himself, anyway.
"It's going to be glorious, the final battle." Fucking woman was still talking. "We will crush the filthy humans who dared to insinuate we are a disease. Magneto's plan is flawless. He will lead us to a great fight."
He'll lead, girly, and it'll be me at his right shoulder, not you. Never you. Not whilst I'm still breathing.
"Yes, he will." Pyro's faith in Magneto was simple enough that he didn't need to flower it, pepper it with unnecessarily over-descriptive text. Magneto was right. That was all any of them needed to believe. It was the simplest ideal.
Magneto was right.
Pyro looked at the young woman sitting opposite him, rather randomly wondering if he actually found her attractive. It didn't surprise him to realise that no, he didn't. She wasn't his type. In fact, if the opportunity arose to plant a fireball in her back, he'd gladly take it.
He didn't trust her.
He'd never trust her.
But for now, at least, they were comrades. He'd live with it until Magneto's use for her was redundant. He'd seen how easily he'd thrown Mystique away. He had no doubt in his mind that Callisto would likely end up with the same fate - if the battle at Alcatraz didn't kill her first.
Thinking of Mystique sparked that anger in him again. How could Magneto have just brushed her aside the way he had? After everything she had done for him over the years? Yes, she may have been Cured, may have become homo sapien - but she still had her brain, her knowledge...
He'd not been able to get that image of her lying naked on the floor of the prison truck out of his head. Reborn. Abandoned at birth.
It still made him angry.
Callisto realised that he was not going to open up to her at all and gave up, getting to her feet.
"We'll be watching each other's backs at Alcatraz, right, Pyro?"
"Totally." Watching VERY closely, waiting for the right moment. You can count on it.
He picked up his book again and returned to the world of Joseph Heller.
"You did a good job."
Pyro looked up from his book briefly and shrugged his shoulders lightly by way of acknowledgment. Of course he'd done a good job. He always did a good job. He didn't need her telling him that.
He returned his attention to the book, signaling that for him, at least, the conversation was over.
No such luck.
Callisto sat down cross legged opposite him, under the shelter he'd rigged up at the back of the encampment. They'd only arrived in the forest a few hours ago and already his privacy had been invaded. He checked a sigh and carefully replaced the bookmark, setting the book down. She was like some sort of fly, buzzing around constantly, irritating him. The time would come when he'd swat her.
Pyro did not like Callisto. He didn't like her and he didn't trust her. He knew that part of this intense dislike was childish; that he harboured a jealous streak at the fact that for now, at least, Callisto was Magneto's favourite; her ability to locate and identify mutant powers had him intrigued.
And Pyro didn't like the sense of displacement he'd felt.
When Magneto had gone to fetch Jean Grey, he'd asked to go. But Magneto had taken Juggernaut and Callisto instead. He, John, had been sent out to torch the Cure clinic, which had all been going fine until he'd bumped into Bobby Fucking Drake.
"You did a good job," repeated Callisto.
"I did what I was told to do. Nothing impressive or clever about it."
"Do you always do what you're told to do?"
One side of his mouth quirked up slightly. "Not always, no. Why, do you?"
"Never. Nobody tells me what to do. I'm independent."
Sure you are. That's why you jumped at the chance to follow us instead of carrying on your pitiful little crusade.
The smile turned briefly into a sneer, which didn't go unnoticed. Callisto didn't like Pyro either. The Brotherhood wasn't exactly the sort of group that was built on mutual trust and friendship. Many of the mutants under Magneto's lead were simply, for now at least, marching in the same direction: nothing more, nothing less.
Pyro suspected that Callisto was one of these. Out for what she could milk from Magneto while the going was good. If things turned to rat-shit, she'd be gone faster than you could say 'retreat'.
"It looked excellent on the news," she continued. "The place was totally destroyed, they said. Most of the people inside got out before the roof collapsed, but there were thirty eight fatalities. You did a good job."
Outwardly, John did little more than simply shrug again. Inwardly part of him did a bizarre somersault and threatened to exit his body through his mouth. He'd specifically aimed low, hoping that it'd be enough of an early warning to get people out before the thing collapsed.
Magneto would be pleased, though.
Oddly, he found it hard to take any comfort from that whatsoever. But he couldn't let Callisto suspect that he felt that way. Compassion was not one of the prerequisite qualities expected in a member of the Brotherhood. It was a war, after all.
Any morals John Allerdyce had had were left with the rest of his stuff at Charles Xavier's.
At least, it was easier to keep telling himself that.
That's what he tried to tell himself, anyway.
"It's going to be glorious, the final battle." Fucking woman was still talking. "We will crush the filthy humans who dared to insinuate we are a disease. Magneto's plan is flawless. He will lead us to a great fight."
He'll lead, girly, and it'll be me at his right shoulder, not you. Never you. Not whilst I'm still breathing.
"Yes, he will." Pyro's faith in Magneto was simple enough that he didn't need to flower it, pepper it with unnecessarily over-descriptive text. Magneto was right. That was all any of them needed to believe. It was the simplest ideal.
Magneto was right.
Pyro looked at the young woman sitting opposite him, rather randomly wondering if he actually found her attractive. It didn't surprise him to realise that no, he didn't. She wasn't his type. In fact, if the opportunity arose to plant a fireball in her back, he'd gladly take it.
He didn't trust her.
He'd never trust her.
But for now, at least, they were comrades. He'd live with it until Magneto's use for her was redundant. He'd seen how easily he'd thrown Mystique away. He had no doubt in his mind that Callisto would likely end up with the same fate - if the battle at Alcatraz didn't kill her first.
Thinking of Mystique sparked that anger in him again. How could Magneto have just brushed her aside the way he had? After everything she had done for him over the years? Yes, she may have been Cured, may have become homo sapien - but she still had her brain, her knowledge...
He'd not been able to get that image of her lying naked on the floor of the prison truck out of his head. Reborn. Abandoned at birth.
It still made him angry.
Callisto realised that he was not going to open up to her at all and gave up, getting to her feet.
"We'll be watching each other's backs at Alcatraz, right, Pyro?"
"Totally." Watching VERY closely, waiting for the right moment. You can count on it.
He picked up his book again and returned to the world of Joseph Heller.
