Along the River
Title: Along the River
Fandom: X-Men
Characters: Jonothon Starsmore, Angelo "Fuck YOU Chuck Austen!" Espinosa
Prompt: 96. Writer's Choice (Proud Mary)
Word Count:
Rating: PG
Warnings: None, really.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Notes: Takes place after Angelo and Jono's little trip to L.A.
Jonothon Starsmore didn't sleep. Some would have called it insomnia, but the fact of the matter was he didn't need to sleep anymore. He tried sleeping, but only out of habit.
Tonight, he didn't even bother to try. He sat in the dark motel room while Angelo sawed logs, and Howard made little quacking noises in his sleep. He would have turned on the telly, but Ange was sleeping, and he hadn't slept mich since they'd left L.A. Better to let him get what little sleep he could find.
It was closing in on midnight when something went twang in his mind. It made Jono sit up suddenly, mind and head turning towards the twang. It spoke of loneliness and loss, of old hurts that would never heal. And it spoke of strength under the worst of pressures, and survival.
Jono pocketed the room key and slipped out, following the call. He walked the dark, deserted streets of the wide spot in the road where Howard had decided to stop for the night, the soft sounds of crickets and other creatures that lived along the river filling the sultry night air. He soon found the mental noise tangled up in the physical sound of someone playing a guitar and singing. He couldn't quite make out the words, but it still called to him. We are the same, the music said. We know the pain.
He was walking along the wide, muddy river when he realized he was hearing tow voices singing, and three minds resonating with his.
He found them sitting around an in an old VW minibus. They were three, two boys and a girl, none older than Jono. The one poking the little fire was lanky and freckled, with bright red hair that stuck out in all directions and too wide blue eyes that watched Jono as he approached, reflecting the fire. His mind was strange, resonating like a slightly out of tune piano wire. He cocked his head to one side in a way that strongly reminded Jono of Penance, and the mutant recognized that this boy might not be entirely sane.
The girl looked like a Paki, long limbed and dark, with a face dominated by a great beak of a nose and a mouth that looked more inclined towards frowns than smiles. Her mind was clear and sharp, like a crystal bell, reflecting what came to it. She glanced at Jono and nodded once, as if he had passed some kind of test and met with her approval. She had stopped singing as Jono had approached, but she hummed in tune with what the other boy played.
The third one was big, with farm boy muscles and skin like milk. His long hair, equally white, hung in a braid over his shoulder as he played a battered old six-string. He wore a pair of Ray-Bans despite the dark, and Jono suspected that the eyes behind them were very sensitive to light. The mutant had met an albino once before, back during his days in the London pub scene. This albino was the one leading the broadcasting, though the other two supported him. His mind was strong, warm, and welcoming, like a hug from an old friend.
The albino glanced up from his guitar. "Hello," he said in a very soft voice.
Care to explain what this is about, squire? Jono asked, leveling his very best annoyed look at the trio.
"Blues," the red head offered, lisping heavily.
"Just calling out to the kindred spirits," the girl said as a lazy smirk pulled at her lips. She was clearly unimpressed.
"Music," the albino said, he voice a little stronger this time as he played a chord. "It called you. You know it." The boy's voice was a gentle tenor with a hint of whiskey grit to keep it from sounding like a girl's. "You play."
Used to. Not anymore.
"You'll play," the red head pronounced.
The albino had started plucking out a tune, and the girl closed her eyes and started singing.
Left a good job down in the city
Workin' for the man every night and day
But I never lots one minute of sleepin'
Worryin' bout the way things might have been
Big wheel keep on turning
Proud Mary keep on burning.
And we're rollin', rollin', rolling on the river
The emotional broadcast became strong again, showing Jono the joy to be found in living along the river, being a part of the mobile community.
If you come down to the river
Bet you're gonna find some people who live
You don't have to worry
If you got no money
The people on the river are happy to give
It called to Jono, resonating just like the last song had. He found himself singing along, in the way only a telepath could sing, in thoughts and emotions that went straight to the heart. Three minds weclomed him. They understood what it was to be different, to be outside. He got bits of them as they played, and they got bits of him.
He saw life from a shape-shifter's view, running through the woods with the pack, submitting to the will of the Alpha and the claws and teeth of his siblings. He felt what it was to be the one who could feel everything everyone else felt. He knew how easy it was to bend reality around his fingers, and that not doing it was the hard thing.
He wasn't alone.
It could have been forever, or it could have been seconds, before a new voice joined in. It was a male voice unused to singing, but it wasn't a bad voice. Jono opened his eyes, though he didn't remember closing them, and found Angelo sitting by the fire, arms wrapped around his legs as he sang in Spanish. The telepath reached out and brought his friend in.
They passed the night like that.
When the sun rose, the trio gathered their things and drove away. Neither Jono nor Angelo caught their names.
It didn't matter. The two mutants walked back to the motel, arms around each other's shoulders, humming songs about the river.
Fandom: X-Men
Characters: Jonothon Starsmore, Angelo "Fuck YOU Chuck Austen!" Espinosa
Prompt: 96. Writer's Choice (Proud Mary)
Word Count:
Rating: PG
Warnings: None, really.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Notes: Takes place after Angelo and Jono's little trip to L.A.
Jonothon Starsmore didn't sleep. Some would have called it insomnia, but the fact of the matter was he didn't need to sleep anymore. He tried sleeping, but only out of habit.
Tonight, he didn't even bother to try. He sat in the dark motel room while Angelo sawed logs, and Howard made little quacking noises in his sleep. He would have turned on the telly, but Ange was sleeping, and he hadn't slept mich since they'd left L.A. Better to let him get what little sleep he could find.
It was closing in on midnight when something went twang in his mind. It made Jono sit up suddenly, mind and head turning towards the twang. It spoke of loneliness and loss, of old hurts that would never heal. And it spoke of strength under the worst of pressures, and survival.
Jono pocketed the room key and slipped out, following the call. He walked the dark, deserted streets of the wide spot in the road where Howard had decided to stop for the night, the soft sounds of crickets and other creatures that lived along the river filling the sultry night air. He soon found the mental noise tangled up in the physical sound of someone playing a guitar and singing. He couldn't quite make out the words, but it still called to him. We are the same, the music said. We know the pain.
He was walking along the wide, muddy river when he realized he was hearing tow voices singing, and three minds resonating with his.
He found them sitting around an in an old VW minibus. They were three, two boys and a girl, none older than Jono. The one poking the little fire was lanky and freckled, with bright red hair that stuck out in all directions and too wide blue eyes that watched Jono as he approached, reflecting the fire. His mind was strange, resonating like a slightly out of tune piano wire. He cocked his head to one side in a way that strongly reminded Jono of Penance, and the mutant recognized that this boy might not be entirely sane.
The girl looked like a Paki, long limbed and dark, with a face dominated by a great beak of a nose and a mouth that looked more inclined towards frowns than smiles. Her mind was clear and sharp, like a crystal bell, reflecting what came to it. She glanced at Jono and nodded once, as if he had passed some kind of test and met with her approval. She had stopped singing as Jono had approached, but she hummed in tune with what the other boy played.
The third one was big, with farm boy muscles and skin like milk. His long hair, equally white, hung in a braid over his shoulder as he played a battered old six-string. He wore a pair of Ray-Bans despite the dark, and Jono suspected that the eyes behind them were very sensitive to light. The mutant had met an albino once before, back during his days in the London pub scene. This albino was the one leading the broadcasting, though the other two supported him. His mind was strong, warm, and welcoming, like a hug from an old friend.
The albino glanced up from his guitar. "Hello," he said in a very soft voice.
Care to explain what this is about, squire? Jono asked, leveling his very best annoyed look at the trio.
"Blues," the red head offered, lisping heavily.
"Just calling out to the kindred spirits," the girl said as a lazy smirk pulled at her lips. She was clearly unimpressed.
"Music," the albino said, he voice a little stronger this time as he played a chord. "It called you. You know it." The boy's voice was a gentle tenor with a hint of whiskey grit to keep it from sounding like a girl's. "You play."
Used to. Not anymore.
"You'll play," the red head pronounced.
The albino had started plucking out a tune, and the girl closed her eyes and started singing.
Left a good job down in the city
Workin' for the man every night and day
But I never lots one minute of sleepin'
Worryin' bout the way things might have been
Big wheel keep on turning
Proud Mary keep on burning.
And we're rollin', rollin', rolling on the river
The emotional broadcast became strong again, showing Jono the joy to be found in living along the river, being a part of the mobile community.
If you come down to the river
Bet you're gonna find some people who live
You don't have to worry
If you got no money
The people on the river are happy to give
It called to Jono, resonating just like the last song had. He found himself singing along, in the way only a telepath could sing, in thoughts and emotions that went straight to the heart. Three minds weclomed him. They understood what it was to be different, to be outside. He got bits of them as they played, and they got bits of him.
He saw life from a shape-shifter's view, running through the woods with the pack, submitting to the will of the Alpha and the claws and teeth of his siblings. He felt what it was to be the one who could feel everything everyone else felt. He knew how easy it was to bend reality around his fingers, and that not doing it was the hard thing.
He wasn't alone.
It could have been forever, or it could have been seconds, before a new voice joined in. It was a male voice unused to singing, but it wasn't a bad voice. Jono opened his eyes, though he didn't remember closing them, and found Angelo sitting by the fire, arms wrapped around his legs as he sang in Spanish. The telepath reached out and brought his friend in.
They passed the night like that.
When the sun rose, the trio gathered their things and drove away. Neither Jono nor Angelo caught their names.
It didn't matter. The two mutants walked back to the motel, arms around each other's shoulders, humming songs about the river.