fic: fight for it
Title: Fight For It (2/18)
Pairings: John/OMC, Bobby/Jean Paul, Bobby/John
Rating: r for langauge?
Warning: a good portion of this fic is Bobby going after John, while John is preoccupied.
Notes: this came from the soundtrack challenge. I had an idea for an omc, and knew that it would take more then 1000 words to flesh him out. I collected the lyrics from each song and made a chapter based on each one.
Fic summary: Bobby doesn't realise what he has, until someone else has it.
Chapter summary: the OMC is introduced, breakfast is eaten.
lyrics: you took the path of least resistance, on the phone, cutting out, talking (grey ice water, modest mouse)
Title: Fight For it (2/18)
Pairing: John/OMC, Bobby/Jean Paul, Bobby/John
The kitchen is almost across the mansion from the eating area. For the previous owners with their million maids and servants, Bobby's sure it made sense. After all, why would Mr and Mrs Uppington the 3rd's want to smell the food cooking before it was brought to them on silver domed platters?
For this group of inhabitants, it definitely does not work. Everyone tramping in and out of the kitchen to grab their own food isn't pleasant. Things get spilled, those in line that get the colder food get angry. Nights like sloppy joe nights result in the smaller kids nearly being trampled, and those with tempers sparking. Or creating frost that climbs like latticework on the tiled backsplash. What can he say? He's a growing boy, he gets hungry.
Bobby can remember how the huge trays and vats used to be brought in by Jean. He remembers the first Thanksgiving he was at the school, horrified that the professor would let her do it. He had been terrified she would lose control and drop the turkey on the floor, but she hadn't. Every meal now he feels a pang of sadness before remembering he has to get on with things. It's a sobering thought, remembering that she won't be the only one he loves to die.
The meals are cooked by the same set of teens every day. It used to be on a rotating chore system, but no one ate on Monet's days, and she could hear their unspoken complaints. Around the same time that Logan came with Rogue in tow, chores got distributed more intelligently. Now Jean Paul and a few others ask around for what everyone wants, and take care of it. In return, they never have to touch the garbage, or prune the hedges. Everyone's happier. Bobby only wishes all problems could be taken care of with a little shuffle of rescheduling.
Kurt transfers the food from kitchen to dining hall, bamphing noises echoing again and again. Bobby knows he used to be frightened about going through walls, but the German man seems to be over that now. Or maybe he's just hidden his fear, and is doing one of the thousand little things that makes everyone's life easier. Everyone seems to be trying to pick up a little of the million pound weight left on the property the day fucking Stryker came in and ruined everything. No one comments on the atmosphere, but everyone notices.
Breakfast today is plates and plates and plates of pancakes. Enough pancakes to feed an army, which thinking about it, is probably what they are. The navy plates hold blueberry, floral plates are oat and flax for the children with allergies, and the white plates are normal. Pounds of butter, jars of jam and bottles of syrup are on every table. There's nothing that Jean Paul and Douglas haven't thought of, and once again Bobby thanks god that they had changed the chores.
Further down the table Tessa's head perks up, and she whispers "Storm's back." the two words ripple down the table, and begin to be passed through the hall. They're all doing okay, but it's always a relief to have one of the old teachers back. The Professor is still here, but it generally doesn't seem like it.
The planting of a mutant can come in several different forms. It all depends on how they were taken away from their old situation. Some, like Bobby are taken away with full -albeit censored- understanding from parents. Some are picked up from the streets, and some are picked up hours or days after an emergency meltdown situation. Lately there's been the fourth category of entire groups of people hiding out, trying to figure out the best way to re-join the fray of the real world. They have a much different attitude then the others; they know this haven is only a temporary respite.
When Storm comes in the room, she's still in full leather regalia, and she sits the blond down beside Kitty, quite possibly the calmest kid in the mansion. It's a clue towards street kid or pickup-after-meltdown. But the fact that he's dressed in up to date, but not new clothes points to a kid coming from home. New clothes would mean they had to go shopping because the old ones are somehow ruined, and old clothes mean the street.
Bobby tries not to stare, as does everyone else. It's not that difficult, the flavour of the pancake on his tongue is screaming to be worshipped, demanding all his attention.
Only when the kid asks into the air "Does anyone have a cell phone I can use for a second?" does Bobby look up again. He doesn't have one to offer, and he's sure none of the students sitting near this boy do. It's not that they don't want to help, it's just they can't. It's on the tip of his tongue to give directions to the nearest phone on the wall, and he's also sure it's the same for nearly every student hearing his request. Still, none know his situation. Maybe he's going to call the cops, considers this a kidnapping. They've learned from experience it's best to watch how the person picking the newbie up reacts, before they do.
Storm reaches into a pocket and pulls out one of the oddly shaped cells all the Xmen have.
"What's that number that means they can't call back?" he asks, again to no one in particular.
"No one will be able to trace your call Rory." So that's the name of this teenager. Bobby thinks it's a sign of leaving in a rush, to have to call someone you don't want to call back.
Bobby pretends for a moment he's not listening, twirling his empty fork in the air. When the teen starts talking though, he gives up all pretence of ignorance and listens in. He doesn't feel guilty, everywhere he looks there are people looking at Rory.
"Hello?
Hi.
I'm...
Look, stop it, would you?
I'm safe, okay?
Well, it should be good enough.
Yeah, I have them.
No, I can't tell you. I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to, as well as I have no idea.
No! I was not blindfolded.
No, I wasn't hit on the head and dragged away.
Oh, shut up. Please, fucking just shut up."
The teen leans away from the cell phone a bit, and though no one can hear anything, it's obvious he's being yelled at. Rory takes a few deep breaths, and tries again.
"Look, I'm... fuck it."
He turns to Kitty beside him. "Finish this, would you?"
She takes the phone automatically as he holds it out to her. As soon as she does, he folds his arms and lays his head on them. His hair is about three inches from the strawberry jam, and he seems completely carefree about what this perfect stranger is going to say to whomever it is he knows well enough to have their number memorized.
"Hello? I'm Kitty. Um, I don't really know what to say, just that he's safe. And maybe he could call you back later? Yeah, I can take a message. Uh, okay? Right, sorry, bye." she clicks the phone closed and hands it back to Storm. There's not a single person in the room now that's not curious about the exchange, Bobby included.
"Uh? Rory?"
His only acknowledgement is a slight nod, hair wafting a bit in the sudden draft.
"She told you, uh, she doesn't think you've made the best decision."
He lifts his head and smirks. Bobby can't help but look at John; it's the exact calibre and quality of the ones John shoots off all the time. "She called me a motherfucking idiot, didn't she?"
Kitty blushes. "I'm sure she didn't mean it."
"I'm pretty sure she did." Those are his last words before he places his head back on his arms. When Piotr reaches tentatively to grab the jam, he doesn't move. The tables begin to go back to normal, knives and forks clinking on ceramic, people standing and stabbing the top pancake of the stack to transfer onto their plate. The new mutant has been planted successfully.
Pairings: John/OMC, Bobby/Jean Paul, Bobby/John
Rating: r for langauge?
Warning: a good portion of this fic is Bobby going after John, while John is preoccupied.
Notes: this came from the soundtrack challenge. I had an idea for an omc, and knew that it would take more then 1000 words to flesh him out. I collected the lyrics from each song and made a chapter based on each one.
Fic summary: Bobby doesn't realise what he has, until someone else has it.
Chapter summary: the OMC is introduced, breakfast is eaten.
lyrics: you took the path of least resistance, on the phone, cutting out, talking (grey ice water, modest mouse)
Title: Fight For it (2/18)
Pairing: John/OMC, Bobby/Jean Paul, Bobby/John
The kitchen is almost across the mansion from the eating area. For the previous owners with their million maids and servants, Bobby's sure it made sense. After all, why would Mr and Mrs Uppington the 3rd's want to smell the food cooking before it was brought to them on silver domed platters?
For this group of inhabitants, it definitely does not work. Everyone tramping in and out of the kitchen to grab their own food isn't pleasant. Things get spilled, those in line that get the colder food get angry. Nights like sloppy joe nights result in the smaller kids nearly being trampled, and those with tempers sparking. Or creating frost that climbs like latticework on the tiled backsplash. What can he say? He's a growing boy, he gets hungry.
Bobby can remember how the huge trays and vats used to be brought in by Jean. He remembers the first Thanksgiving he was at the school, horrified that the professor would let her do it. He had been terrified she would lose control and drop the turkey on the floor, but she hadn't. Every meal now he feels a pang of sadness before remembering he has to get on with things. It's a sobering thought, remembering that she won't be the only one he loves to die.
The meals are cooked by the same set of teens every day. It used to be on a rotating chore system, but no one ate on Monet's days, and she could hear their unspoken complaints. Around the same time that Logan came with Rogue in tow, chores got distributed more intelligently. Now Jean Paul and a few others ask around for what everyone wants, and take care of it. In return, they never have to touch the garbage, or prune the hedges. Everyone's happier. Bobby only wishes all problems could be taken care of with a little shuffle of rescheduling.
Kurt transfers the food from kitchen to dining hall, bamphing noises echoing again and again. Bobby knows he used to be frightened about going through walls, but the German man seems to be over that now. Or maybe he's just hidden his fear, and is doing one of the thousand little things that makes everyone's life easier. Everyone seems to be trying to pick up a little of the million pound weight left on the property the day fucking Stryker came in and ruined everything. No one comments on the atmosphere, but everyone notices.
Breakfast today is plates and plates and plates of pancakes. Enough pancakes to feed an army, which thinking about it, is probably what they are. The navy plates hold blueberry, floral plates are oat and flax for the children with allergies, and the white plates are normal. Pounds of butter, jars of jam and bottles of syrup are on every table. There's nothing that Jean Paul and Douglas haven't thought of, and once again Bobby thanks god that they had changed the chores.
Further down the table Tessa's head perks up, and she whispers "Storm's back." the two words ripple down the table, and begin to be passed through the hall. They're all doing okay, but it's always a relief to have one of the old teachers back. The Professor is still here, but it generally doesn't seem like it.
The planting of a mutant can come in several different forms. It all depends on how they were taken away from their old situation. Some, like Bobby are taken away with full -albeit censored- understanding from parents. Some are picked up from the streets, and some are picked up hours or days after an emergency meltdown situation. Lately there's been the fourth category of entire groups of people hiding out, trying to figure out the best way to re-join the fray of the real world. They have a much different attitude then the others; they know this haven is only a temporary respite.
When Storm comes in the room, she's still in full leather regalia, and she sits the blond down beside Kitty, quite possibly the calmest kid in the mansion. It's a clue towards street kid or pickup-after-meltdown. But the fact that he's dressed in up to date, but not new clothes points to a kid coming from home. New clothes would mean they had to go shopping because the old ones are somehow ruined, and old clothes mean the street.
Bobby tries not to stare, as does everyone else. It's not that difficult, the flavour of the pancake on his tongue is screaming to be worshipped, demanding all his attention.
Only when the kid asks into the air "Does anyone have a cell phone I can use for a second?" does Bobby look up again. He doesn't have one to offer, and he's sure none of the students sitting near this boy do. It's not that they don't want to help, it's just they can't. It's on the tip of his tongue to give directions to the nearest phone on the wall, and he's also sure it's the same for nearly every student hearing his request. Still, none know his situation. Maybe he's going to call the cops, considers this a kidnapping. They've learned from experience it's best to watch how the person picking the newbie up reacts, before they do.
Storm reaches into a pocket and pulls out one of the oddly shaped cells all the Xmen have.
"What's that number that means they can't call back?" he asks, again to no one in particular.
"No one will be able to trace your call Rory." So that's the name of this teenager. Bobby thinks it's a sign of leaving in a rush, to have to call someone you don't want to call back.
Bobby pretends for a moment he's not listening, twirling his empty fork in the air. When the teen starts talking though, he gives up all pretence of ignorance and listens in. He doesn't feel guilty, everywhere he looks there are people looking at Rory.
"Hello?
Hi.
I'm...
Look, stop it, would you?
I'm safe, okay?
Well, it should be good enough.
Yeah, I have them.
No, I can't tell you. I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to, as well as I have no idea.
No! I was not blindfolded.
No, I wasn't hit on the head and dragged away.
Oh, shut up. Please, fucking just shut up."
The teen leans away from the cell phone a bit, and though no one can hear anything, it's obvious he's being yelled at. Rory takes a few deep breaths, and tries again.
"Look, I'm... fuck it."
He turns to Kitty beside him. "Finish this, would you?"
She takes the phone automatically as he holds it out to her. As soon as she does, he folds his arms and lays his head on them. His hair is about three inches from the strawberry jam, and he seems completely carefree about what this perfect stranger is going to say to whomever it is he knows well enough to have their number memorized.
"Hello? I'm Kitty. Um, I don't really know what to say, just that he's safe. And maybe he could call you back later? Yeah, I can take a message. Uh, okay? Right, sorry, bye." she clicks the phone closed and hands it back to Storm. There's not a single person in the room now that's not curious about the exchange, Bobby included.
"Uh? Rory?"
His only acknowledgement is a slight nod, hair wafting a bit in the sudden draft.
"She told you, uh, she doesn't think you've made the best decision."
He lifts his head and smirks. Bobby can't help but look at John; it's the exact calibre and quality of the ones John shoots off all the time. "She called me a motherfucking idiot, didn't she?"
Kitty blushes. "I'm sure she didn't mean it."
"I'm pretty sure she did." Those are his last words before he places his head back on his arms. When Piotr reaches tentatively to grab the jam, he doesn't move. The tables begin to go back to normal, knives and forks clinking on ceramic, people standing and stabbing the top pancake of the stack to transfer onto their plate. The new mutant has been planted successfully.