More Fics!
Written for Challenges #14: Weekly Quick Fic #5 and #04: Table of Doom #03 over at writerverse. Concrit welcome!
Title: Ashes
Prompt: Ill Met By Moonlight, Thunderbird
Word Count: 890
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: X-Men (movieverse)
Pairings (if any): None
Warnings: References to Professor X's death
Summary: Pyro wonders if it's wise to have a Level 5 mutant in the camp of the Brotherhood.
"Shouldn't you be in your tent?"
Pyro turned around quickly, quelling the chills that threatened to freeze his spine. Jean Grey stood behind him, so close to one of the giant redwoods trunks that it almost looked as if she were leaning on it in the dim moonlight. She seemed like a dormant ember, or something.
"I'm walking a bit before I hit the sack," he answered, trying to sound as cocky as was his wont.
Jean nodded, satisfied, or at least looking as satisfied as her fathomless expression allowed. She looked off into the distance, as if her eyes could filter right through this dense forest somewhere outside San Francisco. As if she were watching a thousand things at once, and the teenage boy standing before her was no longer relevant to anything.
She gave him the creeps.
He deliberated on going back to his tent for a minute. As Jean continued to ignore him, he decided to put things at all systems go, striding off with a mumbled "g'night."
The old Jean would probably have reminded him to brush his teeth. Not this Jean, though. She was nothing like the somewhat reserved lady that had toiled countless hours in the Professor's lab back at the school. There, she'd made him think of some slightly psychic librarian fooling around with test tubes--maybe trying to come up with a new shade of not-quite-red for her hair. If he'd given her any thought at all.
Now, she was even quieter--moved less, spoke less, acted less. She barely did anything at all, come to think of it. The only thing that made her stand out was her vivid new hair color.
Yet he paid far more attention to everything she didn't do in the camp of the Brotherhood than he ever paid to all her work previously. She'd broken free of whatever mental restraints had kept her in check, and now nobody, not even Magneto himself, was quite sure how much of the unthinkable she could pull off.
Whenever she decided to wake up and exert herself, that is.
Somehow, Pyro wasn't so thrilled about welcoming some chick who looked like she was eternally sleepwalking, but could snuff out lives without batting an eyelash. He knew he should be feeling smug that such a prize had walked away from Professor X to join their glorious cause -- Magneto was tickled pink, after all.
But Pyro wasn't feeling smug. Not at all.
Every mutant was dangerous--but Jean Grey was literally a class of dangerous all to herself. Pyro could manipulate a flame, once it was kindled. Jean Grey was a flame, and she could kindle herself. And Pyro suspected nobody could snuff her out.
Maybe he could manipulate her, as he manipulated fire? Magneto was definitely looking down that angle--but metal was his element, not fire. Plus, Jean, even in her zombie-ish state, didn't seem to trust the old guy any more than she had before. She'd be less guarded against the words of a former student, now wouldn't she?
Pyro had taken the steps necessary to wrench himself from the confines of Xavier's school and put himself where he wanted to be. Now he had to make sure he had immunity against the wrath of the Phoenix, so he could stay where he wanted to be.
The Phoenix. What a name. It fit the living flame part of Jean's nature all right, but if Pyro's memory of lessons in Xavier's school was right, a phoenix was as just as much about death and ashes, too. Where were the ashes?
Oh, wait. There had been ashes--the ashes of Xavier.
He nearly walked right past his tent, he was so wrapped in his thoughts. Smirking, he leaned over to tug open the zippered door--and stopped as he heard the all-too-familiar click of his own lighter. The sound came from behind him.
Even before he turned around, he knew who it was.
She really gave him the creeps.
"You dropped this," said Jean, once he finally faced her. The lighter floated in the air between them.
Pyro plucked it out of the air and buried it in his pocket, relieved that she hadn't made it jump out of his reach. He'd totally have done that, if he had that power.
"No, I didn't."
A shadow of a smirk crept across that marble face of hers. "Take care that you don't."
She walked away, serene as a princess. A princess of mess-with-me-and-I-take-you-apart-one-molecule-at-a-time.
Oh, he'd take care, all right. Pyro knew if he didn't, there would be plenty of ashes--his ashes. He didn't want to go out like Professor X.
So much for being manipulative. He sure hoped that Magneto, sentimental old man mourning the sacrifice of an old friend that he was, would take a clue from that fiasco and keep Jean from going nuclear on the rest of his friends.
And maybe even some of his enemies. Pyro didn't want Bobby turned to dust by a look from Jean--he wanted to burn the chumpsicle himself.
If he could survive another night in the same camp as the modern rendition of the angel of death first. As he stepped into the tent and zipped it shut, he wondered: Where would the ashes be falling when he woke up?
- - - -
Title: Stranger from a New World
Prompt: Song (Be Ok)
Word Count: 100
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: Tron: Legacy
Pairings (if any): Not really
Warnings: None
Summary: Quorra muses on the differences between the Grid and the "real" world.
Sitting behind Sam on the motorcycle, tearing down another stretch of highway, Quorra marveled. Transportation was rough in this world. The "real" world that belonged to Sam and her adopted father.
Or, rather, they belonged to it. The Grid, her world, belonged to them. A world of sleek phosphorescent light cycles that didn't run on asphalt baked in the glaring rays of a harsh sun.
How would she live in this brave new world? She wished her father--no, their father--were here. But even without him, Quorra would make the most of it. That's how she would thank him.
Title: Ashes
Prompt: Ill Met By Moonlight, Thunderbird
Word Count: 890
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: X-Men (movieverse)
Pairings (if any): None
Warnings: References to Professor X's death
Summary: Pyro wonders if it's wise to have a Level 5 mutant in the camp of the Brotherhood.
"Shouldn't you be in your tent?"
Pyro turned around quickly, quelling the chills that threatened to freeze his spine. Jean Grey stood behind him, so close to one of the giant redwoods trunks that it almost looked as if she were leaning on it in the dim moonlight. She seemed like a dormant ember, or something.
"I'm walking a bit before I hit the sack," he answered, trying to sound as cocky as was his wont.
Jean nodded, satisfied, or at least looking as satisfied as her fathomless expression allowed. She looked off into the distance, as if her eyes could filter right through this dense forest somewhere outside San Francisco. As if she were watching a thousand things at once, and the teenage boy standing before her was no longer relevant to anything.
She gave him the creeps.
He deliberated on going back to his tent for a minute. As Jean continued to ignore him, he decided to put things at all systems go, striding off with a mumbled "g'night."
The old Jean would probably have reminded him to brush his teeth. Not this Jean, though. She was nothing like the somewhat reserved lady that had toiled countless hours in the Professor's lab back at the school. There, she'd made him think of some slightly psychic librarian fooling around with test tubes--maybe trying to come up with a new shade of not-quite-red for her hair. If he'd given her any thought at all.
Now, she was even quieter--moved less, spoke less, acted less. She barely did anything at all, come to think of it. The only thing that made her stand out was her vivid new hair color.
Yet he paid far more attention to everything she didn't do in the camp of the Brotherhood than he ever paid to all her work previously. She'd broken free of whatever mental restraints had kept her in check, and now nobody, not even Magneto himself, was quite sure how much of the unthinkable she could pull off.
Whenever she decided to wake up and exert herself, that is.
Somehow, Pyro wasn't so thrilled about welcoming some chick who looked like she was eternally sleepwalking, but could snuff out lives without batting an eyelash. He knew he should be feeling smug that such a prize had walked away from Professor X to join their glorious cause -- Magneto was tickled pink, after all.
But Pyro wasn't feeling smug. Not at all.
Every mutant was dangerous--but Jean Grey was literally a class of dangerous all to herself. Pyro could manipulate a flame, once it was kindled. Jean Grey was a flame, and she could kindle herself. And Pyro suspected nobody could snuff her out.
Maybe he could manipulate her, as he manipulated fire? Magneto was definitely looking down that angle--but metal was his element, not fire. Plus, Jean, even in her zombie-ish state, didn't seem to trust the old guy any more than she had before. She'd be less guarded against the words of a former student, now wouldn't she?
Pyro had taken the steps necessary to wrench himself from the confines of Xavier's school and put himself where he wanted to be. Now he had to make sure he had immunity against the wrath of the Phoenix, so he could stay where he wanted to be.
The Phoenix. What a name. It fit the living flame part of Jean's nature all right, but if Pyro's memory of lessons in Xavier's school was right, a phoenix was as just as much about death and ashes, too. Where were the ashes?
Oh, wait. There had been ashes--the ashes of Xavier.
He nearly walked right past his tent, he was so wrapped in his thoughts. Smirking, he leaned over to tug open the zippered door--and stopped as he heard the all-too-familiar click of his own lighter. The sound came from behind him.
Even before he turned around, he knew who it was.
She really gave him the creeps.
"You dropped this," said Jean, once he finally faced her. The lighter floated in the air between them.
Pyro plucked it out of the air and buried it in his pocket, relieved that she hadn't made it jump out of his reach. He'd totally have done that, if he had that power.
"No, I didn't."
A shadow of a smirk crept across that marble face of hers. "Take care that you don't."
She walked away, serene as a princess. A princess of mess-with-me-and-I-take-you-apart-one-molecule-at-a-time.
Oh, he'd take care, all right. Pyro knew if he didn't, there would be plenty of ashes--his ashes. He didn't want to go out like Professor X.
So much for being manipulative. He sure hoped that Magneto, sentimental old man mourning the sacrifice of an old friend that he was, would take a clue from that fiasco and keep Jean from going nuclear on the rest of his friends.
And maybe even some of his enemies. Pyro didn't want Bobby turned to dust by a look from Jean--he wanted to burn the chumpsicle himself.
If he could survive another night in the same camp as the modern rendition of the angel of death first. As he stepped into the tent and zipped it shut, he wondered: Where would the ashes be falling when he woke up?
- - - -
Title: Stranger from a New World
Prompt: Song (Be Ok)
Word Count: 100
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: Tron: Legacy
Pairings (if any): Not really
Warnings: None
Summary: Quorra muses on the differences between the Grid and the "real" world.
Sitting behind Sam on the motorcycle, tearing down another stretch of highway, Quorra marveled. Transportation was rough in this world. The "real" world that belonged to Sam and her adopted father.
Or, rather, they belonged to it. The Grid, her world, belonged to them. A world of sleek phosphorescent light cycles that didn't run on asphalt baked in the glaring rays of a harsh sun.
How would she live in this brave new world? She wished her father--no, their father--were here. But even without him, Quorra would make the most of it. That's how she would thank him.