Moment - Open
Pyro was a complicated young man; he was capable of such cruelty and such kindness. He was a twisted mass of emotions and each and every one gave his flames the strength that they had. He thought deeply, he felt deeply and he’d been hurt deeply.
He’d brought Rogue into the fold, warned her of the risks and he wondered how she was liking the fall from the pedestal. People had held such high expectations; he supposed that was one thing he’d never had. He had never had anyone expecting anything great from him.
He was John, he hadn’t excelled in class, he hadn’t involved himself in team sports, and he hadn’t reached out to know anyone beyond Bobby and Rogue. He was abrupt, cold, calculating and as nasty as he needed to be. He’d learned from the best.
John had made his choice, he was with the Brotherhood but it didn’t mean that he didn’t occasionally miss the friendships he had formed in the mansion. Bobby had been his first true friend and John had spent so much time hating Bobby for having everything he hadn’t had but at the same time respecting him for being his own person and for not shying away the moment John had flung acid words his way.
He’d never known any other way; he’d always used anger to hide everything. His father had set a brilliant example and John as much as he tried to be different had inherited his father’s temper.
Currently he was enjoying an introspective moment in the park with the sounds of life around him, sun streaming through the trees and catching on the dark hood that covered his head and shrouded him from view.
Long denim clad legs were stretched out in front of him and thick dark boots were crossed at the ankle, fingers turned a lighter over and over as he watched and ran through the silent thoughts in his head.
Fire was his element, his expression of self.
He was never without it; it was as much a part of him as any of his physical attributes. The lighter was familiar to him; the metal was a little scraped and worn from the constant handling. If John ever met an untimely end he’d be taking it to his grave, it had been his one constant and he’d be damned if he let something like death seperate him from it.
Eyes slid to the laughter that filled his ears and he found a small group of teenagers all talking low, smiling wide and then hushing up the moment they caught sight of him. Funny all he’d been doing was looking and they’d acted like he was some kind of threat.
With a smirk he turned his attention back to his lighter, opening, igniting the flame and closing the lighter down again.
He’d brought Rogue into the fold, warned her of the risks and he wondered how she was liking the fall from the pedestal. People had held such high expectations; he supposed that was one thing he’d never had. He had never had anyone expecting anything great from him.
He was John, he hadn’t excelled in class, he hadn’t involved himself in team sports, and he hadn’t reached out to know anyone beyond Bobby and Rogue. He was abrupt, cold, calculating and as nasty as he needed to be. He’d learned from the best.
John had made his choice, he was with the Brotherhood but it didn’t mean that he didn’t occasionally miss the friendships he had formed in the mansion. Bobby had been his first true friend and John had spent so much time hating Bobby for having everything he hadn’t had but at the same time respecting him for being his own person and for not shying away the moment John had flung acid words his way.
He’d never known any other way; he’d always used anger to hide everything. His father had set a brilliant example and John as much as he tried to be different had inherited his father’s temper.
Currently he was enjoying an introspective moment in the park with the sounds of life around him, sun streaming through the trees and catching on the dark hood that covered his head and shrouded him from view.
Long denim clad legs were stretched out in front of him and thick dark boots were crossed at the ankle, fingers turned a lighter over and over as he watched and ran through the silent thoughts in his head.
Fire was his element, his expression of self.
He was never without it; it was as much a part of him as any of his physical attributes. The lighter was familiar to him; the metal was a little scraped and worn from the constant handling. If John ever met an untimely end he’d be taking it to his grave, it had been his one constant and he’d be damned if he let something like death seperate him from it.
Eyes slid to the laughter that filled his ears and he found a small group of teenagers all talking low, smiling wide and then hushing up the moment they caught sight of him. Funny all he’d been doing was looking and they’d acted like he was some kind of threat.
With a smirk he turned his attention back to his lighter, opening, igniting the flame and closing the lighter down again.