Finally, an entry
Private offline entry, backdated to Jan 19ish when the scene took place
Damn stupid thing to do, but I'm sure hell glad I did it. Not sure why I went to see Leah. I'm on shaky enough ground as is with the Brotherhood. If they knew I was visiting...well, a human let alone Leah Canto, with her recent Friends ties. Guess I needed closure, though. She was the one part of my---my old life that was not dealt with. Her as a friend and, well, everything I'd dreamed of being as a writer.
But I was kidding myself. Mutants can't have dreams. Not as myself. If I'd wanted to hide who I really am, sure I could have been a writer. But no publisher is going to print books by a mutant. Unless it's some off-beat place for the shock factor. Gawd, that'd suck to have your writing be some publicity gimick.
Affirmation. I don't know. Maybe someday. For now, though, whatever they call me--terrorist, murderer, traitor, deluded maniac--I know that I'm fighting so that someday mutants will have the right to dream.
Come a Thursday evening, and oddly enough, one finds the young once St. John Allerdyce striding along the streets of Salem Center. There are small gifts to be found in anything, and the bitter cold wind allows a collar to be turned up and hood pulled tight over one's face; so long as there's the occasional shiver, he doesn't even look suspicious. Because being recognized is not on the list of tasks for the night. Then again, neither was a two hour delay in his assignment. Which is the very excuse that finds him standing outside apartment 300, hesitating only a moment before giving three sharp raps on the door.
"Just a second!" comes faintly through the wood. Pattering footfalls lead to a shadow passing behind the peephole, and then there is silence. Then the door snaps open, and Leah stares wide-eyed past the chain. "What the hell?"
Pyro tugs back the hood slightly, enough for at least a frontal view of his face. There's a long pause, before he finally manages a cautious "Hi, Leah."
"Keep it down!" she snaps like the door's opening, which she reverses quickly for a chain-rattling full unlocking. Her head comes out, sweeps both ways up and down the hallway, and reorients on him. Leah looks shaken, sweaty, fearful. "Not here. The stairwell. Go. I gotta lock up, but I'll meet you there in a sec."
Pyro eyes Leah, for a moment like a deer about to bolt. Then he gives a single nod, heading down the hall. The door opens, and he settles down onto the cement steps, his arms wrapped around his knees, one eye glancing at the wristwatch anxiously.
The stairwell door spits Leah into the cold, echoing space a moment later. She's thrown on a jacket over her T-shirt and jeans, but just added slippers to her socked feet. She hugs herself, looking down at him. "Why are you here?" she asks softly.
Pyro startles as the door opens, relaxing only slightly when Leah is recognized. Doesn't take an empath to tell he's on edge. "I...just thought I'd stop by."
"Right." Heavy alto sarcasm. Leah shuffles to lean her back into the wall by the door. Her arms hug tighter. "A wanted terrorist, a known murderer, one of the great Magneto's minions -- just drops by Westchester County for a visit. Maybe a spot of tea? I don't know if I have any. I could check."
A scowl wrinkles Pyro's forehead. "Great minions," he sniffs at the words before running them back through his mind. "Murderer. Terrorist. Is that what you really think?"
Leah says flatly, "Without having seen the photos of the people killed in the jailbreak -- yeah. Yeah, I do. You attacked Alyssa. How'd that make you feel? Helluva break-up. Better warn your next girlfriend."
"Oh..." is all Pyro manages to say in response. "That's not...how it was supposed to happen." He's silent a moment, then scowls. "Well, if that's what you think, why haven't you called the cops? Or have you already? That why you wanted me out? So I'd not hear you?"
"I haven't called anyone." Sighing, she slouches into the wall's support. "I locked up and came right here. Figured if you wanted me dead, well, I would be. Not to mention, I had your boss in my apartment not long ago. Erik Lensherr himself, and I survived." Wearily Leah tries to smile at him; the expression hangs askew on her face, ill-fitting. "I can probably survive you."
"Thanks," Pyro mutters dully, shifting his weight to lean against the metal railing. "Why would I want to hurt you? Just because I see Magneto's side...well, it doesn't mean I'm totaly in the loony bin."
Leah's eyebrows arch magnificently nonchalant disbelief. "No? So, what, the benefits are just really good? Great medical and dental out on that island?"
"You're understanding cuts me to the core." Pyro rolls his eyes. "Benefits. You think I'd change sides because they have the better toys? Hell, Leah, I might not have known you long, but I didn't know you thought be that shallow."
"You don't," Leah tells him coldly, "know me at all, Mr. Allerdyce -- or do you prefer another name now? Please, enlighten me. I'd hate to disappoint you again."
"Call me Pyro, then. It's a better name than Murderer. Or Terrorist." With a snap of his fingers, the suit underneath activates, filling his palm with a pool of fire, casting long flickering shadows in the stairwell. A flick of the wrist sends them into oblivion, though the glare remains no less heated. "Because you know me so well by those names."
Leah flinches from the flame, tries to make herself small against the door jamb. Her voice shakes, but she speaks back to him boldly enough. "Yeah, can't imagine where people would've gotten the wrong idea about you. /Pyro/."
"I /said/ I'm not here to hurt you." Pyro breaks gaze with her, scowling into the emptiness beneath him. "He'd done worse, you know. But it was alright. Because he was /human/. /Normal/. So that makes it all okay. 'Not hate crimes. It's self-defense. It's protection of the greater good.'" he mocks with the phrases. "Hell, Leah. Someone has to do it. Talking doesn't work. They've tried it. Charles Xavier has until he's blue. They won't see. If humans won't let us have a place...we'll have to make one for ourselves."
"And to hell with the casualties. The innocents caught in between."
"At the risk of sounding like a 5 year old, they started it."
Leah thumps her head into the wall. "Oh, my /God/. A five-year-old? Three. If you're /lucky/." Exasperation vies with anxiety in her face, scrunching its expression to illegibility. "I'm not gonna argue about it. I'm not gonna win, and I'm not even gonna try. Why are you here, Pyro? Why did you come to see me?"
"Not to argue, for sure," Pyro sighs. "I... shouldn't have come. Shouldn't be here now. But I wanted to see you. How you were doing. And... I guess some small part of me was hoping for..." his voice drops down low, hesitating a moment. "For affirmation."
Leah blinks. "Of -- what? Affirmation?"
"Stupid. I should have known better." For a long moment, it seems that this is all Pyro will say, but then he continues. "I know your views, or at least what you've written of them. But I guess... part of me thought-- It's not easy, y'know. There's no middle ground, so it seems. You're good and impotent or evil and make a difference. For some reason, I thought that you might understand. Or at least...at least try to. Someone looking for a way between them. Guess I was wrong," he concludes, the somber tone suddenly being reigned into a stony one. "You're only human, after all."
For a long, tense minute, Leah studies him. Then her eyes cut away, and she tells the opposite wall, next to the stairs climbing to the next storey, "You're right. There's no middle ground, but there should be. World's not black and white--" a ghost of a bitter laugh "--as much as I'd wish it to be. It'd be easier. But it's not. Greys. Shades of grey. We're all only human, John. We're all trying to find a way between."
"But the activists on... on the other side get labeled purists. While mine are terrorists," he adds bitterly.
"They're just labels," Leah says tiredly. "Just words. You gonna let words get to you now?"
"Only when they're coming from... from a friend," Pyro sighs. "Screw the tele, screw the radio. No, I don't care what they say."
Leah snorts some kind of incredulity. "Friends. Are we?"
"I don't know," Pyro shrugs. "When it's all about which side you're on... kinda gets a little hard to tell."
At that, Leah's weariness, her confusion and her anxiety, split before a surprised smile. "Out of the mouth of babes-- Yeah. Yeah, right again, mate. Get up. Come here."
Pyro glances up at her, apparantly not any reaction he expected. Uncertainty is written in his limbs as he grabs the railing and pulls himself to his feet, climbing the few steps to the landing.
Leah pushes away from the wall and rests her hands on his shoulders. "I don't know about friends," she says soberly, "but not enemies, anyway. Okay? I'm sorry for the things I said. I'm sorry I -- I didn't welcome you very well. I'm afraid, and I'm worried, but I didn't want to be rude because I did like you, kid. I liked you a lot once upon a time. Can you forgive me?"
Pyro just stands there awkwardly a moment, not meeting her gaze but staring at the peeling paint near the floor behind her. "God, Leah," he finally says, still looking down. "You're asking /me/ that? I... You did so much for me--once upon a time. And I let you down. And I guess that's why I came. What I needed to know." He finally does look back up at her. "So yeah. Not enemies. That I can do."
Leah closes her eyes, but not before the shine of tears glistens in the cold, naked light of the well. "Thank you," she says, and then she hugs him, close and hard. "I'm sorry, John. I'm so sorry. For everything."
Pyro stiffens a moment, his hands hanging at his side, then they slowly lift to offer a hesitant hug back. "Bloody crazy world we live in," he mutters. "Should be different. But I guess you have your fights. And I," he hesitates a moment, "have mine And maybe someday... people won't be so ignorant. And grey might be allowed."
"I sincerely hope," Leah says over his shoulder, then sighs and lets him go. Her hands slide down to cup his upper arms, though, as if she were unwilling to let him /entirely/ go. She looks tired again. Worried again. "But you can't stay here much longer. I'm sorry. The Friends -- you know I've been speaking for them. They might have people watching."
"I can't stay anywhere long," Pyro says, a tinge of regret on the edges of his voice. "I'm a wanted terrorist, y'know?" he says, regret dissappating as the corners of his mouth twist up into something near a real smile. "I... don't know if I'll be back or not. Sorta got lucky this time. But I read your stuff still. And if someday everything does settle down and someone decides I'm worth publishing... Well, there's an dedication with your name on it. To Leah. Because she said I could." And with that, he breaks away, no goodbyes, just tromping down the stairs to the back exit.
Damn stupid thing to do, but I'm sure hell glad I did it. Not sure why I went to see Leah. I'm on shaky enough ground as is with the Brotherhood. If they knew I was visiting...well, a human let alone Leah Canto, with her recent Friends ties. Guess I needed closure, though. She was the one part of my---my old life that was not dealt with. Her as a friend and, well, everything I'd dreamed of being as a writer.
But I was kidding myself. Mutants can't have dreams. Not as myself. If I'd wanted to hide who I really am, sure I could have been a writer. But no publisher is going to print books by a mutant. Unless it's some off-beat place for the shock factor. Gawd, that'd suck to have your writing be some publicity gimick.
Affirmation. I don't know. Maybe someday. For now, though, whatever they call me--terrorist, murderer, traitor, deluded maniac--I know that I'm fighting so that someday mutants will have the right to dream.
Come a Thursday evening, and oddly enough, one finds the young once St. John Allerdyce striding along the streets of Salem Center. There are small gifts to be found in anything, and the bitter cold wind allows a collar to be turned up and hood pulled tight over one's face; so long as there's the occasional shiver, he doesn't even look suspicious. Because being recognized is not on the list of tasks for the night. Then again, neither was a two hour delay in his assignment. Which is the very excuse that finds him standing outside apartment 300, hesitating only a moment before giving three sharp raps on the door.
"Just a second!" comes faintly through the wood. Pattering footfalls lead to a shadow passing behind the peephole, and then there is silence. Then the door snaps open, and Leah stares wide-eyed past the chain. "What the hell?"
Pyro tugs back the hood slightly, enough for at least a frontal view of his face. There's a long pause, before he finally manages a cautious "Hi, Leah."
"Keep it down!" she snaps like the door's opening, which she reverses quickly for a chain-rattling full unlocking. Her head comes out, sweeps both ways up and down the hallway, and reorients on him. Leah looks shaken, sweaty, fearful. "Not here. The stairwell. Go. I gotta lock up, but I'll meet you there in a sec."
Pyro eyes Leah, for a moment like a deer about to bolt. Then he gives a single nod, heading down the hall. The door opens, and he settles down onto the cement steps, his arms wrapped around his knees, one eye glancing at the wristwatch anxiously.
The stairwell door spits Leah into the cold, echoing space a moment later. She's thrown on a jacket over her T-shirt and jeans, but just added slippers to her socked feet. She hugs herself, looking down at him. "Why are you here?" she asks softly.
Pyro startles as the door opens, relaxing only slightly when Leah is recognized. Doesn't take an empath to tell he's on edge. "I...just thought I'd stop by."
"Right." Heavy alto sarcasm. Leah shuffles to lean her back into the wall by the door. Her arms hug tighter. "A wanted terrorist, a known murderer, one of the great Magneto's minions -- just drops by Westchester County for a visit. Maybe a spot of tea? I don't know if I have any. I could check."
A scowl wrinkles Pyro's forehead. "Great minions," he sniffs at the words before running them back through his mind. "Murderer. Terrorist. Is that what you really think?"
Leah says flatly, "Without having seen the photos of the people killed in the jailbreak -- yeah. Yeah, I do. You attacked Alyssa. How'd that make you feel? Helluva break-up. Better warn your next girlfriend."
"Oh..." is all Pyro manages to say in response. "That's not...how it was supposed to happen." He's silent a moment, then scowls. "Well, if that's what you think, why haven't you called the cops? Or have you already? That why you wanted me out? So I'd not hear you?"
"I haven't called anyone." Sighing, she slouches into the wall's support. "I locked up and came right here. Figured if you wanted me dead, well, I would be. Not to mention, I had your boss in my apartment not long ago. Erik Lensherr himself, and I survived." Wearily Leah tries to smile at him; the expression hangs askew on her face, ill-fitting. "I can probably survive you."
"Thanks," Pyro mutters dully, shifting his weight to lean against the metal railing. "Why would I want to hurt you? Just because I see Magneto's side...well, it doesn't mean I'm totaly in the loony bin."
Leah's eyebrows arch magnificently nonchalant disbelief. "No? So, what, the benefits are just really good? Great medical and dental out on that island?"
"You're understanding cuts me to the core." Pyro rolls his eyes. "Benefits. You think I'd change sides because they have the better toys? Hell, Leah, I might not have known you long, but I didn't know you thought be that shallow."
"You don't," Leah tells him coldly, "know me at all, Mr. Allerdyce -- or do you prefer another name now? Please, enlighten me. I'd hate to disappoint you again."
"Call me Pyro, then. It's a better name than Murderer. Or Terrorist." With a snap of his fingers, the suit underneath activates, filling his palm with a pool of fire, casting long flickering shadows in the stairwell. A flick of the wrist sends them into oblivion, though the glare remains no less heated. "Because you know me so well by those names."
Leah flinches from the flame, tries to make herself small against the door jamb. Her voice shakes, but she speaks back to him boldly enough. "Yeah, can't imagine where people would've gotten the wrong idea about you. /Pyro/."
"I /said/ I'm not here to hurt you." Pyro breaks gaze with her, scowling into the emptiness beneath him. "He'd done worse, you know. But it was alright. Because he was /human/. /Normal/. So that makes it all okay. 'Not hate crimes. It's self-defense. It's protection of the greater good.'" he mocks with the phrases. "Hell, Leah. Someone has to do it. Talking doesn't work. They've tried it. Charles Xavier has until he's blue. They won't see. If humans won't let us have a place...we'll have to make one for ourselves."
"And to hell with the casualties. The innocents caught in between."
"At the risk of sounding like a 5 year old, they started it."
Leah thumps her head into the wall. "Oh, my /God/. A five-year-old? Three. If you're /lucky/." Exasperation vies with anxiety in her face, scrunching its expression to illegibility. "I'm not gonna argue about it. I'm not gonna win, and I'm not even gonna try. Why are you here, Pyro? Why did you come to see me?"
"Not to argue, for sure," Pyro sighs. "I... shouldn't have come. Shouldn't be here now. But I wanted to see you. How you were doing. And... I guess some small part of me was hoping for..." his voice drops down low, hesitating a moment. "For affirmation."
Leah blinks. "Of -- what? Affirmation?"
"Stupid. I should have known better." For a long moment, it seems that this is all Pyro will say, but then he continues. "I know your views, or at least what you've written of them. But I guess... part of me thought-- It's not easy, y'know. There's no middle ground, so it seems. You're good and impotent or evil and make a difference. For some reason, I thought that you might understand. Or at least...at least try to. Someone looking for a way between them. Guess I was wrong," he concludes, the somber tone suddenly being reigned into a stony one. "You're only human, after all."
For a long, tense minute, Leah studies him. Then her eyes cut away, and she tells the opposite wall, next to the stairs climbing to the next storey, "You're right. There's no middle ground, but there should be. World's not black and white--" a ghost of a bitter laugh "--as much as I'd wish it to be. It'd be easier. But it's not. Greys. Shades of grey. We're all only human, John. We're all trying to find a way between."
"But the activists on... on the other side get labeled purists. While mine are terrorists," he adds bitterly.
"They're just labels," Leah says tiredly. "Just words. You gonna let words get to you now?"
"Only when they're coming from... from a friend," Pyro sighs. "Screw the tele, screw the radio. No, I don't care what they say."
Leah snorts some kind of incredulity. "Friends. Are we?"
"I don't know," Pyro shrugs. "When it's all about which side you're on... kinda gets a little hard to tell."
At that, Leah's weariness, her confusion and her anxiety, split before a surprised smile. "Out of the mouth of babes-- Yeah. Yeah, right again, mate. Get up. Come here."
Pyro glances up at her, apparantly not any reaction he expected. Uncertainty is written in his limbs as he grabs the railing and pulls himself to his feet, climbing the few steps to the landing.
Leah pushes away from the wall and rests her hands on his shoulders. "I don't know about friends," she says soberly, "but not enemies, anyway. Okay? I'm sorry for the things I said. I'm sorry I -- I didn't welcome you very well. I'm afraid, and I'm worried, but I didn't want to be rude because I did like you, kid. I liked you a lot once upon a time. Can you forgive me?"
Pyro just stands there awkwardly a moment, not meeting her gaze but staring at the peeling paint near the floor behind her. "God, Leah," he finally says, still looking down. "You're asking /me/ that? I... You did so much for me--once upon a time. And I let you down. And I guess that's why I came. What I needed to know." He finally does look back up at her. "So yeah. Not enemies. That I can do."
Leah closes her eyes, but not before the shine of tears glistens in the cold, naked light of the well. "Thank you," she says, and then she hugs him, close and hard. "I'm sorry, John. I'm so sorry. For everything."
Pyro stiffens a moment, his hands hanging at his side, then they slowly lift to offer a hesitant hug back. "Bloody crazy world we live in," he mutters. "Should be different. But I guess you have your fights. And I," he hesitates a moment, "have mine And maybe someday... people won't be so ignorant. And grey might be allowed."
"I sincerely hope," Leah says over his shoulder, then sighs and lets him go. Her hands slide down to cup his upper arms, though, as if she were unwilling to let him /entirely/ go. She looks tired again. Worried again. "But you can't stay here much longer. I'm sorry. The Friends -- you know I've been speaking for them. They might have people watching."
"I can't stay anywhere long," Pyro says, a tinge of regret on the edges of his voice. "I'm a wanted terrorist, y'know?" he says, regret dissappating as the corners of his mouth twist up into something near a real smile. "I... don't know if I'll be back or not. Sorta got lucky this time. But I read your stuff still. And if someday everything does settle down and someone decides I'm worth publishing... Well, there's an dedication with your name on it. To Leah. Because she said I could." And with that, he breaks away, no goodbyes, just tromping down the stairs to the back exit.