Esme
Title: Esme
Fandom: X-Men
Characters: Jonothon Starsmore
Prompt: 65. Family Portrait
Word Count:
Rating: PG
Summary: He came to see his aunt, and he got an unexpected surprise.
Author's Notes: Sequel to Too Late.
The cup of tea sat in front of Jonothon, steam curling up from the dark liquid. He was reluctant to call his aunt's concoction 'tea', of course. It was as thick as coffee, and strong enough to put hair on the chest of a dead nun. She'd had the same pot of tea on for the last twenty years, adding water and fresh tea bags as needed. There were times when Jono suspected that the tea was actually sentient.
"Drink up," Morag encouraged, nibbling on a biscuit she'd taken from the tin on the table. Jono politely raised the cup to his lips and took a very small sip, suppressing a shudder as the taste hit him. This was the kind of tea that could render a man kurd in an instant. "I'm so glad you could come. Are you going to say for supper? We're having a lovely roast."
"I'm not sure," Jono said slowly.
Morag looked him up and down, giving a little sniff. "You need a good feeding, luv. Look at you! Thin as a rake! You could pass for a starving African."
Jono held up his hand in defeat. "Alright, I'll stay. But just for a bit."
Morag gave him a sunny smile. "All I ever ask, Jon." She planted a quick peck on his cheek, then looked up at the sound of someone opening the front door (a creak, accompanied by the jangling of the bells she hung from the frame). "And there she is now... Esme! Come here and say hello to your cousin! Of course, you remember our Esme."
Jono did remember his cousin, though only vaguely. A sickly girl a bit younger than him, in and out of hospital and prone to fading into the background. Fond of classical music.
The young woman who stepped into the kitchen was still thin and pale, with very straight black hair that she let cover most of her face. Jono barely managed to keep from choking. He'd seen Esme not that long ago.
"Jon," she said softly, her pale face as still as a mask. "You're looking well."
"You too, Esme," Jono managed to choke out politely.
Morag clucked her tongue. "A nice little family reunion." She made shooing motions with her hands. "You two go catch up. I've got arcane kitchen witchery to do."
"Yes, Mum," Esme murmured, leaving the kitchen.
"Aunt Morag-" Jono began.
"Make nice with your cousin. She hasn't got much in the way of people her own age to talk to, and I'm sure you two will find you have loads in common, if you'll just talk to each other." Morag took him by the shoulders and gave him a little push. "Please?"
"Alright," Jono said, reluctantly following his cousin into the parlor. She looked at him expectantly, peering from behind her dark hair. "Does she know?" he asked, keeping his distance from the pale girl. "Does she know you've sold your soul?"
"That's easy for you to say," Esme hissed back. "Healthy as a bloody horse, having everything handed to you." She gave him a dark look, her eyes flashing red for a moment. "He gave me my life. He gave me what I always wanted."
"At what price?"
She held her head high as she looked Jono in the eyes. "Nothing I wouldn't gladly pay again."
***
"He doesn't know about you, Mum."
Morag stirred her tea restlessly as her daughter sat down.
"He's also an ungrateful shit," Esme continued.
"He never asked for it."
"Doesn't make him any less of an ungrateful shit. I never asked. You did." She reached across the table and took her mother's hand. "And I'm glad for it."
"Jon's stubborn, like his father. He'll come around."
Fandom: X-Men
Characters: Jonothon Starsmore
Prompt: 65. Family Portrait
Word Count:
Rating: PG
Summary: He came to see his aunt, and he got an unexpected surprise.
Author's Notes: Sequel to Too Late.
The cup of tea sat in front of Jonothon, steam curling up from the dark liquid. He was reluctant to call his aunt's concoction 'tea', of course. It was as thick as coffee, and strong enough to put hair on the chest of a dead nun. She'd had the same pot of tea on for the last twenty years, adding water and fresh tea bags as needed. There were times when Jono suspected that the tea was actually sentient.
"Drink up," Morag encouraged, nibbling on a biscuit she'd taken from the tin on the table. Jono politely raised the cup to his lips and took a very small sip, suppressing a shudder as the taste hit him. This was the kind of tea that could render a man kurd in an instant. "I'm so glad you could come. Are you going to say for supper? We're having a lovely roast."
"I'm not sure," Jono said slowly.
Morag looked him up and down, giving a little sniff. "You need a good feeding, luv. Look at you! Thin as a rake! You could pass for a starving African."
Jono held up his hand in defeat. "Alright, I'll stay. But just for a bit."
Morag gave him a sunny smile. "All I ever ask, Jon." She planted a quick peck on his cheek, then looked up at the sound of someone opening the front door (a creak, accompanied by the jangling of the bells she hung from the frame). "And there she is now... Esme! Come here and say hello to your cousin! Of course, you remember our Esme."
Jono did remember his cousin, though only vaguely. A sickly girl a bit younger than him, in and out of hospital and prone to fading into the background. Fond of classical music.
The young woman who stepped into the kitchen was still thin and pale, with very straight black hair that she let cover most of her face. Jono barely managed to keep from choking. He'd seen Esme not that long ago.
"Jon," she said softly, her pale face as still as a mask. "You're looking well."
"You too, Esme," Jono managed to choke out politely.
Morag clucked her tongue. "A nice little family reunion." She made shooing motions with her hands. "You two go catch up. I've got arcane kitchen witchery to do."
"Yes, Mum," Esme murmured, leaving the kitchen.
"Aunt Morag-" Jono began.
"Make nice with your cousin. She hasn't got much in the way of people her own age to talk to, and I'm sure you two will find you have loads in common, if you'll just talk to each other." Morag took him by the shoulders and gave him a little push. "Please?"
"Alright," Jono said, reluctantly following his cousin into the parlor. She looked at him expectantly, peering from behind her dark hair. "Does she know?" he asked, keeping his distance from the pale girl. "Does she know you've sold your soul?"
"That's easy for you to say," Esme hissed back. "Healthy as a bloody horse, having everything handed to you." She gave him a dark look, her eyes flashing red for a moment. "He gave me my life. He gave me what I always wanted."
"At what price?"
She held her head high as she looked Jono in the eyes. "Nothing I wouldn't gladly pay again."
***
"He doesn't know about you, Mum."
Morag stirred her tea restlessly as her daughter sat down.
"He's also an ungrateful shit," Esme continued.
"He never asked for it."
"Doesn't make him any less of an ungrateful shit. I never asked. You did." She reached across the table and took her mother's hand. "And I'm glad for it."
"Jon's stubborn, like his father. He'll come around."