Death
Title: Fake Empire Side Story: Emily's Notebooks pt 6: Death
Author: Alsike
Rating: R
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds
Pairing: Other Emma Frost/Other Emily Prentiss
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men or Criminal Minds. I owe wizened_cynic for the concept of quantum babies. She does it much better than me. Title stolen from the song by The National.
Apologies: And now for something a little bit different.
Summary: In a different world, Erik Magnus overthrew the US government when Emily Prentiss was only twelve years old. On that day the course of her life changed irrevocably. This is her story.
Fake Empire 1 (Queen Emma)
Fake Empire 2 (JJ's Part)
Fake Empire 3 (Emily's Part)
Fake Empire 4 (The Mansion)
Fake Empire 5 (Kyougen)
Fake Empire Side Stories:
Emily's Notebooks 1 (The Christmas Revolution)
Emily's Notebooks 2 (Whore)
Emily's Notebooks 3 (Touch)
Emily's Notebooks 4 (Pain)
Emily's Notebooks 5 (Fear)
Tell me you're reading and i will keep going.
The pity was gone. I missed it. Even the obvious disgust and revulsion was better than this. I didn’t exist. Hear no evil; see no evil; speak no evil. If I came into a room it would empty. If I spoke to someone they would turn away and speak to someone else. A few people would cross themselves when they saw me.
It shouldn’t have been worse than them hating me. But they were so terrified, and there was nothing I could do. Less than nothing. If I showed any anger at the way they were treating me, a look of panic would cross their faces and they would flee.
It felt like being dead.
I couldn’t even work. People would stand in between Aaron and I if I ever tried to approach him. They wouldn’t look at me or tell me to leave, but they kept me away from him. I didn’t blame them. They had seen hell, and it was my fault.
I wanted to be sold.
I watched them gathering in small groups in the refectory or in the hallways, comforting each other, whispering, trying to make sense of what had been done to them. From what I overheard, there was little sedition in these conversations. Even the snide criticisms, the epithets, the despising remarks that had been made about our mistress on a daily basis, easily, with the confidence of those too unimportant and weak to bother punishing, had disappeared. Their hatred had been replaced by fear.
The schedules changed. Any contact with Emma was to be avoided. The mutant servants already did most of the escorting and serving, but even the cleaning crews posted lookouts to know when she entered the building so they could disappear.
All I could do was wait for her to call me. I didn’t know whether I was more impatient or more afraid for that to occur.
One man had died in the refectory that night. He was older than most and had had a heart attack from the horrors Emma had put inside his head. She had murdered him, carelessly.
The mutant servants took his body away. No one knew for certain, but there were rumors that human corpses were brought to the dump and tossed in the landfills with the rest of the waste.
I hadn’t known him. He had been one who ignored me while I was new and cursed absently at me once I had become a whore. I wasn’t even certain of his name until he died and I could hear the whispers about Jason this, Jason that. I wasn’t invited to the memorial they held. I didn’t know about it.
I walked in on it accidentally. Aaron, still bandaged and pale, stood on the stage in the refectory, speaking about him, everyone sitting quietly. He froze and stopped his speech when he saw me. The entire room turned to stare at me and I could feel their blame and their resentment like a blow. I left. It was clear I was unwelcome. I was the one who had caused his death.
The other favorite topic of conversation was what our mistress’ powers truly were. Before, all they had known was that she could speak into their minds. I hadn’t even seen true evidence of that until the day it happened, but now there was evidence of so much more.
The ones who crossed themselves in my presence believed that mutation was a sign of possession. They spoke of the eternal torment of hell. Now they had some idea what it was like, pain without physical cause, pain without hope of solace. According to them, all she had done was open a small channel to her home, given them a taste of the unquenchable fire.
It was the ones who could not believe in the evil supernatural who were truly horrified by her power. How could you trust a world where someone was given the ability to do that to you? What did it mean when it became clear that you were a victim, you were prey, and you never had the chance to be anything else?
It was the strong ones who suffered from this, the ones who believed that their status as slaves was misfortune, not destiny. They were the ones who discussed tactics as they ate dinner, rehashing old battles, what the human armies should have done that would have stopped this Mutant Reich. But now they had felt what real power was, and they knew themselves to be weak. They had lost the faith in their own superiority that made living as a slave bearable.
I was afraid as well, afraid of what she could do, but even more afraid because I couldn’t understand why she did it. There was no reason I should be worth so much. It couldn’t have been about me entirely. But whatever had been the cause, her reaction had been violent, indiscriminate, and irrational. I had always seen her as a little bit of a child, but this was a tantrum that had left a man dead and others irreparably scarred, both mentally and physically.
But when she called for me, I went.
* * *
It felt different this time, opening the door, stepping inside. She had stood there, waiting for me to wake up, after she had tortured fifty people, after she had murdered someone.
I couldn’t call it anything else.
I couldn’t understand how she had done such a thing. I had never felt that she saw me as less than a person. Her discomfort, her fear of me had shown me that. And how could a telepath, who knew that everyone was truly there, was a thinking feeling being, who could see it every moment, ever fall victim to the lie that a person could be a thing? She must have known what she was doing. She must have felt every ounce of their pain and rejoiced in it.
My mistress was waiting, barefoot, hair still wet and clumped from washing, wrapped in her too short bathrobe. She looked like she always did, but what I saw was completely different. I could only see the woman that JJ had described, the one with black eyes, and a certain stride, her powers reaching out and choking their minds with a deadly painful grip, more cruel than a hand around their throat that stopped their breathing.
Lost in reliving that, I didn’t notice her turn to look at me. I didn’t notice the shock on her face, the twist of sickness in her expression.
“Stop it!”
I focused on her, but not before her hand struck my shoulder and I fell to my knees.
“Don’t look at me like that!”
She sounded furious. I wasn’t looking at her at all. I stared at my hands, planted on the floor, and I waited for her to continue to beat me, to strike me again. Whether it was with her hand or her mind I didn’t care.
“You’re looking at me wrong.” The fury had fled her voice and she sounded hurt. How could she be hurt? I had to see her expression, so I peered up, through my hair, which had fallen in front of my eyes.
Emma looked desperate. She rubbed her face with the back of her fist, like Jennifer always did when she was trying not to cry. “Why are you afraid of me?” she murmured, half to herself. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Why not?” The words were out of my mouth before I could even think to restrain them. She blinked, stunned that I had responded, stunned by my response. I continued clarifying my question, against my better judgment. “You hurt everyone else. Why not me? Why am I different? Why did you choose me, single me out like this?”
My mistress’ shoulders stiffened and she turned her head away. She slapped with her words. “You have no right to-”
“I know!” I pressed my face against the floor, covering my head with my hands as if they would offer some sort of protection from my impertinence, as if prostrating myself would elicit mercy. “I know…”
“I can’t hear you.”
I stayed frozen. There was no way she could not have heard that. There was no way I would not suffer for this. I heard her sigh, a little roughly, as if she were giving in.
“I’m a telepath, and I’m good at it,” she said sharply, defensively. “I have incredible range and power. I can map someone’s mind more quickly and accurately than Charles Xavier. But… I can’t turn it off.” I looked up through my fingers and wondered how someone could look so angry and speak so evenly. She wasn’t looking at me. Staring at the wall, her words were crisp as if she were presenting an argument to the court. She could not look at me.
“With any other slave, I would know they were hating it, hating me. With any other mutant, I would only be able to think about what they wanted from me, how much respect they lost for me because I submitted to them. But you… your shields are surprisingly good for a human, and you didn’t hate me. I just needed a little time with someone who didn’t hate me.” She shook her head. “You don’t know what it’s like to live surrounded by people who hate you.”
I thought I might know more than she assumed.
“That’s why?” It was some trick of fate, of biology, nothing… but had I expected more? “My shields?”
“You weren’t always yapping, like everyone else.” She gave me a look that clearly told me to shut up. I ducked my head and shut up.
She took a step toward me and I flinched at her touch. “You’re afraid.” Her fingers dug into my jaw and she lifted my chin so I didn't have any choice but to look at her. She shook her head, her hair falling across her face and shadowing her eyes. “Worthless.”
I tensed. What did she mean? She let go of me and turned away.
“Get out.”
I didn’t understand, so I didn’t move. She looked back over her shoulder, her eyes lit with anger. “Didn’t you hear me?”
She spun, the back of her hand connecting with my face, striking my cheek.
“Get out!”
She screamed it in my head and in my ears. I scrambled to my feet and fled.
* * *
Author: Alsike
Rating: R
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds
Pairing: Other Emma Frost/Other Emily Prentiss
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men or Criminal Minds. I owe wizened_cynic for the concept of quantum babies. She does it much better than me. Title stolen from the song by The National.
Apologies: And now for something a little bit different.
Summary: In a different world, Erik Magnus overthrew the US government when Emily Prentiss was only twelve years old. On that day the course of her life changed irrevocably. This is her story.
Fake Empire 1 (Queen Emma)
Fake Empire 2 (JJ's Part)
Fake Empire 3 (Emily's Part)
Fake Empire 4 (The Mansion)
Fake Empire 5 (Kyougen)
Fake Empire Side Stories:
Emily's Notebooks 1 (The Christmas Revolution)
Emily's Notebooks 2 (Whore)
Emily's Notebooks 3 (Touch)
Emily's Notebooks 4 (Pain)
Emily's Notebooks 5 (Fear)
Tell me you're reading and i will keep going.
The pity was gone. I missed it. Even the obvious disgust and revulsion was better than this. I didn’t exist. Hear no evil; see no evil; speak no evil. If I came into a room it would empty. If I spoke to someone they would turn away and speak to someone else. A few people would cross themselves when they saw me.
It shouldn’t have been worse than them hating me. But they were so terrified, and there was nothing I could do. Less than nothing. If I showed any anger at the way they were treating me, a look of panic would cross their faces and they would flee.
It felt like being dead.
I couldn’t even work. People would stand in between Aaron and I if I ever tried to approach him. They wouldn’t look at me or tell me to leave, but they kept me away from him. I didn’t blame them. They had seen hell, and it was my fault.
I wanted to be sold.
I watched them gathering in small groups in the refectory or in the hallways, comforting each other, whispering, trying to make sense of what had been done to them. From what I overheard, there was little sedition in these conversations. Even the snide criticisms, the epithets, the despising remarks that had been made about our mistress on a daily basis, easily, with the confidence of those too unimportant and weak to bother punishing, had disappeared. Their hatred had been replaced by fear.
The schedules changed. Any contact with Emma was to be avoided. The mutant servants already did most of the escorting and serving, but even the cleaning crews posted lookouts to know when she entered the building so they could disappear.
All I could do was wait for her to call me. I didn’t know whether I was more impatient or more afraid for that to occur.
One man had died in the refectory that night. He was older than most and had had a heart attack from the horrors Emma had put inside his head. She had murdered him, carelessly.
The mutant servants took his body away. No one knew for certain, but there were rumors that human corpses were brought to the dump and tossed in the landfills with the rest of the waste.
I hadn’t known him. He had been one who ignored me while I was new and cursed absently at me once I had become a whore. I wasn’t even certain of his name until he died and I could hear the whispers about Jason this, Jason that. I wasn’t invited to the memorial they held. I didn’t know about it.
I walked in on it accidentally. Aaron, still bandaged and pale, stood on the stage in the refectory, speaking about him, everyone sitting quietly. He froze and stopped his speech when he saw me. The entire room turned to stare at me and I could feel their blame and their resentment like a blow. I left. It was clear I was unwelcome. I was the one who had caused his death.
The other favorite topic of conversation was what our mistress’ powers truly were. Before, all they had known was that she could speak into their minds. I hadn’t even seen true evidence of that until the day it happened, but now there was evidence of so much more.
The ones who crossed themselves in my presence believed that mutation was a sign of possession. They spoke of the eternal torment of hell. Now they had some idea what it was like, pain without physical cause, pain without hope of solace. According to them, all she had done was open a small channel to her home, given them a taste of the unquenchable fire.
It was the ones who could not believe in the evil supernatural who were truly horrified by her power. How could you trust a world where someone was given the ability to do that to you? What did it mean when it became clear that you were a victim, you were prey, and you never had the chance to be anything else?
It was the strong ones who suffered from this, the ones who believed that their status as slaves was misfortune, not destiny. They were the ones who discussed tactics as they ate dinner, rehashing old battles, what the human armies should have done that would have stopped this Mutant Reich. But now they had felt what real power was, and they knew themselves to be weak. They had lost the faith in their own superiority that made living as a slave bearable.
I was afraid as well, afraid of what she could do, but even more afraid because I couldn’t understand why she did it. There was no reason I should be worth so much. It couldn’t have been about me entirely. But whatever had been the cause, her reaction had been violent, indiscriminate, and irrational. I had always seen her as a little bit of a child, but this was a tantrum that had left a man dead and others irreparably scarred, both mentally and physically.
But when she called for me, I went.
* * *
It felt different this time, opening the door, stepping inside. She had stood there, waiting for me to wake up, after she had tortured fifty people, after she had murdered someone.
I couldn’t call it anything else.
I couldn’t understand how she had done such a thing. I had never felt that she saw me as less than a person. Her discomfort, her fear of me had shown me that. And how could a telepath, who knew that everyone was truly there, was a thinking feeling being, who could see it every moment, ever fall victim to the lie that a person could be a thing? She must have known what she was doing. She must have felt every ounce of their pain and rejoiced in it.
My mistress was waiting, barefoot, hair still wet and clumped from washing, wrapped in her too short bathrobe. She looked like she always did, but what I saw was completely different. I could only see the woman that JJ had described, the one with black eyes, and a certain stride, her powers reaching out and choking their minds with a deadly painful grip, more cruel than a hand around their throat that stopped their breathing.
Lost in reliving that, I didn’t notice her turn to look at me. I didn’t notice the shock on her face, the twist of sickness in her expression.
“Stop it!”
I focused on her, but not before her hand struck my shoulder and I fell to my knees.
“Don’t look at me like that!”
She sounded furious. I wasn’t looking at her at all. I stared at my hands, planted on the floor, and I waited for her to continue to beat me, to strike me again. Whether it was with her hand or her mind I didn’t care.
“You’re looking at me wrong.” The fury had fled her voice and she sounded hurt. How could she be hurt? I had to see her expression, so I peered up, through my hair, which had fallen in front of my eyes.
Emma looked desperate. She rubbed her face with the back of her fist, like Jennifer always did when she was trying not to cry. “Why are you afraid of me?” she murmured, half to herself. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Why not?” The words were out of my mouth before I could even think to restrain them. She blinked, stunned that I had responded, stunned by my response. I continued clarifying my question, against my better judgment. “You hurt everyone else. Why not me? Why am I different? Why did you choose me, single me out like this?”
My mistress’ shoulders stiffened and she turned her head away. She slapped with her words. “You have no right to-”
“I know!” I pressed my face against the floor, covering my head with my hands as if they would offer some sort of protection from my impertinence, as if prostrating myself would elicit mercy. “I know…”
“I can’t hear you.”
I stayed frozen. There was no way she could not have heard that. There was no way I would not suffer for this. I heard her sigh, a little roughly, as if she were giving in.
“I’m a telepath, and I’m good at it,” she said sharply, defensively. “I have incredible range and power. I can map someone’s mind more quickly and accurately than Charles Xavier. But… I can’t turn it off.” I looked up through my fingers and wondered how someone could look so angry and speak so evenly. She wasn’t looking at me. Staring at the wall, her words were crisp as if she were presenting an argument to the court. She could not look at me.
“With any other slave, I would know they were hating it, hating me. With any other mutant, I would only be able to think about what they wanted from me, how much respect they lost for me because I submitted to them. But you… your shields are surprisingly good for a human, and you didn’t hate me. I just needed a little time with someone who didn’t hate me.” She shook her head. “You don’t know what it’s like to live surrounded by people who hate you.”
I thought I might know more than she assumed.
“That’s why?” It was some trick of fate, of biology, nothing… but had I expected more? “My shields?”
“You weren’t always yapping, like everyone else.” She gave me a look that clearly told me to shut up. I ducked my head and shut up.
She took a step toward me and I flinched at her touch. “You’re afraid.” Her fingers dug into my jaw and she lifted my chin so I didn't have any choice but to look at her. She shook her head, her hair falling across her face and shadowing her eyes. “Worthless.”
I tensed. What did she mean? She let go of me and turned away.
“Get out.”
I didn’t understand, so I didn’t move. She looked back over her shoulder, her eyes lit with anger. “Didn’t you hear me?”
She spun, the back of her hand connecting with my face, striking my cheek.
“Get out!”
She screamed it in my head and in my ears. I scrambled to my feet and fled.
* * *