clever as the devil.

❝  if i can do only wrong, may these serve as the blood that will keep other hands clean. the avenging angel swarms up on high to douse herself in an altar of her own making. do not weep, do not bay, for the sword that is her own will carry your sins for you. ❞

HISTORY. CONNECTIONS. PINTEREST.

31st October, 1998; Boo’ed Up || @mcntalism​

“Well, well!” Blake beams unabashedly as she settles herself into the seat opposite Jackie, leaning back with the weight of earned confidence and a couple of drinks. She brings the mental tally of ‘people here I’ve already slept with’ to three. “I think we might be doing this whole thing a little backwards, don’t you?”

status: closed for @mcntalism​ location: boo’ed up when: 31 october

          It  seemed  like  most  people  were  enjoying  his  costume  and  honestly  that  was  part  of  the  reason  he  was  wearing  it  even  if  it  was  outside  his  comfort  zone.   “I  believe  you’re  my  next  match,”   he   said  with  a  smile  on  his  face. 

“S-sorry,” muttered Diego, unsure what to do with their hands as they swayed awkwardly. “I just don’t know that I’ll ever get used to the- like- the visual mutations, or whatever you might call it.” Not to mention, Diego was uncomfortable even discussing the matter of mutations at all.

•

Jackie could deal with it. A choral tone of voice, inkwell eyes and gilled markings on her throat wasn’t exactly something a regular person learned to deal with well. She’d seen people run terrified of her, or cross the street as she walked through the city. Now though, she wasn’t surprised one of the more normal-looking people in the Institute was uncomfortable. She was just surprised that he mentioned it at all. People like skirting around things.

“Sweetheart,” which Blake only called her because it seemed like the utter antithesis of what this woman was, and Blake liked that. “You haven’t even told me your name, and I’m still inviting you up. Does that make me sound like the jealous type?”

Blake turns lightly on her heels with zero disregard to the mess they’re leaving behind, fixing her companion with a mischievous smile. “Kawasaki, actually. The ZX-10R. I prefer something a little sportier.” They exit the alley and Blake gestures to the left, the matte black powerhouse of a sport bike parked unassumingly at the curb. “Trust me, though, you’ll still look amazing sitting on the back.”

"Jackie,” she says, snorting at the comment. The jealous type, eh? It’s been a while for her, but she’ll ride along with whatever this woman wants, until it turns on her heel. Or gets away from her. Then, she has free reign to slip from a window off into the night, like her usual style. She wasn’t normal, but who was?

         “oh,” he says, falling silent for a moment. he thinks that given the chance, he would go. but maybe it’s something common up here. something so inconsequential, that nobody even thinks about it anymore. “do you know anyone who’s ever been?” he asks, hungry for more information. as he always is. this world might as well be the moon, for as much as he knows. even seeing the moon for the first time had struck him speechless, to think about walking on it… that someone could walk on it… was almost overwhelming.

         eyes shifting to look at the familiar building, his gills puff out in relief. he doesn’t know how late he is ( or even… what time it is at all ) but he hopes that the teacher in question isn’t upset with him. then again, when has she ever been? “would you really?” he asks, turning to glance down at jackie. “i don’t want to take you away from anything important… but it’d be nice to take a break from letters, afterwards.”

"Of course I would, big guy.” She smiles at him, finding it easier to do so now that they’ve established a rapport. Fluttering gills—a tell. Maybe a good sign. Jackie pats his arm and puts a smile on her face, trying to compile a lesson fitted to his skill level. Maybe she can have him adding and subtracting bigger numbers when she’s through with him.

There’s a pause as the woman glances Blake over, and Blake simply waits, unapologetic. An exhale comes like an admission, and Blake tilts her head curiously, still smiling. “Full bar, of course. Pick your poison. On the off chance I don’t have it, we can pick it up on the way.”

‘Before I get back to my place.’ Curious. “Got someone waiting for you who doesn’t like the fact you go to town on muggers every now and again?” Blake starts taking a few backwards steps towards the mouth of the alley — at one point she has to step over an arm — and gestures over one shoulder with her thumb. “How do you feel about motorcycles?”

"No. I just like my privacy. Why? You gonna get jealous?” She smirks, promptly stepping on and over a body as she walks through the alley. Jackie, even if she was surrounded by friends and students was always feeling the specter of solitude, of being alone when there was no reason to be. Perhaps Blake, a stranger could always help her with that. There’s nothing for her right now, except ash and bone and the horrible rattling in her chest that signals grief. It all goes to the back of her mind, though, as she focuses on Blake.

         despite his best efforts to keep his curiosity contained, fins is unable to reconcile with this new fact of reality. the idea of leaving earth at all is incomprehensible to him—but then, not that long ago, so was leaving the world underneath. so was sitting above ground, with the people who inhabit it, sharing in an experience that’s been entirely denied to him. “you think i could go to the moon?” with a mind full of questions, he feels confident enough to ask very few. that seems safe. and so does… “have you ever been to the moon?”

         gratefully, fins bobs his head in a nod. he isn’t entirely convinced of his own fine motor skills, but if the rope was thick enough, how hard could it really be? “i would appreciate that.” he doesn’t hold any obligations over her, though. if it ends up that she can’t make it work, he can accept it without losing much sleep. he knows there are lots of things that someone like him just can’t do. “i’m good with that,” he agrees, offering another nod. “how much farther is the library?”

"Nah, big man. Never had much to do with space. I liked looking at it from a telescope as a kid, though.” It was a solace, she thinks. To look up at the sky and find comfort in the fact that she saw the sky with wonder and amazement as those before her; a through line to history that she had always appreciated. It was the one thing she was sentimental about, if she was honest with herself. Though she rarely was. But maybe she should get Fins a telescope. Adjusted to his size, at least, so he doesn’t have to worry about breaking it.

      the worry of losing control had always been prevalent for the woman, it just mattered a little less when she was being the disciplinary figure in the house. her own father had both shunned and used her at the same time - how had that even happened? emmeline had done well to keep it under control, no, buried until she had come out the other side of death. it felt different and her lack of understanding and control could never be ignored.  she stared towards jackie, defensiveness kicking in with her comment. “i’ve been able to before.” when she was less volatile. there were a different set of rules now and more and more people would be against her and want her to pay for what she had done. 

       the thought of ‘training’ is a strange one as she wouldn’t even know where to start - it had been a miracle that she hadn’t been the cause of any more  catastrophes as it was. “right. i will be able to do it, you know. it just feels new.” perhaps a flare up was a more accurate way to describe her outbursts, the issue being deep-rooted in her. her ability to handle external stressors was non-existent and it had been in discussing that oprah interview that she had lost it. “i don’t want him there. he made it very clear he didn’t want me there. i’ve not spoken to him since. i hurt him despite everything. i know he’s kind but sorry isn’t going to cut it.” emmeline had let that brief feeling of louis turning on her, in her eyes, take over and spiral out of control. “i’ll sort it.”

Finally. Joy of joys, she’s off it and doing something. Jackie can’t ask for more. “Then book a session or start training, Essex. If you don’t want to be a danger. You’ll get through it.” She claps her on the back, much less friendly, but more of a reassurance than anything. "This fucking Institute’s lined with trauma. If they can deal with it, well—what’s to say you can’t get out of the pit you found yourself in?”

“No, Jackie I–” Laurel cuts herself off with a hiss and shakes her hand. They were both surprised that her last hit connected; Laurel so much so that she hadn’t actually had her fist in the right position and managed to hit the wrong nerve in the right spot, an unnerving tingling sensation up her arm. She jumps back for a little distance, letting them both assess whether or not they need a minute. “I didn’t mean it like that. I know better than to doubt you like that.” Still shaking her hand, Laurel gives her a wide, too-proud grin. Finally, after probably too long, she’s finding her rhythm. 

“I’ve heard the stories from people who’ve seen you at the shooting range. You’re kind of a legend, you know that?” But then, so was everyone here in some respect. A sidestep to dodge a blitz attack, and she rolls her shoulder, still deciding whether or not the pinched nerve can be ignored or not. She doges again, but this time her other hand grabs her shoulder and she swings her leg to catch the back of Jackie’s in an attempt to send her sailing towards the floor again. 

Pinched nerve. Ringing head. Jackie could go for the coup de grace, but instead she takes a beat and lets her recover. A wrong move, but she’s feeling generous, which wasn’t exactly her M.O. at all. Perhaps she just needed a break, some place to get out of her head and put her fists to good use. Math classes were great and all, but she needed to do something that didn’t involve numbers. Something that could have turned her brain off for a moment. God—she would have taken anything at this point. Drinking. Fighting. Being back in Silicon Valley to threaten some dickhead heirs. Anything.

Blake’s newfound friend, because that’s immediately what she’s considering her, doesn’t offer a name in return. Blake doesn’t particularly mind, since the offer for a drink comes after anyway. “I would love a drink,” she decides easily, glancing down at her hand once it’s released, lightly smudged with blood. She doesn’t balk; she’s seen much, much worse.

“My place isn’t far, if you’d prefer somewhere more private.” It’s not a line. Okay, it’s a little bit of a line. It’s a line if her companion wants it to be. But Blake won’t pressure if the woman brushes her off. “It’s also seen its fair share of blood, real and fake.”

A proposition? After a bloody fight? Jackie can’t help but smile at the proposition, a stilted, feral little thing as her eyes scan over Blake and gauges whether or not it was worth it. To go over, to pretend like she’s half-normal. To have a life, however shit it is. A second. Then two. A long thought, before she exhales and relaxes.

“You know, hotshot, you’re going to give me Disney Princess syndrome if you keep calling me that.” Cordelia bites her tongue, holding back from saying something a little too flirtatious in response to the ‘working up a sweat’ comment. The Institute is full of gorgeous women, but she knows that mixing work with pleasure would be a terrible idea. Still, she can’t help herself. She winks at Jackie, takes another bite out of her sandwich. “You wanna work up a sweat with me, Rumley? Now you’re talking.” Her tone is jovial enough for it to come off as nothing more than a harmless joke. 

She shrugs a shoulder, eyebrow raised. “Would it be so bad if I am worried about you? You’re a friend, as well as a colleague.” Cordelia doesn’t need to pry apart Jackie’s mind to see that she’s excellent at masking her true feelings. She won’t push, though. Not today. “No therapist shtick, just me wanting to make sure you’re doing alright. Scout’s honour.” 

"Damn if we can’t get any one of your animal friends to come and help you or something.” Burke was already a good shot, and if she could at least manage to get Cordelia up to their level, or halfway there? Well, she thinks that working up that much of a sweat is something she can’t wait to do. At least, she’s doing something. Maybe not thinking. Not thinking that much.

         “on the—” unable to blink in surprise, fins is left with a many-toothed guffaw. “the moon? you can—you can go to the moon?” the idea of a differing weight, or calculating price, is completely lost to him. all he can think about is the implication of someone being on the moon. in the sky. the same shining, silver orb ( or sliver. does that change anything if someone goes up there? ) that lights his way to the pond some nights, more soothing than the harsher lamps that line the city’s streets. it’s always possible, of course, that it’s just calculable as far as moon-weight is concerned. theoretical, as opposed to literal. but that’s not a concept fins has experienced enough to grasp, either.

         still bursting at the seams with questions, fins forces himself not to get carried away. the way jackie speaks about it, it must be something casual on the surface. the moon. someone being on the moon. casual. he’s stunned beyond belief. “i’ve never untied a knot before,” he admits, despite knowing that this statement is less literal. “but i don’t know if i can.” his hands are large and ungraceful, not capable of the fine movements that such a skill would require. “maybe numbers will be easier for me.”

Warmly, she gave Fins a smile, still stilted and odd. “Yeah, big guy. You can go to the moon. Who knows, maybe NASA can get you go to the moon too—probably after you learn your numbers.” She pats his back, the way that teachers are supposed to. Mostly, she handles high school kids. People who do weird five-dimensional bullshit math. Not the younger ones and not people who don’t have a grasp on the subject yet—but if she can get Fins to perk up like that? Well, maybe hope’s not all lost.

    self-pity was something that emmeline knew greatly. her eyes were finally opening up to the true atrocities of what both her and her father had done - it was too late for her to do anything about it. nathaniel already had a target on his back and she was sure to be next. the woman would try to prevent it but whatever she did wasn’t going to be good enough. she never had a chance and after the truth came to light, it was unlikely that people would be willing to give it to her. although emmeline was an open book, she had kept secrets, mostly about her wrongdoings and the extent of nathaniel’s treatment of her, but those were things she didn’t want to be out in the open. he had hurt her but that wasn’t going to matter - the fact she had hurt others would overrule that. 

     “i could.” that was her response to all of the above. independence wasn’t something she had a grasp on, even after over a year, and her decision-making herself was rather questionable. “that’s not really going to help anyone though, is it? that’s what nathaniel‘s done and i’m not him, i don’t want to be him. i just need to get control of it, then i can start really writing my wrongs. i’m grateful for xavier but being grateful isn’t enough.”

"And what if you don’t, Essex?” It’s a matter of fact. They had students with uncontrollable powers come through once in a while. Perhaps due to trauma, due to an alien understanding of reality, or simply because their power, by nature of itself was hard to even grasp. There isn’t a catch-all to everything, there is no solution, but at least Emmeline wants to do something. It was better than weeping in the hallways or walking around like a mouse.

Now Blake can feel the anger radiating off of her in tantalizing waves, calling to the beast nestled deep in Blake’s chest that hasn’t even bothered to stir before now. Her war aspect was hardly interested in two-bit muggers with crap training, but it was interested in a woman with such multifaceted rage. Blake can feel it but she can’t see it, locked all too tightly behind a stony facade.

Blake is intrigued. More than she already was, anyway. The stranger offers thanks but Blake shrugs it off.

“I know I didn’t have to. I just wanted to. And not in a ‘always happy to help, ma’am,’ kind of way. A ‘these guys deserve it’ kind of way.” She plants a neat little offhanded kick into the stomach of a man curled at her feet. He groans and rolls over as she offers her hand to shake. “I’ll answer to Princess. But most people call me Blake. And you? It’s a pleasure.”

"Usually I’d put a bullet in them, but honestly? They’re lucky I don’t kill anymore.” She wants to, of course. It’s an ache to the hurt—the bullets and the anger, mostly reserved for CEOs with black books too large to wipe clean or dictators who entrench themselves in politics with heinous force. That anger spills over in her life now, the unjustness and unfairness of living making hard to even live without being angry. Her eyes turn to Blake, and nod.

She puts her hand out to shake, and Jackie grasps it firmly, no slack and no give. “Pleasure’s all mine, Blake.” The first eddies of emotion trickle out again, and she gives her a smile. The blood hasn’t washed off, but for Jackie, she hopes it never will. At least then, she can understand that she has something in her hands.