storms&saints

Klara’s lack of a strong reaction gave Ivan pause. Maybe a little too much pause. The pair stood and stared at one another for what felt like ages – was just seconds, but felt like forever. Too long. It was almost impressive, how quickly the adrenaline left Ivan’s body – leaving him to deal with the mess of a break-in all by his lonesome. Leaving him with the discomfort of being able to stop and think critically for two seconds. These moments were typically a blessing for him, but this time… well, this time he just wished he could force her to get out.

She hadn’t taken anything. Nothing valuable, anyway. Nothing with any resale value. Just… food. Food that she devoured on the spot, rather than literally anywhere else. It was just weird. Struck him as odd. Not much of a threat – just a nuisance that he’d have to pick up after.

Some home invasion this was.

“Seriously, what the fuck? What’s- what’s your problem?”

He tried to sound angry, perhaps a little intimidating, but he really just came off as… confused. This was uncharted territory for him. Maybe if she’d been aggressive he could’ve kept the momentum going, but they were both just standing there. He wasn’t able to do much with that, was he?

“Explain yourself, or– or–”

He groaned, dragging his hands through his hair.

“Christ, dude, you’re fucking up my night. Why’re you here?”

Klara stood as still as a statue, her muscles tensed and ready to leap into action if she needed to, like a deer in headlights. She felt like prey, though she had been trained to be a predator all her life. This, however, was totally unknown to her. Entirely foreign and strange. She could see the young man relax, and in that moment, she slowly began to move again, lowering her hands with the food still in them.

Until he spoke. His words, his accent, grated harshly as unfamiliar to her ears. She froze again, eyes darting over him and to the window. But slowly, her gaze came back to him. He didn’t sound angry. Or at least, not anger as she knew it. Anger that meant pain, that meant punishment. He sounded... Well, she wasn’t sure what it was.

But he asked her to explain. She didn’t understand everything he’d said, but she knew that much. And he’d asked why she was here.

“Food. I... I am hungry.” Her English is accented and stumbling, but it was all she had. Unless... “Do you speak Russian?” she asked, switching tongues quickly.

“I don’t know, I don’t think so - I don’t think they got close enough…” Even so, Clarice was patting herself down, searching her jacket and pants pockets, smoothing her clothing down looking for any lumps. Meanwhile, she realized, “Wouldn’t you be able to - sense it, or whatever it is you do? I mean, tracker - I’m guessing that involves metal. Or at least an electrical current that’s similar to a cellphone…” Which she also knew the other woman could sense and manipulate. She didn’t exactly get how it worked, but she tore holes through space and she couldn’t tell anyone the science behind that, either. 

Nor did Lorna. Her powers meant she could fight them and keep them at a distance, that she didn’t need to be close to turn their own weapons against them. And Claire is right, of course, that Lorna would notice if there was something on them. Metal, or electronics, would be easily detectable. And another check--as if she hadn’t already done that in their last location--proved again that there was nothing there. But she was trying to cover every base, because-- “We can’t go back to the Underground if they’re still following us. So we need to figure out what it is.”

Part of him might have felt something gentle within him at seeing one of the kids protecting the other, but there wasn’t a chance for anything warm to spark within him before fire lit the room, heating the air and getting far too close. “Hey, hey,” Marcos said, trying to keep his voice from getting too sharp, and though he still held his hands up, they were moved to one of showing he meant no harm. “We’re on your side.”

***

Rosaline was skeptical that this night could go as smoothly as the Prince evidently hoped it would.  So many Capulets and Montagues in one place never ended well, and the addition of alcohol would certainly not help matters, regardless of anyone’s intentions.  Not that she particularly trusted the integrity of either family’s intentions anyway, of course, but that was beside the point.  However she personally felt about this night’s potential, though, she was a Capulet, and that meant that she had to be here.  Besides, who else would keep her sister and her cousins out of trouble, if she were not there?

Never one to make herself the center of attention, Rosaline contented herself with standing to the side, gaze wandering over the attendees, keeping a particular eye out for a potential situation.  What she found instead was the approach of an unfamiliar (at least as far as she could tell) woman in a fine dress.  “Good evening,” she returned, with a polite smile and curtsy of her own.  “The Prince has organized quite a lovely celebration, would you not say?”  A trace of irony lingered under the surface of her words, though at face value they appeared perfectly polite.

***

Bex didn’t so much expect the night to have no shenanigans as much as hope there would be. Otherwise tonight would be so boring. What was a little bit of fun here and there anyway? In truth, it had been the promise of excitement that had eventually made Rebecca stop arguing about being told what to do and come with minimal protest. She wanted to get into some trouble before the night was over. But she was willing to postpone that mischief to talk to someone interesting.

And that hint of irony was certainly interesting. Bex smiled, her eyes glinting behind the mask. “It is certainly lovely. But what else could one expect from Verona’s finest and the Prince? Are you enjoying it?” A different question entirely in her mind.

Klara was trying to help. She should’ve known better than to touch Ivan though. Looking at him now, she could see the tics and the tension running through him, wound as tight as a bowstring. She could see the steam on his hand, realising quickly how close she came to getting burnt. But Klara didn’t flinch at that; she was far more surprised at his restraint than the threat of violence or pain.

At his laugh, her eyes flicked to his face. Biting her lip, she shrugged and then shook her head. “No.” Her experiences had been... limited. One extreme or another; the trainers who only touched to punish and cause pain, and the one who’d gotten her out who’d shown her that it could be gentle and soothing. “...Sorry.” She took a step back, giving Ivan more space. “You are...” She paused, looking for the word. He was angry or upset with her, yes. Klara knew that. But there was something else there too. “Something happened?”

Every monster had a weakness – even one so loathsome and dead inside as Eve. All it took was one spark – an arm’s-length of flame – and he tore his grip from the girl’s arm. Stumbled back as though he’d been burned. His skin tingled, unfeeling, scars hidden beneath clothing prickling as though they were fresh. He swore he could feel those flames lapping at his skin, charring and cooking his flesh. His confidence melted away into abject terror. Anger. How dare she-

“Brat. You brat-” Eve spat at her. He hated pyros. Hated them. Thought he had his hands full with the one in his life, but here stood another to contend with. Had he known, he might’ve brought an extinguisher. A bucket. A hose.

The shadows around them began to move, circling Reyna and Darcy like sharks in deep water. As though possessed by some otherworldly force, Eve’s hands and arms moved like he was conducting a silent symphony, the shadows undulating with each and every motion. They were closing in on the girls fast, quickly choking out every last bit of light left.

Reyna hadn’t expected it to be so effective. It had been a desperate move, hoping that Eve wouldn’t want to get burnt and would let her arm go. But instead she saw that fear in his eyes. Oh, there was anger too, a fury she was more than familiar with. But it was the fear that Reyna could use to her advantage. It was the fear she hadn’t expected.

As he let her go, stumbling back, Reyna stepped forward. Her hand was still alight and she shoved it towards Eve, flame bursting forwards as shadows had done a minute before. “Yeah? Don’t like fire?” Her eyes were no longer as black as his, back to their usual dark brown and the fire reflected in them with delight. 

To Lorna’s glance, Marcos nodded. He did hear it, and he wished he didn’t. He’d done a lot, and this wouldn’t be the first time he’d had trouble with kids, but he didn’t like it. Still, he lifted his hands a little in front of him, ready to reach within him to touch his power. Not yet, though. Not yet. Instead, he looked inside, and, softly, he exhaled. 

***

Lorna worried for a moment that when they opened the door, it would be more than just frightened mutants they encountered. Police, or Purifiers, or even just bigots with an agenda. But thankfully, they got two teenagers, one standing in front of the other as though protective. Lorna took a step closer, only to duck back as fire erupted towards her. “Woah! Hold it. We’re not here to hurt you.” She glanced at Marcos, wishing John could’ve given them a warning about that. 

Clarice waited until Lorna was through the portal, entering it from the other side before it collapsed on itself behind her. She bent over, hands on her knees as she fought to catch her breath. She’d lost track of how many portals that was in a row tonight - 7? 8? She was losing steam. “…They’re like fucking locusts. How do they keep finding us?” 

Lorna turned back, waiting to make sure Clarice was alright. It was far more portals than either of them had expected, and it seemed to be taking its toll on Clarice. Lorna had to find another way to get them out if they were caught again because they couldn’t keep jumping. “I was wondering the same thing. They didn’t get anything on you, did they?” Lorna asked, mentally wondering if they’d managed to place a tracker on either of them. 

A ball thrown by the Prince. It was not exactly something a Montague like Rebecca was permitted to ignore. No, she was dressed in her finest dress as she had been instructed. As much as it grated her. Rebecca was never one for instructions or playing nice, and it had been quite the wrestle to get her to agree. Paris and Benvolio at least would be here as well, and Rebecca had no doubt they would find fun among the politics of the night once she found them. A celebration though it was in name, there was no doubting of the games that lay just beneath the surface. Nor of the tension that hung in the air as Montague and Capulet danced in the same ballroom and drank from the same cups. The Prince, it was said, was trying to broker a peace. Neither house could turn it down first without becoming the villain.

In the mean time, Rebecca walked alone at the edges of the room, watching the dancers, keeping an eye out for those she recognised behind their masks. As she walked, she came across another lone figure in a beautiful dress. Rebecca smiled, curtesying slightly as she approached. “Good evening,” she said, coming to stand beside the other.