moved

▀▄▀▄▀▄Lucky Me▄▀▄▀▄▀

Indie and Selective RP Blog for Marvel Comic's Longshot mixed canon

written by Lee

Indie and Selective RP Blog for Jean Grey

Independent and Selective Bobby Drake aka Iceman from Marvel Comics

𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙 & 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕄𝕒𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕟

He had still been a youth when he left. Callow perhaps as all young people are but he had also known his time had come to leave. He had known clearly that he had no obligations to his ancestors only to himself. He had been lucky, he had travelled far enough he had come to understand and even forgive his father for his shortcomings and his own people for turning their back on their emotions.

It was why he had gone back, to share that inner transformation of his own katra so that others could feel it, be healed as he was of their pain and fear. Instead he had been imprisoned without word of brother, sister, father or even his step-mother.

His anger. Disappointment. Even if he does not yet dare to acknowledge them out loud, they sit behind Spock’s teeth, liquid heat behind his eyelids, deep and dark and brown like the earth, like his mother’s.

Did it pain him? Sybok. Does he know, now, even a fraction of the betrayal — loneliness — that Spock had long endured?

Learning of Sybok’s more recent whereabouts should change something, anything. And perhaps, it does. Spock had not known, not for all this time. His present knowledge of Ankeshtan K’til tells him that it is designed to rehabilitate their most departed, wayward minds that had logic lost to them.

The tick in Spock’s jaw is muted, a flinch of his skin caught between anguish and a glimmer of satisfaction. Revealing even the smallest evidence of compromise is unacceptable — he knows this — he must remember discipline. But a startling reflection of the older Vulcan’s anger is flaring back at him, less contained, singing to an ancient part of him.

It should not provoke him as easily as it does.

“You left me. That is what you did. ” The retort is swift, defiant, despite his will — his want — to control it; Sybok’s imprisonment is meaningless, he tells himself, specifically in the face of how it all began. And he cannot, will not, speak of Michael either. As it were, Spock’s distant siblings were alike in this way: all too capable of leaving him behind.

“And now, you have seen me. What did you expect the outcome of that assurance to be?”

He had read once of what humans called saints. He remembered how one of these so-called saints had quarreled with his father and had told his father that he wasn’t his son anymore, that was born of the flesh was only flesh what was of the spirit was the spirit. That night he had understood it. He wasn’t Sarek’s son anymore. And if his mother was still alive he would have known he wasn’t hers anymore either. He was his own.

The revelation had been clear, beautiful and he realized now by necessity it had been selfish. If it hadn’t been he wouldn’t have had the strength to leave. Severing the bond with his father had in some ways been easy, but he realized now it had severed the bonds with his siblings too. And it embarrassed him he hadn’t realized that before.

“I had too. I didn’t belong there anymore.” He said channeling a Vulcan calm he didn’t quite feel.

It was a good question. How did a Sith read the person in front of them? Talon wouldn't know how to explain. She simply trusted in the Force, who was a good judge of character. And what was inside him called to what was inside her. "Darkness calls to Darkness."

What she felt coming from within him was subdued and faint. As if he held back. "I know ambitious eyes when I see them." He had a lot of potential and just needed someone to rely on, though she didn't begrudge him his caution. It was healthy to be cautious of her.

“Ambition doe not always need to be used for darkness;” he said still wary and still so very Vulcan-sounding. “Why are you offering?”