#fallenau4

Esther was an old woman, even for a witch, but she was just as strong and energetic as ever. She would fight for her home as fiercely as any other professor here. Even moreso because she wasn’t just protecting her home, she was protecting the students who were as good as her own children. She watched these children grow and she would fight alongside them now. 

Even if it meant fighting against former students of hers. And she’d been around long enough that many of them, unfortunately, were.

When the first of the Death Eaters had breached the school, Esther was right there with the other members of the Order of the Phoenix. Wand at the ready, she threw spells as she protected the halls near the kitchen, protecting the youngest of the Hufflepuffs hiding in their house common room.  She went for long-term stunning, rather than anything harsher, no matter how many green lights shone from wands approaching her. She wouldn’t live with that sort of regret. If she lived at all. 

She managed to stun most of the Death Eaters around her until there was one left and she sighed, recognizing the boy. He was a man, now, but she’d always remember that bright-eyed boy from her Herbology classes who’d been so bright, so sweet, and then endured more hurt that any one person should go through. She had no idea he’d joined the Death Eaters and she held her wand up, but didn’t fire off a spell just yet.

She shivered. It was so damn cold and her torn sheepskin cloak was not helping in the slightest. There was no way she would risk moving, not with the possibility of being found and hanged lingering over her head. Ororo reached into her sack and pulled out the golden sapphire beaded bracelet along with a sealed letter. Mesmerized with thoughts of the amount of money she could get for the jewelry alone, however it was the letter that had been the real prize. The country was at war, whichever side won would shape how the land would be run. Frankly she didn’t care all that much. Fresh food, good wine, a roof to sleep under. That was what was important to her. With handing over that letter to Lord Essex, things would increase exponentially for her.

All she had to do was make it out of Starkworth to Essexton. Once her mission was over, she would catch the next voyage to Barbossi. A city infested with the scum of society; mercenaries, prostitutes, murders, thieves, and opportunity. Exactly the place for her. She could build a new life, start fresh.  

Orphaned at a young age, Ororo had found herself fighting and struggling for a better life every waking moment. She had become a nomad, traveling from land to land, stealing from place to place, doing what she had to to survive. It wasn’t until she had met Jean-Luc, a notorious thief and nobleman in his own right, that she learned how to rob from the rich and fill her own pockets. And who better to steal from than one of the wealthiest family in the kingdom.     

The sound of twigs breaking caused her to freeze. So perhaps her plan hadn’t been as foolproof as she had initially thought. It had taken nearly a year of scooping out the castle and finding the best entrance and escape route. Only to have it come crumbling due to a lack in hindsight of accounting for the family pet. Fucking dog! The blasted creature had caught her off guard. She knew it was a favorite of Lord Stark. Yet she had not thought it to have been in the master bedroom.

Stuffing the goods away, she stood. If Ororo was going to hide than she needed to find a better spot. The baker’s house was too exposed and a farm would be far too obvious. Plus there was too much opened land between the village and the forest. She stepped out into the night, creeping as carefully as possible through the streets. In the distance she could see the glowing orange light of the local blacksmith’s furnace. The only one to likely be up at such a godforsaken hour. It would be foolish to think anyone would help hide her. Especially not a man whom she had only meet twice and had stolen from in the past. However the clinking of chain-mail and heaving of dogs found Ororo running toward the burning light.

Damnit! She was going to get caught! DAMNIT!

She nearly fell in the gravel outside the smith’s place, catching herself just barely. Looking up she caught the sight of a dark haired man, hammer in one hand, some form of metal in the other. Likely working on some knights armor or another. Yet what halted her was the fact that whoever he was, he was not the owner of the shop.

No that man had been much older. Short in stature with a scar that ran along his left eye. She remembered his face well, she remembered all faces of everyone she had ever stolen from. The blacksmith...Ororo had taken an extremely well made knife, probably the best work the old goat had ever done in his entire life. Perfectly balanced, comfortable handle. It had been as if the weapon had been made specifically for her. She contemplated reaching for it that very moment. Kill whoever the heck this man was before he alerted the others.

“This way men!”

Ororo halted in her thoughts upon hearing her pursuers closing in. Her eyes pleaded with him, hoping beyond hope he wouldn’t give her away, cursing the situation she was in.

After college, Sharon didn’t think she’d ever get a rush of adrenalin again. Instead of her preferred criminal law, she ended up getting a job in corporate business. The most exciting case she’d done in the last six months was getting the company a tax refund they didn’t even need. Despite selling her soul at work, she had found a new title that might not have made her satisfied, but it made her pretty proud of herself; the maker of the town’s greatest brownies.

PTA meetings, sport’s days, fundraisers; wherever and whenever Sharon could bring her brownies and see the smiles on people’s faces she would. When her kids Ian and Ellie came running home after school just to see whether Sharon had baked anything that day, it put a smile on her face and helped her to forget that she hadn’t been home to tuck them in any night for the past three weeks. She was damn happy with her brownies, and no one had ever came close to defeating her on taste or texture, and so it seemed like her title of Best Baker was secure forever.

It was Ian’s last elementary school sport’s day when Sharon got the rug yanked from under her. She walked over to the baked goods table, a tray of freshly made brownies in her hands, when she noticed that no one was greeting her with the usual enthusiasm. Confused, she squeezed in past her fellow parents and noticed that they were chomping down on another person’s brownies, making contented noises and gossiping about how “these could rival Sharon’s, god.”

The first time Sharon realised she might not be like the other kids was in third grade science class. Claire Montgomery had made fun of Sharon’s braces just an hour before, and when her apparently ‘non-reactive’ solution ended up exploding on her face halfway across the room, Sharon had a feeling it was something to do with her. This trend continued on through high school, and people who made her life difficult tended to have something embarrassing happen to them at some stage as well, either by accident or (more usually, though she wouldn’t like to admit this) on purpose. On her eleventh birthday a letter arrived down the fireplace, getting temporarily stuck in her mother’s fancy fire guard, and eventually managing to fly out in front of Sharon.

She was surprised her mother didn’t faint. Her father, however, was a weathered soldier, and so he was able to pass off his slightly wide eyes as surprise rather than fear. Sharon was nothing but excited; a new school, as far away as she could possibly get from both her mother’s watchful eye and the taunts of her previous classmates, a school where she would learn magic of all things. She might finally belong, she might finally be surrounded by people who understood where she was coming from.

Unfortunately, the reality was that wizarding school, although different in many, many ways, was also quite similar to ‘normal’ schools. Sharon found herself sitting alone on the Hogwarts Express and squished into a boat beside a teacher because everyone else already had a partner to sit beside. At the Sorting Ceremony, the Hat had deliberated a little over whether to put her into Gryffindor or Slytherin. Sharon, not knowing anything about either, simply thought to herself, 'Put me in whichever one helps me get ahead quicker,’ which she would soon learn was quite a Slytherin trait, and was probably the Hat’s main reason for sorting her into that house.

Things got minutely better from there, and while the majority of her new housemates had a sharpness to them not unlike her father’s soldier friends had and she had to sleep in a dungeon, Sharon was more content than she ever had before.

In her first Potions class of the new year’s semester, the Professor announced that she would be partnering people from different houses that year instead, to help promote inter house camaraderie, or something stupid like that. Sharon pulled a name out of the hat. It read 'Jemma Simmons, Ravenclaw.’

Sharon didn’t think there was any part of her that was a Ravenclaw, and she might have been biased based on her own house’s murmurings of 'know-it-all’ and 'smart kids, think they’re above everything,’ but she really needed to pass Potions this year. It was her most difficult subject, and perhaps it might be a good idea to butter up the Ravenclaw and see if she could carry her through it. Sharon walked across the room to her new partner and gave her a wide smile.

Piotr dropped to his knees alone among the tombstones. His large hands ran through the grass before bunching into fists before pulling them up to his face. “Oh Katya...” He said his voice trembling with emotions. His fists balled and pressed against his forehead as silent tears rolled down his cheeks. He could still remember it like yesterday. They had just been out for dinner when they were attacked by those mutant hating bigots. It was practically a small army. He was just too slow to save her, and now she payed the ultimate price. “I am so sorry Katya... How could I let this happen... How could I be so foolish!” he roared to himself. If he wasn’t over her grave he would have pounded his fist into the ground till there was nothing less. It was then he heard an all too familiar voice behind him, the voice of Magneto. “Not you, Piotr. How could they let this happen.” he said keeping his distance dressed in all black as if for a funeral.  “Magneto!” He shouted instinctively turning on his armor as he turned to face him. His instincts went against his better judgment. “How dare you disrespect Katya like that?!” he roared as he marched towards him tempted to bash the villains head against a tombstone. With the gentle raise of his hand Magneto halted all of Piotr’s movement with his power. “You misunderstand me, child.” He said taking a white rose from behind his back as he made his way towards the headstone. “I’m simply here to pay my respects to the young Kitty Pryde.” with one final sniff of the flower he set it done at her grave. “A fine mutant sister taken from the earth far too soon.”

Piotr remained silent as his eyes followed Magneto. As he spoke Piotr found his words to feel genuine.No longer resisting Magneto’s hold he left his Osmium form and crossed his arms, partially to hear him out and partially because he felt he had to tuck his hands away to keep them from Magneto’s throat. “What are you doing here.” He responded coldly. “I know your pain, Piotr. I too have lost many that I love to humans who didn’t understand...” He said as he slowly turned to face Piotr. “They’re crimes only felt justice when the world went to war with them. Perhaps now you see that war has its place.” With a sigh he headed out of the cemetery the way he came in. “If you finally agree to make a difference, to stop these easily avoided tragedies, you know how to get my attention.”

.....three Mississippi...four Mississippi…watch your breathing....five Mississippi….

She could hear them. Grunts and moans. What did they have to cry over anymore? There was nothing left of their former lives, for any of them. So why did they have the right to cry when she could not. Ororo had sat there waiting out the infected, hoping for an opening soon. Her legs were starting to tire from kneeling for so long.

…..six Mississippi…..seven Mississippi….fuck….

Her right leg gave out, causing her to falter and a can to go rolling across the pavement. She didn’t even wait for them to start scream. Shooting through the tight gap on the side of the brick buildings. Ororo climbing on the dumpster, taking out the small pick mattock she had found to catch one of the infected in the side of the skull. The creature was smashed against the wall making her have to kick it loose.

Crap.Crap.Crap.Crap……

Taking a leap of faith, she jumped to the lowered ladder on the fire escape stairway. Missing with her hand but locking on with the pick. She dangled for but a moment before getting the strength to lift herself up. Ascending one metal bar at a time, only looking down once to smirk at the gathered mob below.

Sorry, not this time. Not ever.

Ororo made her way to an open window, slowly climbing inside she waited a moment to listen out for anything suspicious. Creeping inch by inch until she could peer unseen out the door. Upon hearing nothing she let out a small sigh. Happy to finally be able to stand, she shook her legs out one by one before commencing to raid the area for more supplies. Finding some duct tape, one pair of scissors, a can of tuna, another three of corns and refried beans, and...she nearly jumped for joy. Toothpaste!

She unscrewed the top, squeezing out a pinch on her finger to taste. It was so minty and fresh! She couldn’t wait to show Pete, sure he was likely upset that she had gone alone without informing him. But breaking and entering was a delicate manner, and really she had not wanted to wake him. It had been days since they last had any proper sleep. The abandoned cellar seemed safe enough to leave him for a few minutes.

Storing all that she had found, Ororo went to exit through the other side of the apartment, however stopped at the sight of a black and golden paper box. Cigarettes. She had never smoked, never could stand the smell. Yet it was the memories that they the simple small box brought back which made her take the pack and stuff them in her pocket. Once outside she slide down a connected pole, halting just before hitting the ground to make her landing quieter. She weaved through the city, going back to the dainty looking bar on the corner of the two wide main streets. She pushed away a cluster of overgrown vines to descend the hidden steps to the cellar.