Chimera

🧲Open Starter🧲

He had only intended to stop in for one beer.

One became two. Two became three. Somewhere after that, Erik had stopped counting. Fourteen? Fifteen? Perhaps more. The exact number had ceased to matter several drinks ago.

He wasn't entirely sure why he'd stayed. Maybe he was trying to silence old ghosts. Maybe he was simply tired. Whatever the reason, the alcohol had done what years of struggle, loss, and sleepless nights had failed to accomplish—it dulled the ache. His thoughts had grown pleasantly numb, the world around him blurred at the edges, and for the first time in a long while, the pain wasn't screaming in the back of his mind.

With a heavy sigh, Erik reached unsteadily for what he believed was beer number twelve—or perhaps sixteen. His fingers missed the bottle entirely, and he frowned at it as though the glass itself had betrayed him.

"Traitor," he muttered beneath his breath, his accent thicker than usual.

Erik dismisses the Brotherhood members, closing the meeting. He wanted peace and quiet.

Once they’re gone he walks to the large window, and looks out over the ocean. The views over Genosha.

But it was all wrong. Charles was supposed to be here, by his side. His children too, fighting beside him and leading the Brotherhood.

But Erik was alone.

Most of them stayed in dorms, it was preferable over a UN sanctioned facility but still. A lot of them went unaccounted for during the day when they should have been in class. Bri was one of those rarely accounted for kids, with a bad habit of wandering and talking.

The dilapidated room was filled with the constant buzzing of dull lights. Stale air filled with mildew hung around, giving any living thing around a pounding headache. Oxidized blood stains lingered on the floor. A dreadful hiss jolted Zoë awake from her nightmare. If only she could remember her previous surroundings, but the molding tiles above caught her fuzzed attention. This wasn’t - this wasn’t home. Multiple things dawned on her. The first wave of thought muddled into Lilith wouldn’t allow this. The second wave molded into who was responsible.

She tried to sit up, only to be stopped by cold metal cuffs holding her torso, wrists, and ankles down. Trapped on a metal table under a dusty overhead light. What an awful reality. Part of her hoped this was a dream. A really fucking twisted dream. Blood stains crawled up the walls, leaving her to imagine what horrors people could have been subjected to. Her skin crawled with imaginary beetles, each ripping at her flesh for a sweet treat.

Turning her head the best she could, Zoë squinted as she observed scalpels and needles. Fuck no! Fuck no! She struggled against the bindings to no avail. Now powers either, evident by the tight collar on her neck. A door creaked open, letting golden light spill into the room. Someone shuffled about, grabbing things from the side shrouded in shadow.

The figure walked toward her, the light revealing a familiar face with brown hair spilling into their face. Zoë’s eyebrows knitted together, her heart leaping in her chest. No. He was dead. This made no sense. Why couldn’t she be left alone for one week? What looked like Remy held up a syringe to the light, a flare bouncing off the needle’s sharp edge.

Zoë gritted her teeth, tears pricking at her eyes. “Who are you?”

The person smiled, shifting into Rogue. “Who am I not?”

Zoë swallowed harshly, then took a shaky breath. Her momma.. She missed her momma. She screwed her eyes shut, a shiver running through her small body. A sharp pinch invaded her skin, sending an unknown liquid into her system.

“Shhh, it’ll be okay sweetpea.”

That voice. She knew that voice. Mystique.. her grandmother. Zoë wanted to curl into a ball, never to unravel. A laugh echoed in her head, and War’s face pushed through the darkness.

“Oh~ this will be fun to watch. Don’t worry, my dove, I'll watch while you have the fun.”

—

NPTs: @reveries-daydream @ancient-siren @nevermore-mindreader @variousvossivixens @adamantiumpaws @its-gambit

Her small hands held onto the doorway. "Mystique?" She asked. It was late, she should have been... well anywhere else in the building. But she had had a nightmare, or heard a noise, or both, and had to investigate. "What are you doing?"

Unlike mystique's voice, which bounced and wedged its way into Zoë's ear, Bri's was almost inaudible, swallowed by the darkness around her. It was hard to see her over the edge of the table, but if it wasn't a child it was at least child-sized. Her question hung in the stale air, eaten away by the very mold that clung to the walls.

Whatever the reason, Hank found himself dressed in his usual trenchcoat, with a starched half-buttoned mint shirt and white slacks that fit slim on his thick thighs and round rump. Still, no one could say they didn't frame him well, and it felt nice to dress up every now and then.

His go-to bar had a St. Pat's special, according to the flyer, with tonight serving shepherd's pie (Mutants always welcome!). Sure, there had been some ne'er-do-wells that decided an open bar was worth graffiti-ing the place - but Hank was happy to show them a stimulating conversation and the nearest complaint box (a dumpster).

Walking in with his matching coat and hat with the collar popped up, McCoy tipped his hat to some cheers of recognition at his arrival. A tad embarrassing to be a local celebrity, sure, but the warm reception was not unwelcome. Hanging up his coat, he wandered his way over to the bar and waved down for a Guinness and three orders of the special with a side of pub fries.

Soon enough, he found a foaming glass on a coaster in front of him, with the fries as an appetizer while he waited. He raised his glass with a "Sláinte" and took a fine swig of the stout.

It was very dark. That was the first thing she noticed. And very loud. She found herself captivated by the TV over the counter top. Not that she understood it in the slightest. Words- people's faces. Something interesting. A pretty girl, that was nice, but she had awfully big teeth. But teeth were not important right now she was hungry. And she had been for a while.

Scott knew it was bound to happen soon. Since his most recent plane crash, he hit his head really hard. He speculated the reason it was so delayed was because he was still in fight or flight but it was going to catch up to him. Since he was aware it was coming, he could be on the look out for his aura. He’d remember he had seizures this time.