Scott Summers (
no_rose_tint) wrote in
taxonomites2012-03-01 07:26 pm
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[In person: Streets of Osten] Survival of the Fittest
As the sun started to think about rising above the horizon, Scott was already up and about, standing at the mansion gates and stretching himself out. In the haze of pre-dawn his eyes glowed ominously, blood red light that spilled from his glasses and over his skin and clothing as he moved, limbering up for his morning run.
It was a brief time that it felt like being home. The world was still and slightly chilled, even to his heated skin. There were barely any people, the streets washed shades of black and pink to his monochromatic vision.
He took off running, an easy job down the road and away from the mansion, picking up pace as he hit the level. His footsteps slapped out a rapid beat as he ran, listening to the stillness and his slowly increasing breath.
Anything but thinking. Pushing himself had always been his relaxation from his racing mind and after a night of more interrupted sleep and nightmares that were more memory than imagination, he desperately wanted nothing more than to push himself to his physical limits, where the only thing on his mind was pushing out another step, dragging in another breath.
Then the world shifts.
He's survived this many years by being aware of the tiny things and it has him skidding to a halt, looking around sharply. The flickering could have been his imagination, but he knows in his gut it wasn't, that he just saw the world crackle and guiltily, his first thought is to suspect that something has gone horribly wrong with Madelyn. It's unfair, but the fear still sits there, that she'll snap again and everything will go wrong all over again.
Then he hears a childish shriek that draws off into giggles. Giggles that he will never forget in his life and are impossible for him to hear.
"Nathan?!" He spins on his heel, the sound seeming to echo around him. "Nathan?!"
The shriek comes from another direction and he hears little footsteps slapping on the pavement. He's moving without thinking, chasing after the sound. "Nathan!"
"Dada!" The giggling comes from behind him this time; even as he turns, he knows that Nathan won't be there, something is playing with his head.
"Stop it! I'm not playing this game, Nathan's gone." He stands his ground, hands curling into fists before one rises to touch the stem of his glasses. "Stop it!"
"Madelyn was gone too, Scott. Madelyn. Nathan. Jean. But they never stay gone, do they?"
He knew that voice. His body felt like lead as he moved up to the window, staring at his reflection.
It watched him, tattooed lips curled into an ugly smirk, concussive energy wisping from its eyes in a bloody smoke. One hand rested down low, stroking Nathan's pale hair back, controlling the virus that had taken his son from him.
"No!"
His reflection smiled back. "I'm never gone, First-Among-Equals. Least of all in this place. Perhaps it is time Nathan and I went and visited Mom."
He tore off his glasses with a scream of animal rage. Nathan's eyes were blue as the glass shattered around him and he swore he felt something rush from the reflection at him, something other than the terror from his little boy.
He didn't have time to think about it, as pain struck through his head and he reeled backwards, crashing to the pavement in a rain of glass, bricks and blood from the cuts the glass had torn in his skin.
He hit the asphalt on his back, glasses falling from his fingers. Unconscious, he didn't feel the blue ink leeching over his skin, from his ears along the underside of his cheekbones, down to the corners of his mouth and lastly over his lips to form a single, unbroken line.
It was a brief time that it felt like being home. The world was still and slightly chilled, even to his heated skin. There were barely any people, the streets washed shades of black and pink to his monochromatic vision.
He took off running, an easy job down the road and away from the mansion, picking up pace as he hit the level. His footsteps slapped out a rapid beat as he ran, listening to the stillness and his slowly increasing breath.
Anything but thinking. Pushing himself had always been his relaxation from his racing mind and after a night of more interrupted sleep and nightmares that were more memory than imagination, he desperately wanted nothing more than to push himself to his physical limits, where the only thing on his mind was pushing out another step, dragging in another breath.
Then the world shifts.
He's survived this many years by being aware of the tiny things and it has him skidding to a halt, looking around sharply. The flickering could have been his imagination, but he knows in his gut it wasn't, that he just saw the world crackle and guiltily, his first thought is to suspect that something has gone horribly wrong with Madelyn. It's unfair, but the fear still sits there, that she'll snap again and everything will go wrong all over again.
Then he hears a childish shriek that draws off into giggles. Giggles that he will never forget in his life and are impossible for him to hear.
"Nathan?!" He spins on his heel, the sound seeming to echo around him. "Nathan?!"
The shriek comes from another direction and he hears little footsteps slapping on the pavement. He's moving without thinking, chasing after the sound. "Nathan!"
"Dada!" The giggling comes from behind him this time; even as he turns, he knows that Nathan won't be there, something is playing with his head.
"Stop it! I'm not playing this game, Nathan's gone." He stands his ground, hands curling into fists before one rises to touch the stem of his glasses. "Stop it!"
"Madelyn was gone too, Scott. Madelyn. Nathan. Jean. But they never stay gone, do they?"
He knew that voice. His body felt like lead as he moved up to the window, staring at his reflection.
It watched him, tattooed lips curled into an ugly smirk, concussive energy wisping from its eyes in a bloody smoke. One hand rested down low, stroking Nathan's pale hair back, controlling the virus that had taken his son from him.
"No!"
His reflection smiled back. "I'm never gone, First-Among-Equals. Least of all in this place. Perhaps it is time Nathan and I went and visited Mom."
He tore off his glasses with a scream of animal rage. Nathan's eyes were blue as the glass shattered around him and he swore he felt something rush from the reflection at him, something other than the terror from his little boy.
He didn't have time to think about it, as pain struck through his head and he reeled backwards, crashing to the pavement in a rain of glass, bricks and blood from the cuts the glass had torn in his skin.
He hit the asphalt on his back, glasses falling from his fingers. Unconscious, he didn't feel the blue ink leeching over his skin, from his ears along the underside of his cheekbones, down to the corners of his mouth and lastly over his lips to form a single, unbroken line.