Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]
Welcome to Xmen Revolution. We hope you enjoy your visit.


You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free.


Join our community!


If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features:

Username:   Password:
Add Reply
A little patch of England; Chamber
Topic Started: Mar 6 2010, 05:13 PM (526 Views)
Betsy Braddock
Member Avatar
Telepathy (I'm not a bloody ninja)
Date: February 13th
Time: 2.20pm




She didn’t make enough of weekends anymore, Betsy told herself as she trotted around the muddy field on horseback, her breath coming out in clouds, rising up then back down again in a steady rhythm. It was good to get out of the city that held so many dark things, painful memories and general unpleasantness, full of crowds and pollution. Betsy had been born and grew up a country girl, albeit a very privileged one. Her ancestral home had been surrounded by acres of land; gardens, orchards, fields and woods and she had explored and played all over, knowing every tree and cluster of wild flowers, every inch of the maze set in the main grounds of the house. She had also gone riding on her fat little pony, Figgy. Leaning, Betsy patted the neck of her new, ‘big girl’ horse that Jonathon had gifted her for Christmas, the most perfect gift she had received in a very long time and she had christened the grey Arabian, General.

As she finished another circuit of the field, the White Queen’s mind started to drift to the invitation she had once again sent Jonothon Starsmore. It had been a while since their last meeting, months in fact, but it had not exactly been convenient for her to see anyone recently, especially someone she was trying to coax out of whatever hole they were allowing themselves to reside in. Maybe had gotten better recently though…Either way, she felt it was about time to see him again, and so had contacted him. The stables her horse was kept at was out of the city, quite isolated, so maybe it would appeal to him, as well as being closer to the school. Just one more quick round of the field, and then she would be content to take General back into the stables and wait for Chamber. Her almost old fashioned sensibilities had led her to bring a flask of hot tea and some sandwiches as she knew she’d only get hungry and thirsty and did not fancy chancing it that there would be anything decent for her to eat around the stables.

Dressed in traditional English riding gear, helmet firmly on her head, Betsy was a picture of tradition, along with her English style saddle, something she was very particular about. The riding hat she wore was likely going to leave her hair in a mess, but it was worth the indignity to have an hour of pure enjoyment and it wasn’t like Jono was going to judge her for it. Steering General towards the gate, she put the young man out of her mind for now, instead thinking of some tea after she had seen to General…
[align=center]Posted Image[/align]
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Chamber(Old)
Member Avatar
Psionic Biokinesis / Telepathy
Horses weren’t Jono’s thing. Or so he’d protested (to no one in particular) upon receipt of Betsy’s invitation, but here he was and there she was, trotting expertly around a muddy field. At some point he must have lied to himself about one thing or another.

He’d arrived early, swung into the stables on his Yamaha, scared the shit out of some stable girl when he’d tugged his helmet off and discovered his scarf had dislodged in transit. His hair stuck out at all angles, chest-fire blooming out around the fabrics. She’d squealed and scarpered fast, dropping her bucket of horse crap and sprinting beyond sight as Jono, bemused, had discreetly rearranged his bindings. Wasn’t like his cock had been hanging out. You’d have thought that by now the sapes would be used to monstrosities wandering the face of the Earth.

A little while later he’d found his way into the offices. Timid stable girl had been stood there, mouth hanging slack, pupils tiny quivering pinpricks of black. She’d flapped those rubbery lips and sputtered and he’d waited until she’d stopped her frantic little pantomime—picking up pieces of paper and dropping them into adjacent baskets—before he’d asked, disyllabic, where Braddock was. She’d gabbled a response and he’d left without a thank you.

Before meandering towards the paddock he’d cut across to the stalls. Arabians and Friesians and breeds he didn’t know stared doe-eyed and placid across the Dutch partitions. Living central in London didn’t give rise to many opportunities to get close to any animal bigger than a dog-- Jono was an urban punk, attached at the hip to engines and motor oil. He’d never ridden a horse. He wasn’t sure he’d ever come within close proximity of anything that even resembled a cow.

There was something horribly peaceful about being stood alone amongst livestock and empty fields, starlings screaming and shitting in a nearby copse of trees, horses softly whickering and somewhere a dog barking. Jono glanced back at the dirt track he’d rode through on his bike, and the silence felt jarring.

A fat grey farm cat wended towards him through the stables and got tangled with his ankles. He stared down at it and muttered an affectionate piss off, and it purred like an idiot and rubbed itself all over his boots.

Now he sat and watched Braddock. She and her horse made lighter shapes against that churned-up backdrop. He used the fence as a bench, swinging his legs over and balancing perched on the wooden slats, toes propped against the lower beam. It was cold. Patches of hard frost thickened embankments and stained the wood white, gathered in cracks and pits, and her breath and the horse’s made vapour clouds around them. In the low winter sun she appeared drenched in mist, haloed by light and fog.

It was a pity to interrupt her, so he didn’t.
[align=center]Posted Image[/align]
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Betsy Braddock
Member Avatar
Telepathy (I'm not a bloody ninja)
With a firm yet gentle tug on the reins, Betsy pulled General around at the bottom corner of the field, glancing over her shoulder as she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. Oh…Oh! Tutting to herself, she steered her horse around once more and dug her heels in lightly, spurring the horse on along with a click of her tongue, gaining speed as they cut across the field, clods of turf kicked up by the horse’s hooves as he cantered along. Reaching the other end of the field, Betsy pulled on the reins, waiting for him to settle, reaching out and patting his neck. “Woah, woah, good boy…” she soothed her horse quietly, running her gloved fingertips through his mane as she sat back in the saddle, looking across at Jono, perched up on the fence of the paddock.

“Sorry, have I been keeping you waiting long? I didn’t – oh,” Betsy pushed aside the cuff of her glove to check her wristwatch and felt a small sense of relief that her timekeeping was not going rusty. “Oh, you’re early. I was going to have finished my ride by the time I thought you were coming and have this fellow groomed and away in his stable. I figured seeing as I was coming up here and its closer for you than the city…”

Shrugging, she dismounted without finishing her explanation, getting mud all over her boots without batting an eyelid; Betsy had been born and grew up smack in the middle of the English countryside, mud happened. Pulling her helmet off, the effect was similar to taking your foot off a patch of purple coloured heather and her hair wisped upwards, fluffy and wild with several stray locks falling into her face. “Well, I hadn’t heard from you for a while so I thought I’d see how you were,” the telepath offered, knowing full well he’d want some sort of reason for being there. Adjusting the reins so she could lead General, Betsy nodded towards the gate in a silent request for him to hold it open for her so she could pass through.

The stables were quiet with the occasional neighs and snorts and stamps of hooves coming from the horses. At this time of year, people preferred to exercise their horses indoors, or on the all terrain paddock, rather than the grassy meadows on the far side of the riding club, where she had spent the last hour or so. There was bound to be some stable hand floating around that she could entrust General to, if Jono didn’t feel like holding her curry comb and hoof pick for her while she tended to her animal.

::So…How are you?:: she asked, switching to telepathy, blue eyes regarding him as she twisted the reins around in her hands a little, helmet dangling off the crook of her arm by the straps. It felt so strange to be social again, after so long of hiding herself away from anything that wasn’t work or Club related, that it felt almost easier to slide into speaking telepathically, rather than using her own voice to converse with him.
[align=center]Posted Image[/align]
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Chamber(Old)
Member Avatar
Psionic Biokinesis / Telepathy
She opened her mouth and spoke, and Jono was surprised to hear her voice, suddenly aware that she had never before articulated any of her words in his presence, that their conversations had all taken place in the astral (with an ease of expression that was impossible to explain to anyone who wasn’t telepathic). It differed with the others; non-psionics stumbled and tripped around their minds when trying to make use of them in the way that only telepaths really could—they stuttered and mispronounced and garbled like toddlers fumbling inexpertly with primordial attempts at language. They could learn, but there was no fluidity, speaking a foreign tongue with stilted accents.

He realised with some perplexity that he’d missed it. Wasn’t every day he got someone jabbering into his head with the same unflappable ease as his own psionic drabbling. Wasn’t like he was particularly enamoured by the idea either, hypocritical or not. If he’d had a choice he’d be talking like a regular feller, making vowels and stringing syllables together with the best of them. You don’t realise how much you appreciate your vocabulary until you’re unable to put it to proper use.

Even so, he was a lazy bastard. He still dropped his Tees and Aitches, contracted his vernacular and threw slang about like he didn’t have anything more eloquent to use.

:::It was a toss-up between monging out in the bedroom for an extra hour or hopping on the bike and pissing off the wildlife.:::

And that was one thing he appreciated about Betsy: her elocution. It bled through her psionic voice and was clearer in her speech. But then again, she was a rich kid. That lot were all told to sit up straight and bite off their consonants and not to put their elbows on the table from the moment they popped out. Although, come to think of it, his mum had twatted him across the back of the head a few times for wayward elbow-propping, and she was as common as muck. Had upscale inclinations, though. She’d called it a champagne taste on a beer budget.

Jono slid from his perch, mud splattering his docs, caking his trouser legs with shit-brown streaks. He paid the mess no attention. It’d wash. Punk fashion wasn’t exactly known for being crispy-clean and laundry-fresh: they didn’t get labelled crusties for nothing. He opened the gate for Betsy and she guided General through, hooves dull on the dirt. They picked their way back towards the stables. From a vantage point on top of the roof the farm cat regarded them with feline superiority.

::So…How are you?::

There was that familiar disembodied echo. Feigning absence; Jono rubbed the stallion’s nose. The Arabian tossed its head and nudged at his fingers, warm air sniggering in soft gusts from flared nostrils.

:::Some days I wonder if I ain’t half back to my old nobhead self::: he replied, self-deprecating. :::Then others… Eh. You know.:::
[align=center]Posted Image[/align]
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Betsy Braddock
Member Avatar
Telepathy (I'm not a bloody ninja)
There was something a little different about Jono. Maybe it was just the fact she had not seen him now in a good few months, mostly her fault for slacking off on contact after all the…Betsy gave an involuntary shudder as a memory flashed in front of her eyes of claws in the dark, that cold patch of park where Creed had been waiting for her, wanting to kill her. Even here, in broad daylight in a safe, secure setting, the warm safety blanket of respectable people surrounding them, with Chamber right next to her, she felt like she fall victim to another attack once more. Gripping the reins for dear life she stopped for a second, trying to refocus. Being inside her office or the Club, that was different, out here she was vulnerable.

Turning her head a little, she tried to lift the corners of her mouth into a smile, only just managing it. ::Well, I’m glad you did come, although I’m not sure you’re quite pissing off the ‘wildlife’ or amusing it,:: she nodded up at the cat who was staring at them with the self satisfied expression of a well content animal. It was hardly an example of wildlife, but the stables only really attracted a few rabbits and squirrels and such.

Silence fell between them, General breaking it by snorting as Jono rubbed at his nose and Betsy smiled. People could be awkward around horses; they could be intimidating animals to those not used to them. She has always been around them, mostly in the summer months when she was older, having been sent to boarding school. But when she had been a day student at a local prep school as a little girl, she had sometimes gone for a ride after school but mostly on the weekend. It had been much better than ballet or piano.

::That’s probably good…No one can just click their fingers and make it all better. Things don’t always work like that.:: Betsy remarked, chewing her lip as they walked towards the stable. The stable girl on hand was skulking around near the door of the office, putting the White Queen in mind of a scared rabbit more than ever. When Betsy didn’t motion for her, she darted back inside the office.

::Well how rude. Never mind. I suppose you can always hold my curry comb if you like, unless you’re objective to that, in which case I can go and drag her back out and make her do her actual job…:: she shrugged, still trying to shake off the dark feelings that had come with her imaginings of earlier.

::I’m sorry it’s been a while. Though, I expect you’ve not exactly been sat beside the letterbox, waiting for me to contact you:: Betsy wrapped her arm up, under General’s neck. She was going to smell of horse all day now, but she didn’t care.
[align=center]Posted Image[/align]
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Chamber(Old)
Member Avatar
Psionic Biokinesis / Telepathy
:::I think the little bugger likes me.::: Jono glared at the globule of fur, gaze met with aristocratic pre-eminence. It smiled a Cheshire smile, Jono recalling with bemused irony the statue they had sat beneath that first time they’d met. Apparently they were to be forever haunted by Carroll allusions.

When they neared the stables and cut past the offices he caught a glimpse of pale-faced horror disappearing in a glitter of scattered mud and galumphing feet. On the end of Betsy’s sniffed remark he smiled inwardly.

:::That was my fault, I reckon. Got a bit dislodged on transit. She got a proper eyeful of… y’know,::: he made a sweeping motion across his scarf, :::and scarpered. Don’t blame her. I’d run screaming if I saw me all indecent. Probably piss myself and hide shivering in a corner all day.:::

And he held his hand out for the currycomb. Not that he knew what a currycomb or its purpose was. He got images of grotty takeout-shop floors piled high with vindaloo, pissheads losing their post-club curries, puking or dropping their punnets, the ever-ready curry brush wielded by a grim-faced Asian owner. Either way, he had no objection to holding it.

::I’m sorry it’s been a while. Though, I expect you’ve not exactly been sat beside the letterbox, waiting for me to contact you::

Jono looked away, toying with General’s forelocks. :::Can’t say I was perched on the end of the bed chewing on my fingernails.:::

But he had felt something when he’d received her invite, and it hadn’t been entirely unpleasant, even if he couldn’t name it. He hadn’t objected to hearing from her, but admitting that was like pissing razors. He shrugged.

:::Eh. You’re one of the few people I don’t mind the company of. Probably the accent.:::
[align=center]Posted Image[/align]
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Betsy Braddock
Member Avatar
Telepathy (I'm not a bloody ninja)
Looking up at the cat, Betsy smiled a little. ::If he does, you’re honoured. That cat is a right one. Caught him in the office drinking my tea once…:: the telepath shared with her fellow, passing on the casual nugget of information as if all this was really quite normal and every day. It wasn’t, however, but it seemed to be to her that they were already in some sort of groove, a routine they were familiar with. Maybe it was to do with what had happened back in Egypt, then when she had invaded his mind a second time to jolt him out of that coma or maybe they might even be on the way to becoming friends, which was a strange if not slightly pleasant notion.

The stable girl was still lurking around, skidding out of sight as if she thought it might actually draw less attention to herself that way. Betsy wasn’t worried however; the stables were patronised by many other members of the Club and discretion was just as desirable here as it was at the Pleasure Club. Rich people did not pay good money for their horses to be well cared for and the buildings maintained to high standards, only to get sloppy service whenever they came up for the afternoon. ::She’ll get over it, she’s a good girl really, just a little…vapid?:: searching for the right word, the purple headed woman shrugged a little, stopping in the yard, just outside the tack room. He was being a bit hard on himself on his appearance. Of course his appearance underneath all his wrappings was alarming on first sight, but the White Queen was far too used to seeing what was on the inside of someone than to go automatically judging on appearance alone.

::Hold on a moment, will you? I’ll be two seconds:: passing him the reins, she darted into the tack room and came out a minute later, now lacking her helmet, but carrying a large blue tack tray with the name ‘General’ stamped on the side, a head collar and a dark purple coloured blanket, covered in little white hairs. Dumping it in a neat pile on the ground, she wiped her hands on her jacket. ::This shouldn’t take too long, he just needs a quick brush and his hooves cleaning. It’s a little muddy so he’s bound to have picked some up…Now if you just hold the reins a second more…::

Betsy was instructing Jono, but off in her own horsey little world, fitting the head collar loosely over General’s head, taking the bridle off from underneath and then deftly attaching a rope to the collar, tying it around a nearby pillar. Pausing as she made sure the rope was safely tied off, Betsy smiled a little as he said he didn’t mind her company. It was flattering, really, to hear that, surrounded by so many fake people over the years, finding people that you genuinely enjoyed the company of was a refreshing change.

::A little bit of verbal tea and crumpets, eh?:: she joked lightly and bent down, rooting through the tack box and pulled out the currycomb, handing it over, as promised, taking out a mane comb and started running it through General’s mane. Thankfully he was well cared for and did not languish, unloved in his stall because she did not get the chance to visit daily and he was well maintained to begin with.

::You can get in touch with me any time you know:: Betsy commented lightly, glad her dark thoughts of earlier were slipping away.
[align=center]Posted Image[/align]
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Chamber(Old)
Member Avatar
Psionic Biokinesis / Telepathy
Jono glanced back up at the purring mound, its paws tucked like powder puffs beneath a grey-skewed bib. It was a bit like the housecat back home: longhaired and shaggy-faced and too full of itself, a fat tom far too territory-proud. He’d named their cat Toke after finding him thin and stinking like sewage in the back alley of the local metal bar one night when they’d all tumbled drunk from the club and gone round the back to skin up, all of them underage and pissed to the point of double-vision and vomit. Jono had taken the half-dead kitten home, tossed the records out of a cardboard box and stuffed a ragged band tee inside. Nursed it back to health. Animals gravitated towards him.

:::Can’t stand them.:::

Grey still smiled, and Jono still stared, deadpan. He defied his memories. He was no longer that person.

General butted his hand again, soft air gusting on his fingers. Wanker. How was he supposed to present ultimate doom and gloom and despair if he was set upon by cats acting as if he had mounds of catnip stuffed in his pockets, horses waffling at his hands? Before long reams of butterflies would be flapping daintily around his noggin like a bloody halo.

He supposed he could use them as target practice.

Nothing said morbid and evil like exploding butterflies.

He put his best glare on and snatched the proffered currycomb. Wank and piss. She’d think him a moron.

::You can get in touch with me any time you know::

Jono’s brows quirked, arcing as he thumbed at the comb’s rubber teeth. Right. He was supposed to what, pick up the phone and have a good old natter about the latest celeb to get their precious self knocked up? Not that it was obvious, but the big gaping hole full of bionuclear fire posed a few small problems with the whole chatting into a receiver deal.

Popping onto the astral and going for a wander to see if she was hanging around on some psionic street corner waiting for him to make an appearance seemed a bit weird. Considering the last time they’d had a barney on the immaterial plane he’d tried to drown her in black tarry shite and she’d gone and shoved a metaphysical tongue down his effigy’s throat, the idea came off just a tad awkward.

:::Astral tea and crumpets, right?::: he repeated with some dry twist.
[align=center]Posted Image[/align]
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Betsy Braddock
Member Avatar
Telepathy (I'm not a bloody ninja)
Running the comb through General’s mane, Betsy was able to hide the expression on her face. It was one that combined amusement and mild annoyance. No one was forcing him to like animals, just as no one was forcing him to be there that day. If he had a mouth, it would no doubt be stuck in some sort of frown, with the corners turned grumpily downwards as if gravity itself was keeping them that way. Maybe she was making a mistake bothering here. Maybe she couldn’t make a difference, no matter what she told herself or what bubbled away in the back of her thoughts. Dropping the comb into the tray, the purple haired telepath gave Jono something of a glare and reached out her hand for the curry comb she had entrusted to him, mainly out of humour as he hadn’t said no to the proposition and started running it over the horse’s back, clouds of white hairs flying up.

Betsy remained silent as she gave the Arabian stallion a quick grooming, until Jono’s little comment made her straighten up, her jaw set. He was probably just trying to be amusing, but it grated on her. He had gone through something unimaginable, but then had so many others and all she wanted was to try and help him.

“Fine. Don’t then.”

The comment resonated around the yard and she threw the hoof pick she had just been using back into the tray so hard that it bounced back out. Ignoring it, the White Queen picked up the blanket instead, tossing it over the horse’s back and fastening it up securely, but quickly. This had all just been some mistake, a ridiculous whim of hers. Taking hold of the leading rope, Betsy unfastened it, tugging the horse after her, leading him back to the stable building. There was still his saddle and tack in the yard, but the girl had been floating around and she’d pick it up if she saw it, but Betsy just had to get inside for a few moments. It was silly, really, as up until a few minutes prior, things hadn’t been that difficult but something had just given way inside of her, like a switch had been thrown and her composure had crumbled.

Maybe it was being out…This was maybe the first time she had been out of her comfort zone since what had happened with Creed. Opening the stall door, Betsy walked General in, almost blindly and slipped the rope from his head collar, looping it around a hook in the frame of the stall, slamming the door shut and bolting it. The noise made her jump and Betsy took a deep breath, walking slowly backwards until her legs met a hay bale, set by the wall and she fell down on it with a bump, images of that night threatening to flood her senses once more and overwhelm her, reminding her that while she was mostly over what had happened, that her memories would remain to taunt her in the deep of night or when she was alone and exposed, like she was now. He could be anywhere, waiting for her, he would not just leave her alive and well. One day Creed would be back.

This place wasn’t safe…She couldn’t be sure she was entirely safe. He had beaten her once before, he could easily do it again as against him she was defenceless. At work or at the Club she was safe; she was surrounded by people who weren’t such an easy target as she. Betsy’s breathing quickened, coming out in short little gasps and she dug her fingers into the hay she was sat atop, lowering her head as phantom pains ripped down her sides as she remembered the claws that tore through her. Why couldn’t she put this behind her…It had been so long. Why couldn’t it just leave her… The telepath’s purple head was almost touching her knees as she tried to get herself under control and breathe steadily once more, get those barbed thoughts out of her mind before she gave way to weakness and failed her Court. While Forge was away, she was in charge and in this state she was no leader.

Buck up, Betsy… she told herself, lost forgetting that Jono was just outside, still probably stood by her grooming kit.
[align=center]Posted Image[/align]
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Chamber(Old)
Member Avatar
Psionic Biokinesis / Telepathy
It had never occurred to him that she might respond negatively to his omnipresent intolerableness, that his incessant discontent might grate on her in any way at all. Surely there wasn’t anything to speculate about; there was nothing solid here except her strained sense of responsibility and his ugly curiosity… they weren’t anything like friends or even acquaintances. Not colleagues or allies or five-minute mates in the way you might crash into someone’s life in the street or at a bar and exchange witty bullshit until it faded into nothing.

Whatever this wasn’t, whatever he didn’t realise it was… he was surprised that there was enough of something to source an irritable snip at him (in plain speech) like he’d insulted her, Betsy lobbing her brush about as if she was upset about it. All she had with him were near-death experiences and the muggy delirium of a catatonic dreamscape and ten minutes on a park-side bench beneath the dull bronze gazes of a few tarnished sculptures. He let her strop, face neutral, while he wondered exactly what the bloody hell she was throwing a wobbler over and whether he should just let her get on with it, hop on his bike and waste the rest of the afternoon breaking the law at twenty over the speed limit. These roads were good for it. One of the few things America had right with it: bike-worthy strips of tarmac.

She stomped off into the stable and he stood there and watched her disappear with her horse into the dim partitions. It was his usual reaction; he wasn’t the poster child for emotional honesty. The idea of being open and candid and sitting down to have a nice chat about how that made him feel was less fun than sticking his nob in a blender.

Jono sighed an inward sigh, shoulders ghosting the motion like a redundant limb might. Lord, what was he doing? He felt like a twat, standing alone in the centre of a prissy courtyard, staring at a sweaty pile of tack. Watched by an amused farm cat and goggled at by miss horror-and-woe, the stable girl.

When Betsy didn’t return he glanced in the direction of his ride, making a half-turn towards it, before muttering at himself and swearing a few times, and he tromped off to find her.

It so surprised him to see her bent double and hyperventilating that for a minute he stalled and did nothing, just stared, not scornful or dismayed or annoyed, just stared. Seeing her crumpled and struggling for breath and suddenly quite small where she cowered on a hay bale completely and utterly threw Jono. This woman had stood up against a Horseman. This display of vulnerability was jarring, and he had no idea how to react. There was no precedent. He didn’t have any experience of dealing with someone having some sort of panic attack.

Especially not her.

He went and sat beside her, sliding into his usual half-slouch, one leg extended, hands in pockets. He stared at the muddy toecap of his boot.

:::So what’s all this about then? I’m going to hazard a guess and venture that this has nothing to do with my fantastic lack of social skills.:::
[align=center]Posted Image[/align]
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Betsy Braddock
Member Avatar
Telepathy (I'm not a bloody ninja)
Hay prickled at her as she sat, slumped on that bale, her own breathing so loud, drowning out the sounds of horses stamping hooves and soft whinnies and neighs. Betsy just couldn’t get the images and the feelings out of her head, invading her senses even after all this time, no matter how much she hated it and how weak it was making her feel, cowering here in the stable like a little child hiding from a telling off. So wrapped up in her own thoughts was she, that she didn’t realise Jono had entered the stables building, until he sat beside her and spoke into her mind.

Gasping in fright, the purple haired telepath practically fell from her seated position, face sheet white as the ghosts of her recent past haunted her, nipping at her heels. Trying to exude calmness, Betsy opened her mouth a few times to offer up an explanation, picking herself up, only to find no words were coming out and she leant up against the gate of General’s stall for a moment, remaining silent, finding it easier to not look at him, focusing instead on the straw lining her horse’s stall.

::No…It isn’t you…Something happened a few months ago. Someone nearly killed me, ripped me to shreds and left me to die in the park…Some common thug called Sabretooth…::

Her explanation came as she still tried to calm herself, breath still struggled. It was almost embarrassing to admit to this, that she had barely been out as she would normally. In the months preceding her attack, Betsy thought nothing of casually going out when she had nothing else to occupy herself with such as business or entertaining patrons at the Club. She had always been stubborn and independent, a darling for the media back home who liked a good bit of posh totty to write about in their vapid society magazines.

::In all honesty, I haven’t even spoken about it, not really, not like I probably should…I haven’t even been out of my comfort zone since then, not really…:: the admittance was harder than she thought it might be, especially to someone she barely knew; his opinion had no impact on her life, why should it? And why should he want to hear about it? There was so much more as well to add, nearly dying on that desk in Warren’s office, then the fight with Daken where again, her life could so easily have been taken from her in an instance and yet again, Warren had blazed in…And yet, she felt so alone. She had been saved, but only in a certain, practical way.

::You can go if you like. I highly doubt you particularly care to hear about any of these matters. I’m sorry I wasted your day.:: The White Queen continued to keep her back to the young man, the pink energy around her eyes chasing away some of the shadows in the stable building, but failing to chase away the dark edge to her words. Her fingers curled around the edge of the wooden ledge on the gate as she hoped he would leave, as his presence was doing little to offer any comfort, aside from a slight sense of…Well, safety? Being alone was not so bad, it was when she was alone that she felt weak and she almost wanted to retract her offer of the chance to leave.
[align=center]Posted Image[/align]
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Chamber(Old)
Member Avatar
Psionic Biokinesis / Telepathy
She was bathed in pink, in amaranth and cerise and magenta, shadows buckling and shrinking away from the fluctuating butterfly, all strands and twine rolling around from where she faced away from him. Where he sat, doused in that dark space behind her, she looked something like a hundred miles away, a smear on the horizon, and he was suddenly aware of just how far apart they were. Him, the engine junkie, a poor Brixton kid wearing scuffed leathers and her, the socialite, the supermodel, the rich girl with the grey Arabian.

He thought about her dead and cold and still in the park, all shrivelled veins and flesh puckered and gangrenous, and there was that voice that just didn’t care, felt nothing, felt vacuous and as hollow as the space where his organs had been. And then there was the rest of it, all that grimy anger. He felt like finding the feral and digging into his body and bloating it like a fat maggot and draining the fucker dry, ossifying skin until brittle and cracked and then desiccated, pulled thin on calcified bones…

Jono started at the startling imagery, pulling himself back into the stables, back to their hay bale chair, straws sharp on his hands, riding under his top and prickling where they dug into his spine. His vision had glazed, something sickly drizzling into focus.

Her, here, now, like this; it was a sobering reminder of her humanity, of how pathetic and frail skin and bone were in comparison to the mind, and conversely, ironically, what mental damage physical trauma could inflict on a thing so damn powerful. He held onto that dichotomy.

Jono tried to think of her any other way than breakable. Her fallibility reflected on his own; if she was fragile then that tentative peace he’d come to was just an illusion. It was stupid using her stability to measure his own, but he wasn’t sure he could rely on whatever it was that kept him all stuck together if the person who had rearranged his psyche was no better.

He didn’t want to leave. Apparently she did. He sat up, the angle of her face all slanted and unclear. Hay dust span pink in the light.

:::I’ll get out of here then, if that’s what you want.:::
[align=center]Posted Image[/align]
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Betsy Braddock
Member Avatar
Telepathy (I'm not a bloody ninja)
Glancing over her shoulder at him, Betsy held her breath for a second, hoping this had not truly descended into some sort of game. With everything that had happened, she had no real time for games anymore. ::I said if you want to go, you can go. Whatever reason you came for, I doubt it was to see me having a fit like this…::

Although she wondered if in some way it was a sort of unexpected victory for him, something he wanted to see from her, for whatever reason, as Betsy had been the one who had dragged him kicking and screaming out of his self imposed imprisonment of the mind. Sometimes she wondered if she had indeed truly done him a favour in waking him up, rushing in when others were content to bide their time, probably seeing if he would come to his own peace.

Taking a breath, audibly loud in the otherwise quiet stables, she found that she was not shaking so, releasing one hand from the wooden gate before her. ::If you do want to stay around though, I suggest a new topic of conversation.:: This was not a path she wished to currently explore, not with him at any rate. Considering what he had gone through, it was not so long since she had put his pieces back together and she did not wish to impose on his charity, if he had found any since then and really, she could not blame him if he hadn’t.

General nudged at her with his velvety soft nose, chewing gently on her sleeve as he nuzzled his mistress and she dug into a pocket, pulling out some extra strong mints, unwrapping a few of the chalky tablets and holding them out on her palm. Betsy had never eaten them herself, but had always given them to her horses, who enjoyed the minty treat. It was a momentary distraction as she fussed over her horse, from the reality that was seated behind her. Wiping her now slimy palm on her jodhpurs, she offered the packet over her shoulder, tone full of black humour to try and negate the darkness she felt inside.

::Mint?::
[align=center]Posted Image[/align]
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Chamber(Old)
Member Avatar
Psionic Biokinesis / Telepathy
Whatever it was he had come for? Honestly, he was clueless as to what the reason behind his response to her invitation was, to this one or the last, why he was till sat here playing nursemaid to an emotionally damaged rich-girl when he couldn’t keep even himself together, all those fragments like torn paper in his mind. But he hadn’t come here with expectations, he hadn’t arrived assuming that they might galumph around in the muck making daisy chains with early spring blossoms or have another astral tangle in the hay. He hadn’t expected anything of her at all. He didn’t want anything from her. Closure wasn’t the word, but she was making it difficult to come to terms with whatever it was they had here, this connection left behind like coffee stains on his psyche.

:::Love one::: Jono took the packet from her stiff little fingers and steered her towards the hay bales. :::Sit.:::

Like an infected paper cut. This wasn’t friendship, but he had no way of defining it. Her outburst didn’t make him want to leave. It didn’t make him want to stay, either, but he couldn’t go. They were all bruised by experience.

A week back he’d turned twenty-three and felt three hundred, felt the heaviness of an age more befitting somebody who’d lived through centuries of incessant war. In a year he’d aged two decades. For the first time since the age of seventeen he’d been marked with something like cell decay, with something that disowned his immortality. For the first time he looked older.

For his birthday, back home they might have thrown him a surprise do, they might have taken him out to the stock cars up in Bovingdon for a bit of nostalgic stupidity. Maybe gone bowling or if he could persuade them, biking, or if Jack got his way (and he never did), fishing. Maybe they’d have forked out for some concert tickets or thrown him some generic CDs and maybe his uncle would’ve given him another joke present like a wrench. Jono hadn’t called home, not once since Apocalypse. They didn’t know. He couldn’t put them through that. He didn’t even know if they were still alive, too scared to find out, too cowardly to face up to them.

Jono flashed a despairing glance at Betsy’s purple hat-hair, lost in bad memories, trying to dredge up another conversation topic that didn’t involve hysterical agonising.

:::World cup this year…:::

He hated football. Half the family were footie morons, all frothing over Arsenal, a couple of black sheep daring to be Chelsea boys. Jono felt his eyebrows crunch together, mints warm in his hand. He waggled them.

:::I miss Polos.:::
[align=center]Posted Image[/align]
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous)
ZetaBoards - Free Forum Hosting
Create your own social network with a free forum.
Learn More · Sign-up Now
« Previous Topic · United States Archives · Next Topic »
Add Reply