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| Badass Macaroons; Hellion | |
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| Topic Started: Apr 4 2010, 12:14 AM (802 Views) | |
| Siryn | Apr 4 2010, 12:14 AM Post #1 |
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Sonokinesis/Flight/Vocal Hypnotism
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Date: March 17th Rime: 6.20pm Terry opened up the fridge door and peered in, feeling vaguely unimpressed by what she could see. It wasn’t bad really; there was some jelly in there, or jello or whatever they called it over here, but she very much doubted that it had any vodka in it. She poked aside a thing of cheese, peering at the various, mostly healthy snacks, stereotypical school fare with a pretty edible twist. It beat the pants off what she’d had at boarding school. Pulling out of the fridge, she shut the door up and started to poke her head into the cupboards, continuing looking onwards for something decent to munch on. While she technically was looking for a snack, if she happened to come across some alcohol on her search, well it would just be a nice little treat to make her imprisonment all that more bearable and toast the day. It would be almost criminal to not drink. To be fair she didn’t have a particular gripe with this batty school, but she had been dumped there against her will so she was hardly going to be happy. It was better than prison, or maybe worse; time would tell. She hadn’t slept much since arriving, still getting used to the place and her situation and fleetingly she wondered if Tom was looking for her, if he knew where she’d ended up as she really doubted that she’d be able to give him a quick call on his phone, seeing as it was pretty hard for him to answer the damn thing these days and not only that, but he was sort of a wanted terrorist. Opening up another cupboard, she spotted a packet of macaroons, perking up a little. Those’d do for the moment anyway; just the right level of sweet and not too shabby to have along with some tea, which there seemed to be enough of, thankfully. If they had no tea along with no alcohol, Terry might have to kill someone. Tossing the packet down on the large table, she mooched across to set about brewing a pot to bide her time while she decided where she’d take her treats. Upstairs, maybe, but she was sick of being in a lone dorm room with no one to talk to, although having met some of the other girls, maybe being alone wasn’t too terrible a thing. Happy fucking Saint Patricks Day… |
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| Hellion(old) | Apr 9 2010, 06:43 PM Post #2 |
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Telekinesis / Flight
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Edward Cullen had all the sexual allure of a fifty-year old palsied leper with cysts the size of fists on his balls. Julian thumbed his way through chunks of suffocating Mary-Sueitis, flicked past columns of gasping fluttering dialogue, and tried not to choke on the word sparkle. Distraction took on an entirely new meaning when you were caught between moral obligations and monetary potentialities, and that was really the only reason he had picked up this vile piece of romantic tripe. One of the girls, presumably, had left it open-backed on the coffee table in the rec room, and some inexplicable driving force had urged him to pick it up. He was surprised he hadn’t found it in the trash. Literature had taken a plunge. Julian was reminded why he didn’t read. Trying to immerse himself in the pathetic fantasies of a sad, lonely Mormon housewife made him feel dirty. Meyer probably frigged off while writing. Thousands of pre-teen girls made giddy by middle-aged smegma. Gross. He needed to shower. Radiation treatment. Ridding that from his mind required industrial strength bleach. “What has been seen…” Julian discarded the book, dropping it disgusted onto the kitchen table as if releasing a flyblown slab of meat. Might as well have been. He’d have preferred to shove his head in the maggot-ripe ribcage of a rotten carcass than keep it stuck in those pages. Copper hair burned bright under the fluorescent strip-lights. Julian tugged his sunglasses down with a fingertip, gaze flicking from the blinding red down to the clustered constellations of freckles blistering countless on the cheeks and chin and nose of a pissed-off looking girl he had never before set eyes on. Cute. He resettled his shades and continued on to the fridge, cutting straight past her as if she wasn’t there. The fridge door cracked open, cool air blasting him in a great belch. His brows lowered. Fucking nothing worth the effort. He couldn’t summon the motivation to throw together a smoothie. Chips made for bloated, cholesterol-choked arteries, and he’d only recently begun to resemble that pre-junkie physique he’d been so proud of. He needed protein, not saturated freaking fats. “Christ.” Without sparing a glance he asked, “So who the hell are you?” And unless there happened to be another alarmingly redheaded student recently dragged kicking and screaming into the grounds of this fantastically marvellous school, he knew exactly who she was. Gossip was one thing characteristic of every single school on the planet, without prejudice. No one could say or do anything without someone spreading it like shit. |
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| Siryn | Apr 9 2010, 11:05 PM Post #3 |
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Sonokinesis/Flight/Vocal Hypnotism
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Terry had been looking edgily round the kitchen, still feeling like she was sort of breaking into the place, nibbling on her macaroon, when one of the students – well other students, came in, swaggering a little, with arrogance more than a knuckle dragging move, dumping a book on the table on his way in, totally not registering her presence at first. Taking a nose at the book on the table, she snorted, choking out a few crumbs of coconut and stood up to tend to the kettle. Twi-shite, niice. Never captivated her imagination, though she knew it had with plenty of girls at her old school. Losers. The redhead stared, watching him cross to the refrigerator, in which she had recently been poking around and he seemed equally as unimpressed by the way he was staring into the thing. His question came suddenly and she looked over her shoulder at him, water only half poured from the kettle, raising her eyebrow at the slight brusqueness of it. “Excuse me, who d’you think you’re talking to now?” Terry asked him, setting the kettle down roughly. Who was she, the cats mother? “I’m Theresa Rourke. So who the hell are you?” she demanded, a little roughly as she sat back at the table with her tea. Sure, that sort of talk wouldn’t make her any friends, but the lad had hardly extended a laurel branch so far. Apart from a few teachers and a couple of girls she had passed in the dormitory corridor, she’d barely met a soul, so this was hardly going to make her feel like her stay here was going to be a great one. “Charming school you’ve got here, Cullen” snorting she bit into a macaroon. He could make what he wanted to out of that. Terry wasn’t stupid; people were bound to have seen her turn up at school, and while she doubted she was hot gossip material, it was likely she’d had a mention here and there as they couldn’t have kids turn up escorted by SHIELD every day. |
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| Hellion(old) | Apr 10 2010, 04:47 PM Post #4 |
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Telekinesis / Flight
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Julian let the fridge swing shut between them, chilled skin settling as the icy swell dissipated. Her accent threw him; he’d been ready for New Yorkian or Canadian or even a southern belle twang, not the singsong of a twittering Irish lilt. Celtic Brits were relatively common here, considering they were planted in the middle of Westchester County… Cassidy and the werewolf and that narcoleptic kid… but it was a surprise when you weren’t expecting it. “Keller. Not Cullen. Keller. I’ve got better assets than a one hundred-something virginal vampire. Have you seen the douche that plays him? Teeth like a horse’s. Face like a foot. Looks like he had a fight with a thorn bush and lost. The only reason millions of girls are fapping over him is ‘cause the casting director had the genius idea of casting the most unfortunate looking guy in Hollywood as the latest teenage obsession. They could’ve picked some retard off the street. Give him the name Edward Cullen and you’ve got a nation of screaming fangirls with soaking wet panties.” He picked up the book and tossed it in the trash. Soon the owner would become apparent: whoever ran wailing and sobbing through the corridors howling incoherently about the loss of their precious frig-fest. Julian bit away a smirk and propped himself against the counter, arms folded, and asked, “So, what brings you over from Scotland?” and waited for her to turn red and swear and shout and exclaim how those Scottish bastards had nothing to do with Ireland. He was cultured enough to know the intricacies of prominent countries, including who hated who and why. Winding people up under the guise of ignorance could be pretty damn funny. Unless she decided to hit him. |
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| Siryn | Apr 10 2010, 09:34 PM Post #5 |
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Sonokinesis/Flight/Vocal Hypnotism
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Terry rolled her eyes heavily. God you could bottle this boy’s attitude and get drunk off the stuff, it was that strong, only enhanced by his accent. He knew he was the shit; every inch of him spoke it. Folding her arms across her chest, the redhead stared at him blankly. “Yeah, I’ve seen the guy, I’m just failing to see your point is all, Keller.” Was this what she had to put up with for the foreseeable future? Siryn felt herself die inside a little at the prospect. No booze. Lessons. No going out until she was like…sixty and now, arseholes as well apparently. God, if she still had hold of her phone she’d be ringing Tom demanding that he immediately come over and spring her from the place. It wasn’t bad, not really, like they hadn’t put her in a box or given her electric shocks or anything like that, but this was just not where she wanted to be. Particularly not on St. Patricks… Then he said it. The bloody cock went and said that. Theresa was on her feet, chair slamming to the floor, standing so fast it was like she’d had a pole rammed down her back. “Scotland? Do I fucking sound like I’m Scottish you great big retard? Just be fucking thankful that I have this damned thing on me, you little gobshite, else you’d be flaming sorry!” she pointed an accusing finger at him, the null cuff visible on her wrist as her sleeve came up. When she got out of this place to go to church next, her next confession was going to be a long one, that was for damned sure. “Now Keller, you dare go patronising me like that again, I’m gonna take your head and slam it repeatedly in the fridge door, are we clear?” |
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| Hellion(old) | Apr 11 2010, 09:35 AM Post #6 |
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Telekinesis / Flight
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Damn, that had hit the target. Her insult was explosive; she pogoed from her seat, hissing and spitting and swearing, a little flailing Irish girl with cheeks as red as her hair. An amused grin bloomed across his face, escaping his control before he could rein it in, breaking the façade. He felt a snort catch in his throat and hid it with a cough. “Hey now, I live in a country where the closest thing I’ve got to compare your accent to is Mel Gibson running around painted blue or Lucky the leprechaun.” Julian seesawed his hands if weighing invisible bags. “I don’t really have much to go by.” He pressed his hands to his chest, feigning candor. “But please accept my sincerest apologies, Lucky.” Turning his back on her wasn’t the most prudent courses of action; she looked about ready to have an epic meltdown, chest heaving, accusatory finger trembling, corner of eye twitching… but as she’d so graciously pointed out, she sported one of those fashionable null cuffs, and regardless of whatever those abilities were she had arms like sticks, her figure thin. If she launched at him the worst possible thing she could do was mess up his hair. Or tear his shirt. Come to think of it, this shirt was D&G… Julian glanced down at it, askance. You can buy another. Ugh. He turned his back anyway, pulling cupboards open with lazy tugs. The cupboards here were stacked with food and plates and cutlery flung about in no particular order. Back home the butler kept everything fastidiously arranged. Mom was OCD about it, had to have her shelves unnaturally neat and set from smallest to largest for convenience’s sake, label and colour coordinated. Kinda displacing when you pulled a door open in their kitchen; it felt like being on the set of some ‘Fifties show. “What crawled up your ass and died anyway?” |
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| Siryn | Apr 11 2010, 05:54 PM Post #7 |
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Sonokinesis/Flight/Vocal Hypnotism
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The scowl deepened on the redhead’s face as he boy made his ‘apology’ to her, but she lowered her arm, breathing steadying out as she decided he wasn’t worth giving a beating. Glaring, she picked up her cup of tea, subtlety flipping him off as she did so and took a sip of the cooling liquid. Lucky, peh. Fucking little wanker was going to get right up her nose, Terry was already convinced about this fact. Leaning down as he turned his back on her, she picked up her chair, setting it down on its legs with a hard slam, eyeing his back murderously as she took her seat at the kitchen table, taking another macaroon. “Sincere…Sure you fucking are, matey…” Watching him stalk the kitchen, looking through the cupboards as she had been doing herself only a few minutes ago, there was that sort of awkward silence where no one wants to make conversation, but the silence is still felt regardless. She wished she’d just grabbed a cold drink now and gone back to her room or something, but she had to stay out of it sometime as gee, there was the joys of classes starting up for her, now she was getting all settled in… “What crawled up your ass and died anyway?” “SHIELD,” Terry answered simply, propping her feet up on the vacant chair beside her, knees bent a little for comfort. She had no reason not to be open about it, even if she had just chewed this bloke out. “Didn’t ask to be here. Got my age to thank for that, that and the screamin’…” she muttered, more to herself than him, taking another gulp of tea. “Don’t suppose you know where they hide the good stuff here, d’you?” It was worth a try anyway, as staring at the walls of her room was going to get her nowhere and the girls she’d run into in the hallway had hardly struck her as the party going type. This lad however, well, he might be a different matter. |
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| Hellion(old) | Apr 11 2010, 08:25 PM Post #8 |
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Telekinesis / Flight
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SHIELD. Really. Plastic bit into his palm. He glanced down at the beaker he’d retrieved, one of those handle-less shot glass types, realised he was gripping it hard enough to crack the perspex. Those douchebags had been coming up a lot, recent conversations and confrontations full of references to the almighty dickwads sitting pretty in their floating fortresses. The widespread acceptance of their presence vexed him. There were armchair philosophers waggling their dog-eared copies of Nineteen Eighty-Four preaching shit about Big Brother who were happy to sit back and let the black helicopters and those carriers hover above their heads, all because they were worried that in the dead of night Johnny Mutant would crawl into their backyard and spread radioactive slime and rape their dog. All in the name of protection, right? It was like that RFID chip idiocy. They sneaked it in through toys and pets and then it was in your passport and it was opening your house and you needed it to pass tolls and buy food and then you were wearing it like a common housecat, all done under the guise of keeping you safe. He hated conspiracy theorists, but there it was on the last page of his passport, grinning at him like yeah, they were right, an invisible finger flip less subtle than the one the redhead tried to hide. He muttered “Fuck SHIELD,” and aimed for the icemaker. It drum-rolled in his cup, clattering at the bottom; he glared at it and then at her and then back at his stack of ice, sick of hearing about goddamn SHIELD. “What did you do to piss them off?” he asked, still staring at the contents of the cup. He jerked a thumb at the open expanse of kitchen and shrugged. “You won’t find anything in here. One of the staff offices might have a minibar… Logan or Cassidy or Colins.” Alcohol sounded good. He eyed her, suspicious. “St Patrick’s, right?” |
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| Siryn | Apr 11 2010, 10:38 PM Post #9 |
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Sonokinesis/Flight/Vocal Hypnotism
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“Fuck SHELD alright,” Terry agreed vehemently and she slouched in her chair. Might as well tell him. “Eh…Well, helping out my cousin. He’s what the teachers’ll probably refer to as a bad man, but he always did right by me, brought me up and everything. Anyway, this time I got sloppy and got myself arrested and null cuffed in an interrogation room. They’d probably have chucked me in prison but for me age. Small mercy,” she grumbled slightly, finishing her cup of tea off and set it down on the table none too gently. Pausing for a second as she swallowed, she went on. “I’d racked up a few notes in the old file already so yeah…It was here or a hole in the ground, but being a minor and Tom not able to get at me – if he did he’d probably be fucking shot…No guardian…” not exactly anyway. Not that she wanted to entertain that prospect. Fucking… The Irish girl was about to ask Keller the question in return, as he was displaying a bit of a gripe and any sort of shared opinion would be welcome in this pit of despair, when he began telling her about where she might get her hands on some alcohol. Teachers offices weren’t a bad idea, but they probably would be more difficult to get into than the nun’s offices at her old school. Then – “Wait, wait! Did you say Cassidy?” the familiar name made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Sure, it was a common enough name, but when you’d been born to an old family, in a fucking keep with their name tacked on, your family were The Cassidy’s. “And yeah…It’s Saint Patricks. Not the same without a drop of somethin’, y’know. Feeling a bit homesick for Ireland as it is, without being shut up in here like a bloody nun. Been to convent school and it ain’t nuttin’ to write home about…” oh God Almighty, she needed a drink so bad it wasn’t even funny anymore. |
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| Hellion(old) | Apr 12 2010, 07:09 PM Post #10 |
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Telekinesis / Flight
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A convent school? Nice. She got to dress up all neat and tidy in a blazer and a bowl cut, minus makeup and jewellery and cell phone and metal music, rosaries stitched into the lining of her blouse, prayer time six a.m. and seven in the evening, sharp. Fun times. He pictured her drenched in a habit and knelt at the alter muttering Hail Mary’s and Our Fathers, beseeching the dear Lord to get her the fuck out of there. He snorted, but he could relate to an enforced uniform regime. His previous school had been private and prestigious and many other P words like prosaic and painful and exPensive. They’d been wrestled into blazers and shirts and ties in blue and yellow with crests emblazoning the chest pockets, and everything had clashed and none of it had fit. That was one thing he never missed: the abhorrent fashion offences of private education. But back then he’d been almost guaranteed a place at Harvard or Yale; now the nearest he’d get to Ivy league was if he applied as a janitor. Sure. “Breaking into Logan’s’ is suicidal. The guy’s feral. And short. An angry shortass feral with huge claws. I kind of want to keep this face intact. Colins, I don’t know. Hers’ or Cassidy’s’.” For real, that’d rack him up some extra points with the faculty. He was, unequivocally, their least favourite student, bar none… except of course where his impassionate mentor was concerned, who had some sort of creepy teacher-student crush going on. He wasn’t complaining. Frost was probably insane, but she fed him money and she was pretty damn hot for someone twice his age… or something. Considering all that plastic and silicone and the rest of those countless augmentations she could have been somewhere nearer fifty and the world in its moronic entirety would have been clueless. Redhead was yelling again. For sure, she had some emotional problem: borderline personality disorder or attention deficit or bipolar or something that needed several doses of pills and countless hours of therapy. She’d just admitted to being a common criminal. Every other kid here required counselling or medication or someone to hold their hand while they went to sleep clutching their safety blanket with the lights on; the probability of emotional instability didn’t really come as much of a surprise. “Yeah. Cassidy. Likes screaming. Incoherent half the time. He’s Irish, too… You don’t know him, right? I mean,” he caught a laugh, “Ireland’s one big place. America’s about two hundred times the size or whatever. Don’t freak out just ‘cause a member of staff happens to have the same name as some kid you’re pissed at from back home.” |
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| Siryn | Apr 13 2010, 07:43 PM Post #11 |
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And there he went with that bloody name again, it was almost infuriating. Course Keller didn’t know, why would he? No one else did, except the parties involved and then the redhead wondered exactly how much was known on all sides…No, she still might be all wrong, it might not be him, some other twerp with the same surname. She was getting ahead of herself now. Narrowing her eyes at him, she tilted her head on one side. “Y’want to keep your face intact?” she asked, a little incredulously. “What, so you’ve decided you’re in need of a drop o’ the hard stuff too, or is this one of them places you get spanked just for tellin’?” Help would be kind of appreciated though, even from a bloody stuck up idiot like this one here. Performing a raid alone was never a good idea, as no matter how good you were, you couldn’t watch your own back. “Not that much of a face anyway,” Terry muttered, smirking a little at him. Alright, he wasn’t bad from what she could see around those rockstar shades he had cemented to his face, but the Irish girl wasn’t about to pander to his tangible ego. He was at least an eight, if he took those ridiculous glasses off anyway. Oh. Oh shit. His words fell into place along with the mocking, although even he didn’t sound too sure about it himself…Screaming…Red hair…. “Holy fucking mother of fucking God!” Theresa slammed her fists into the table and her head went down into her fists. “Don’t…Don’t tell me his Christian name is Sean. Please don’t.” How many redheaded Irishmen who had wound up in America, abandoning his pregnant wife, also had the power of screaming, just like she had? Just like her power, handed down the family line. Sometimes she wished Tom had never told her he wasn’t her father; sure he was a real shite, but he’d been there, picked up the pieces…Her head thudded against the tabletop and she cussed several times under her breath. “I swear…Oh I’ll kill him, my waste of space, useless, good for nothing excuse for a father!” Things just couldn’t have been worse. Indeed they would have been a might bit better if she had been incarcerated into some sort of prison, or if she’d bunked up as a junior with Tom’s people, she’d have been alright there, better than here, potentially stuck with the one person she only wanted to meet to give a good beating around the head or a kick in the family jewels. Terry thumped her balled fist against the table’s surface a few more times, but weakly. Maybe the null cuff was a good idea after all, or she would by now have potentially obliterated the kitchen, along with Keller’s eardrums. “Me name…technically me name is Cassidy. Only I don’t particularly want to be one anymore. Rourke was my mother’s maiden name…Not got a clue why I’m tellin’ you. You’re not obliged to give a shite, you just walked in…” |
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| Hellion(old) | Apr 14 2010, 10:46 PM Post #12 |
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Telekinesis / Flight
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Oh hoooh, soap operas didn’t get this good. It was daytime TV, playing out right in the middle of the Institute kitchen. All they needed was a pack of frothing, overweight, middle-aged housewives howling obscenities from a tiered balcony and they’d be all set up for a classic Springer show. …Except she was just a little bit unhinged, copper frizz exploding from her scalp, sea-foam eyes rolling like a maddened dog. Julian had two options. He could nod and agree and curse wayward (imaginary) fathers, make some excuse about having to take a dump or jack off and get the hell away from Miss Delusional crazy-cakes, with her inane, untranslatable squealing and cursing. Or he could go along with it and sneak around the staff rooms picking locks and rummaging around searching for the inevitable hidden hoards of beer and liquor. Everything was backwards in this place. If she’d told him she had residing in her stomach a multidimensional frogman that had premonitory visions and lived off waste nutrients, he would have in all likelihood believed every last word. A bit of weird family drama and he thought it farfetched. This school had done things to him. Terrible things. She made less and less sense. “Sean? Did you say Sean? …You’re kinda beginning to sound like one of those hellish furby things when the batteries start to die. Yeah. Sean. Sean Cassidy.” He leaned away, hands in pockets, eyebrows crushed together behind the frame of his shades, expecting any second that one of those bulging neck veins would explode. Torn shirts were one thing. Blood spatters on the shoes was quite another. |
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| Siryn | Apr 15 2010, 03:59 PM Post #13 |
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Oh this boy was asking for the beating of his life! Terry clenched her teeth so hard that they stared to grate against each other. Her fist slammed into the table harder this time and she sprang to her feet once more, leaning across the table and set him with a killing glare, her red hair hanging around her face. “Yes I said Sean you little twat! Y’got a hearing problem or somethin’? Or is your ego bust and leaked into yer ears, you jumped up American wanker!” his next comment however, really hit her personally and she launched herself around the table at him and grabbed hold of the front of his shirt, about to launch her balled fist into his face, before she stepped back and instead punched the door of the refrigerator in a fit of rage, trying to get rid of some of the feelings that were pent up inside her, that would normally be released by a sonic scream. No screaming here. It made her feel so weak, so pathetic and helpless that she couldn’t just use her powers as she was used to now, even though she’d only had them for a few years. Take them away…Well, it was like taking away her sight or something. “Oh fuck” Terry hissed as her knuckles cracked. Pulling her hand to her chest she looked down and while her knuckles were reddened, only one of them was a little bloodied. Sucking the blood off, Terry made a face, shaking her hand loosely, trying to take deep breaths so that she could calm down and think about this logically, even though there was nothing logical about it. It was fucking crazy. “Of all the…” running her hand though her hair, the Irish mutant let herself fall against the door of the fridge with a bump and stayed there, pretty much forgetting that Keller was even there, let alone that she had been about to punch him in the face for insulting her. “I’m going to kill him. I really am. Lord above I wonder if he even knows I’m here…Probably not, he never cared before so why start now, the fuckin' bastard!” Looking back to Keller at last, she narrowed her sea coloured eyes at him. “His office, where is it? If you don’t care for breaking into it I don’t care, if you want to, I don’t care. I just want ter know where it is and how best to get in. That rat bastard walked out on me mother before I was even born. I feel like some frickken payback.” |
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| Hellion(old) | Apr 16 2010, 08:33 PM Post #14 |
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Telekinesis / Flight
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All that smugness dissipated as Theresa transformed into a yowling she-beast, scrambling frantically around the table, skinny limbs flailing. Her violent grip wrenched his collar too tight around his neck, twisting his airways shut, near bruising his larynx. He made a choked noise that was something between a growl and a girlish squeak, grabbing for her wrist. Before he could fling the offending limb away she snatched it backwards and pummelled at the fridge, painful crunches resounding in sickening succession. Humiliated, he pulled down hard on the shirt, straightening creases with sharp stiff tugs and not rubbing at his neck on purpose, mild coughs puttering through his throat, Julian trying to clear it with not quite as much subtlety as he was going for. And he glared at her, irritation slamming up through his chest, tension wriggling across his muscles. Common little criminal, no style or grace. She had the looks but her behaviour was embarrassing. Sure, he’d had that amusing joke with himself about her ripping his shirt, but that glob of flesh and bone swinging at his face had surprised him when it came sailing through the air… and her, like a big red fucking Irish missile, mouth-froth trailing behind her. Christ. Now Xavier’s didn’t need high security, systems defunct and redundant; just stick her on the gate and feed her one-liners about her home country, set up some loudspeakers blaring ‘three men go into a pub’ jokes, Ireland bearing the punch lines. He tossed his head, hair flipping away from his forehead, agitated clots of green smog trailing around his outline, making a ghastly, misshapen silhouette, fuzzy edges flickering into opacity. “I’m so so sorry for your asshole daddy and your pitiful, heart wrenching sob story, but don’t fucking touch me again without my permission or I’ll hang you upside down until all the blood pools in that vacuous skull of yours and turns it as horrifyingly crimson as your hair.” Julian sniffed. “You can keep acting like someone penned ‘fuck Micks’ all over a cactus and shoved it up your ass, or you can chill the hell out and I might just give you a hand. Christ knows you won’t find anyone else.” |
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| Siryn | Apr 18 2010, 04:27 PM Post #15 |
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Sonokinesis/Flight/Vocal Hypnotism
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If her temper had been more in check, Terry might have gotten a laugh out of Keller’s moment of near-cowardice, complete with squeaky throat clearing and a small splutter here and there, but she was too angry to notice much less laugh at the lad’s discomfort. Her knuckles were stinging now and as he regained his composure, he also regained his smart mouth. Well, least she was getting insulted by someone who knew how to talk. “I’m not askin’ for your pity! As if you’re all that anyway, really!” she scoffed “I won’t go touchin’ you again if you stop being such a self absorbed dick, we agreed?” she glowered at him, arms firmly folded across her chest, mainly to prevent herself from ramming her fist up his nose. “As for chillin’ out…D’you know what it’s like to have such a bombshell dropped on yer? So you’ll forgive me if it takes a few minutes for me to calm down some! This is no small thing to me, y’know!” God…She really, really needed a fucking drink now. Something strong that’d preferably been distilled in a bucket for twenty years in a cellar somewhere. Her eyes flicked back to him and she realised he was glowing green. Either that or she did really need that damn drink to stop her from tipping off over the edge. Silence fell in the kitchen while Terry collected herself, putting her temper back in place as she started to process facts logically. “Right…” the redhead started slowly, lowering her arms, hands firmly by her side, planted to her legs so that they wouldn’t go anywhere in a hurry, say into his face, the null cuff feeling cold against her wrist. “So, how about we start again then, Keller. Where’s Cassidy’s office?” It grated on her already frayed nerves to show politeness to the smug git, but he wasn’t the one where her anger was now best directed. Pissing off random teachers wasn’t exactly high on her list of priorities, but pissing off a teacher who so happened to be her ‘father’ who had abandoned her before birth? Well that was far more appealing and worth her time. |
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6:58 PM Jul 11