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Abstract; Siryn
Topic Started: Oct 23 2010, 02:15 AM (188 Views)
Kevin Ford
Unregistered

October 1, 2010

Mid-Day

Art Room

Kevin Ford sat on the stool in front of the long table that lined the wall of the classroom. Assembled in front of him were various pieces of scrap metal, junk pieces really, things thrown out, unappreciated and undesired. If he wanted to feel pathetic he could admit to himself that in some ways he related, was he much different than these damaged goods? Broken bits of something that once had potential, that once meant something before some uncontrollable force came along and altered it's fate. Now it was junk, at least for the moment. Perception was a funny thing, the ability to see something past what it presented itself as. Most people he knew weren't up for the challenge, the world spun on a inch of surface depth and that was all he believed it was open to receiving. There was simply too much beauty for anyone to need to see the beauty in ugly, unless you had a lot of time on your hands and shit to do. Then like Mr. Rogers taught you, you learned to start seeing with your imagination and suddenly scrap parts became more then someone's discarded mess they became your mission. To change their fate, turn the mess into a masterpiece, restore order to convoluted chaos.

He wondered if all artist had this process. A moment of reflection with their materials, bare and primal out before them that they would soon take in their hands and transform. Of course most artist had less stock invested in it than he did. Most creator's didn't run the risk of destroying what they created with their bare hands as troubled as some of the great Masters were he had them beaten in the damaged department. If a person's troubles bred their talent then surely he was on par with Michelangelo or one of the other greats that were more established now for sharing the names of Ninja Turtles than of their actual art. Art was a funny thing, people could appreciate it but your everyday Joe didn't feel it not like someone who shared the passion did. People looked for pretty, artists looked beyond the piece they looked for creation, for depth, for brilliance. It was something you simply had to be born with, a desire that can start with crayons and finger paints and take you to craft you never thought possible. on some level he equated his artistic instinct with the genetic markings that made him a mutant. Both were creatures of hunger, things that came from his hand and being that he had never exactly chosen but still had to learn to live in accordance with. If anything there was a poetic justice to the Yin/Yang aspect of it, one brought about destruction the other creation, one rotted the other made beautiful. The irony of it wasn't lost on him though the teen was far too big a cynic to attribute any great philosophy to it. With one he had the distinct ability to shut off, call quits and walk away from, the other offered no such agreement and the bigger beast always won out.

He had planned to quit it when he came here, another casualty to a life that wasn't his anymore. The old Kevin, the normal one had had potential, a generalized suburban Americana dream that would probably look drearily pathetic to his now jaded eyes if memory and time hadn't raised them to a place greater than they had probably been. But that was the thing about the mundane, it started to look the whole hell of a lot better when the offer wasn't even on the table anymore. But in time the need to do something had won out over the subconscious desire to replace all things from his old life with bitterness and sarcasm. Eventually he had to get busy on something before the ever present camp counselors of Xavier's "God loves the little mutants" Academy of the left out and put out came around with their badgering questions, bleeding optimism and desire to make you feel like you could be a part of their "oh so cool we wear leather suits and call each other nicknames' club. What ever fetish people signed up for in their private lives behind bedroom doors was their own damn business as far as he was concerned but he was pretty sure the freaky deaky ness of whatever these X-men were up to was bound to spill over into a lawsuit sooner or later. Lets be honest how many places short of a hardcore S and M club carried in stock this much leather and spandex and refereed to people as "Colossus" and "Shadowcat", nope these weirdo's were a few X's away from hardcore child endangerment and had not his deal with SHIELD locked him in here guaranteed at least better than the three hots and a cot SHIELD was willing to supply he would have called Nancy Grace or one of those other right winged retards on Fox news just to make a splash. Someone needed to be the whistle blower on this shit, if only to equalize the balance of normalcy, not every one was a happy little freak basking in the warmth of a school for outcasts love. Some were just bidding their time till Big Brother stopped watching and they could get the Hell up out of Pleasentville. He didn't doubt the X-men had stuff to teach he had just biased himself against learning. It had been an impossible sell when he was thirteen in Catholic school staring up a stern and flabbergasted face of Sister Ann who had declared him "impertinent" and a "rabble rouser" only because he had defended his knowledge that babies came from somewhere and if it was a heavenly angel kinda visit then good ole Angel boy was laying down more than the word of God. Kevin couldn't see past his own belief that he was right, that he simply knew more than others who had had more experiences than he could claim. The teen had a lot of ego with just pride and stubbornness to back it up.

"Okay" he said out loud standing up from the stool he had been perched on, placing the metal pieces into shapes and patterns in his head. "It's time to make the doughnuts." Raw materials like this were always the best, simply because their structure possessed no organic compound that would decay under upon contact with his skin. He pulled the safety goggles over his eyes and grabbed his brush of choice, a small blow torch.

"Time to make this shit look all fancy."

He was only a minute in to his welding when he realized someone was standing in the doorway to the room. He killed the flame and turned to see who his unwanted guest was, surprised to see Theresa Rourke there. The red haired girl was one of the few he didn't outwardly disdain on principal around here, if only because she found her way to the headmasters office for conduct as much as he did. There was fire in the girl, an antithesis to the bubble gum "as much substance as a stick of Care-Free gum" arch nemesis of his Kimmy Parker. Theresa struck him as the kind of girl who didn't really give a rat's ass about who was the so called "authority" and the need to hang out with the rest of the Twilight loving insaneo's who drank Redbull and listened to Kimmy Parker cd's because they actual thought lyrics about mini-skirts and trips to the malls was good music. All of this was to say he believed her to actually have more than two functioning brain cells, a claim a lot of the student's at this "exclusive" prep school really couldn't make. If he was going to like someone, which he probably wasn't besides Laurie, it would probably be someone like her; someone who would fuck over the establishment if they could, who didn't need to belong to anyone but herself. Then again he had said maybe five words to her the entire time they had occupied the same halls so it was just as likely that she could be a brained dead Xavier Kool-Aid kid like the others.

"You going to come in are you just gonna stand out there staring at my backside in the doorway light.?" he asked her.

He turned back to his work, small blow torch in hand.

"I was a good boy all week and ate all my vegetables so they said I could have one dangerous toy. Who know maybe next week they'll let me go hardcore with a chainsaw."

A devilish glimmer was in his eye, as if he was sharing an understanding with someone who felt as smothered by all the supervision as he did.

"So what you want anyways? If it's mass destruction on a grander scale you might be outta luck all I got is one blow torch and it's a baby of a thing."

He pushed down on the trigger, gas alighting blue flame.

"But it get's the job done." He pulled the safety glasses from his head and tossed them and the torch on the table by the metal he was working with.

"Don't tell me. Your looking for a study buddy, right? Cause if this is one of those freaking outreach programs, trying to be inclusive and all that peppy jazz I aint no God Damn charity project and you can take your offer and shove it where the ole Irish sun don't shine"
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Siryn
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Sonokinesis/Flight/Vocal Hypnotism
It was hard to catch a moments peace in near any school and Xaviers was no exception. In fact, it was probably worse in some respects, as it was impossible to sneak out and away from the grounds, as she had occasionally been able to back in school in Ireland. But in Ireland, they hadn’t had telepaths and trackers and people with eyes in their feet and high tech security systems, just a few wrathful nuns. Little wonder she was going nowhere fast. It was lunchtime, or near enough and the redhead had decided on the art room as a means of escape. It would likely be quiet at this time of day, but if anyone was in there then she could just plug herself into her iPod and use the excuse she needed it for her ‘art’ to flourish. Not that Terry really had any artwork to do; she just wanted the peace and quiet. Well, sure there was one or two things she could be working on, drawings and the like, but the whole point of hiding away in the art room was that she didn’t feel like doing much of anything.

The redhead could hear faint noises in the room ahead of her, even before she got to the door. For a moment she considered turning and backtracking down the corridor, but she didn’t really have anywhere better to go. Readjusting the strap of her bag, she stepped into the doorway, coming to a halt as she saw Kevin attacking a load of scrap with a blow torch. Now, who in the name of Holy Mother of God had given him a fucking blowtorch? Her minute of stunned, slightly appalled silence where she didn’t know what to do, was broken as Ford turned around and spoke to her, cocky as hell as usual. Terry snorted and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

“Eh I don’t think so. I’ve seen better,” she raised an eyebrow and her eyes darted downwards for a second, before she snorted again and continued into the classroom, dropping her bag on an empty workbench. Most people didn’t get on too well with the death touch lad, for reasons that were not entirely lost on the redhead, but she wasn’t particularly one to think like the general population of the school. Fuck, one of her best mates was Julian after all, despite what he’d gone and done, his fault or not.

“Well that just goes ter show how crazy this place can be…” she muttered under her breath slightly, as she boosted herself up to sit on the table beside her bag, opening it up and pulling out a bag of nuts, ripping into it and shoving a few in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Swallowing, her mouth fell open for a moment and she gave him a blank stare.

“I’m here ter do me chemistry work, clearly…” shaking her head, the girl dropped her snack on the table and jumped down, wandering across the classroom floor to the cupboards, pulling open a door to have a nosey. “What do you think, I’ve got some art ter do. At some point anyway…It’s just quieter up here, y’know? My dorm room’s next to Kim Parker,” at this, the sonic powered mutant pulled a face, her pale, freckled nose crinkling up as she looked over her shoulder at Kevin, then turned back to the cupboard, pulling out a roll of masking tape, spinning it on her finger idly.

“Christ, you don’t half talk a load of shite Kevin…Me, study buddy outreach feckin…What?” tilting her head to one side, Terry stared at him, then started laughing at the sheer hilarity of what he was saying. That was a good one. Still snickering, she went back to her claimed bench. “Nothin’ ter worry about, Kevin. I can honestly say I ain’t here ter be yer mentor or make sure yer behavin’, not settin’ the place alight or any of that crap. D’yer really think they’d have me doin’ a job like that in the first place though? Surely they’d give me a study buddy before they ever made me be one,” Terry pointed out, rather matter of fact, one red eyebrow firmly arched upwards as she looked over her roll of tape, giving it one last spin around her fingers before putting it down, slowly opening up her bag and pulling out her sketchbook. She felt she might start working on her drawing, maybe in a few minutes anyway. Maybe ten minutes. The redhead left the book closed where it was, not going back into her bag for her pencils just yet, casting her eyes instead to what Wither had actually been doing when she walked in the room.

“What’re yer makin’ anyway?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. Her hand went back to her bag of nuts, the waxy paper rustling softly as she dug a few out, holding them in her palm and eating them slowly one by one.
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