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
Every Moment We Teeter on Chaos and Oblivion; [open]
Topic Started: Jul 31 2013, 03:13 AM (494 Views)
Martinique Jason
Unregistered

July 17
Evening



There were things that Martinique immediately shared with Neena and there were things that she kept from the other woman. It was her nature to be open an honest when she was in love and she didn't usually deviate from the well-trod path. But things were different right now. Things were different when they were civilians - or, at the very least when Martinique was a model and Neena was... well, she kept that information from her lover, but Marty knew. Oh, she knew. And then they were back together again and their passion was just as before, but this time it was older, a grown-up love and secrets were shared as easily as kisses. There were no walls between them - save for the one that Martinique put on between her telepathic power and Neena's mind. She wanted to keep things basic and learn things as any other human might. It was how love matured - with patience, acceptance, understanding and just that tiny hint of mystery.

Then, of course, her excursion with The Brotherhood. How could she even begin to explain that? She had a hard time telling her SHIELD handlers why she did it - it was near impossible explaining it to Neena. Martinique knew that the other woman had dismissed it and moved on, but there was still doubt lingering between them. It was the sort of doubt that sat as a seed in the pit of one's stomach and grew slowly until it peeked out the top of one's throat. Martinique had to stop that from happening with Neena. Even if the pale woman denied it, it was unique enough that Martinique could know that it was there without a doubt - even with a wall up, even with her telepathy at its lowest level... There had to be an end to the feeling and Martinique was the one who had to prove her worth.

It was interesting when she had gone to sleep with her null-cuff off for the first time in a very long time. SHIELD was filled with people of power and interesting minds, but Martinique had no desire to breach anyone's confidence. She knew, however, that they doubted her far more than Domino did and so she had placed the cuff on while at SHIELD so that others might learn to trust her. If it worked, good. If not, well, at least she tried. But something had gnawed at her this evening, something felt wrong, and so instead of just going to sleep with a nullified mind, she let herself remain open and waited for whatever was raising the hair on her arms enter her mind and dreams.

It was a matter of hours before Martinique literally jumped out of her bed, covered in cold sweat. The dream she was having was nothing usual at all. Being a telepath - being an illusionist - she could tell that there was something more behind it than just her own imagination. She stood there next to her small bed with its uncomfortable felt-like blanket tossed to the side and stared. She lifted a hand and watched as it shook uncontrollably. This was not like Martinique - null-cuffed or not. She knew she had to get to the bottom of this, so she put on some clothes and slipped her feet into shoes so that she could leave her room and wander around the places she was able to do so.

Martinique knew that the dream she had was not her own dream. It was fading quickly because the fear she had felt was not her own. The darkness she saw, however, was familiar. Not familiar enough that she could recall it at that moment, but enough that she knew she had to find who was dreaming and try to learn more from them. If she could just recall what she knew, maybe it would help SHIELD and this dreamer. Maybe she could be of some use and prove herself. It might not remove the doubt that Neena or the rest of her new compatriots felt, but perhaps it would help to ease any tensions between she and anyone else.

Making her way into the hall, she paused and tried to get a read on the dreamer.
Quote Post Goto Top
 
Monet
Unregistered

Monet was riled from her unconsciousness as the smelling salts did its job. Her eyes opened drowsily at first, blinking ever-so-often to adjust to the lack of light in the vicinity around her. When she tried to move and found that she could not, though, her eyes shot open and took in her surroundings. A mysterious figure had its back towards her as it walked away; Monet came to the conclusion that it was the reason why she woke up.

“What is the meaning of this?” Monet asked. She struggled against her bondages and an odd realization hit her: her mutation was not active. Pulling and yanking proved fruitless, as what would normally be a brilliant display of athletism was reduced to weak attempts to free oneself, and the pain from her struggle was felt against her wrists.

Pain was another key factor that informed Monet that her mutation was deactivated; it was a feeling that she rarely experienced when invulnerability aided you consistently. The woman continued to try and free herself as the figure disappeared in the shadows. She looked around and analyzed the area around her and could not determine any significant familiarities. The figure, however, with its odd posturing and tattered clothing, presented an interest.

“Show yourself!” she continued on, screaming into the darkness in agitation. “Coward!”

If she had her abilities, Monet would have heard the start of the figure’s footsteps the moment they began, but she was limited and the vibrations only hit her when it came back into the light. What she saw could have turned the brown complexion of her skin pale. Eyes grew wider than they had been in years and Monet’s body went limb for the briefest of moments; breathing became heavier; shock was the only known expression on her face.

“Tsk, tsk. You never change, do you Monet?” The voice was dark, otherworldly. It was a tone that seemed torn and ripped, with no happiness to be found at all. It was a monster’s voice, which easily matched its disfigured appearance and homeless-chic style. “...dear sister...”

Marius St. Croix, brother to Monet and their twin sisters, was an outcast; cast out by his siblings and his parents’ lack of concern for him, he vowed for revenge and would have it. As he returned, a rusted knife was in his hands. Monet took notice of it once it gleamed against the little lighting that the room provided, and she continued to struggle in her bondage. “Don’t come near me, you pathetic, disgusting, sad excuse of a man.”

“Now, is that anyway for reintroductions, hmm?” he asked, his tone malicious. “Well I have the perfect idea to get reacquainted...” As he closed the distance between them, a palm rose to Monet’s neck with a force that she could not contend with, and he pushed her head to the side. The knife was angled straight at her voice box and it danced against skin for a moment before Marius pierced it, slowly. “Your voice annoys me, so let’s fix that first.”

Pain like she had never felt before shot through Monet. Blood spat from her throat and secreted from her mouth like slow-moving vomit. Arms instinctively attempted to reach for the knife but they were securely bound, as were her legs and torso, but that did not stop their movement. They began to shake after a few moments. “... ...”

“What was that, Monet?” Marius asked, taunting her as he brought a free hand to his ear. “Nothing? How rude of you.” With the knife still inserted, he started to carve through flesh, making a trail up to her face and down back to her neck line; he did not finish until a massive ‘M’ was drawn out in her skin. And when he was done, the knife was pulled from Monet swiftly and he started for the shadowed area again, pausing briefly to see his work from afar.

“Vous apprendrez que la mort est pour tout le monde.” Another voice came from the shadows, one different than Marius’ own.

“She is right, you know. Death is for everyone, not just a limited bunch - or a spoiled brat who was lucky enough to gain so many gifts... while her brother received a curse!” His voice roared throughout the room in anger before he returned from the shadows with a disfigured woman at his side. She was obviously deceased by the look of it, her movements odd and fitting for a small part in a sci-fi zombie movie. “But death is a privilege.”

As the two of them approached, Marius exposed the palms of his hands. Within them were sharp talons that made the shape of a mouth, and each chomped down almost knowingly that they were about to be fed. “From this day forth, your greatest nightmare will come true. You will be my slave for the rest of your life, as I was all of mine. This is your penance, sister.”

...

“Aaaaaaaah!!”

Monet was riled from unconsciousness as the nightmare did its job. Her eyes shot open as beads of sweat trailed down her face. She looked around her quarters for any signs of imminent danger, any thoughts of her brother or the corpse that stood by his side, any puncture wounds on her neck. Her covers were wet with sweat, breathing heavy from exhaustion. Pulling the covers from over her, Monet placed her feet on the ground of her room and placed her head into her palms. What did this all mean? Her silent wonder went ignored as she stood to her feet and walked to the restroom. She turned on the faucet and splashed cold water into her face, tired eyes looking herself over in the mirror.

“Damn you, Marius.”
Quote Post Goto Top
 
Martinique Jason
Unregistered

SHIELD was huge. So very big. And though Martinique was tall for an average woman, she was not a giant and every move she took down the wide hallway made her feel even smaller. It was normally a comforting feeling – Martinique was so used to being coddled that she had grown to enjoy it. Here at SHIELD, however, she wasn’t simply the little pocket pet of a powerful or moneyed lover. No, here her life belonged to a government operation and its hand was as cold as any computer’s touch against flesh. So as she walked, she not only felt like a small child, but she had the underlying sensation of being watched and frowned upon. It would have been enough to force her to put her null-cuff back on and retreat to the relative safety of her room if not for the fact that the nightmare was so pervasive.

As she walked, she picked up more feelings and thoughts from the dreamer. She saw a dark man and a knife and though she didn’t feel the pain, she felt the anticipation of it and the wince of the dreamer as the knife found its fleshy sheath. Martinique paused at the junction of hallways and turned to the right, walking slower as she went. This was not the first time she had picked up a nightmare of some other nearby person, but it was the first time she had done so here and with such intensity. It was a nightmare unlike others she had picked up on, fully formed and functioning almost like a movie in which the dreamer was the main character. Plus, the shades of a dark female in the background continued to bother Martinique. So much so that she almost missed the dreamer’s room.

She paused about two steps after the door and then pressed a hand to her head as the dreamer awoke and the nightmare seemed to implode. From being in such darkness to being offered the pure white light of reality, Martinique felt a rush that threatened to bring on a headache. She pinched at the bridge of her nose for a moment, rubbing it, and then when the dull ache seemed to get duller, she turned to look at the door she had stopped closest to. First, she placed her ear against it and heard the faint noise of water running. This person was awake – so Martinique wouldn’t be disturbing anyone’s sleep if she was at the wrong door. That was good enough for the woman to offer a soft knock to the door.

“Hello…? Is everything okay?” She asked in her thick Italian accent. “It is Mart… Fantasticheria. I just… Felt some problems, mm? Are you okay?”
Quote Post Goto Top
 
Monet
Unregistered

Despite her exhaustion, despite the fact that she looked pained, and despite the clarity that she was emotionally distraught by the nightmare she just had, Monet would never give anyone an opportunity to see those expressions on a personal or professional level. She regarded such as flaws, triggers that may or may not open the door for criticism and exposure, and Monet was not ready or willing for others to gain access to that level of her.

So at the soft knock at her quarter’s door, Monet grabbed a towel from its hanging position next to the sink, wiped her face clear of the liquids present, and then made her way into the closet. While her time inside of the closet was minimal, when she returned to her room and started for the door, her night gown was replaced by a t-shirt, workout shorts, and socks. Monet freed her hair from the wrap that contained the raven strands, and they fell like silk.

The Italian accent was not enough for Monet to pinpoint who the person on the other side of her door was. In an effort to discern the individual in particular, Monet opened her mind to the limited telepathic gifts that she had been working on while a member of SHIELD, and she easily discovered Martinique Wyngarde. An illusionist, daughter to Jason Wyngarde. She was someone that Monet did not trust, nor was she someone that drove much attention to Monet. Until now, it seemed.

“You felt some problems?” Monet replied, opening the door that the other woman recently had her ear against. “And what problems are you referring to exactly... Fantasticheria? If that is, indeed, your real name.” Monet was not foolish enough to believe that was the woman’s real name, despite the obvious pronunciation issues.
Quote Post Goto Top
 
Martinique Jason
Unregistered

She had tried so hard to be unobtrusive. She knew that those in SHIELD were well aware of her past. Some wouldn't talk to her as she walked down the hallways, some would give her those looks as she sat in class, and, of course, there were just the people who refused to speak to her at all for any reason. It was like school again, but without any illusions. She had got through her junior years rather well because she knew exactly what everyone wanted and gave it to them, mentally and physically. Now, she played everything very close to the chest so that she wouldn't put too much out there for the others to cling to.

Now there's Monet - who Martinique didn't know at all - behind a door, throwing up a shield. She could immediately tell that the woman was defensive and that she treasured her power and stability over everything. To suggest that she was anything other than 100 percent fine was obviously not the way to go with her. So, Martinique immediately changed tactics.

"N...no, that isn't my name. It's Martinique." Of course it wasn't her real name. But, they all seemed to have code names - Neena was Domino. There were some Agents with numbers running around... It was a code-named place, wasn't it? "I... There seems to be some ... bad dreams going around." How could she put this so that Monet wasn't offended? Martinique paused and looked down at her own wrist.

"See, I usually wear the null-cuff, but I didn't tonight and... Maybe it's nothing. But it feels like ... there's a ..." She couldn't stop dancing around the situation. Really, she had no rank over the woman and she didn't want to make yet another enemy, so instead she simply tried to lead the woman to what she was worried about. "Sometimes I can see other people's dreams and ... I might have seen yours."
Quote Post Goto Top
 
Monet
Unregistered

In high school, Monet was the spoiled rich girl that had friends because of her privileged status rather than the prominent key points of her life that established genuine friendship, such as similar hobbies or connected interests. It was a superficial life that she led, possibly one that had more ups than downs, yet one that held no meaning to her in the long run of things. Those friends came and went, to which eventually, Monet found the only friendship that was a necessity was with herself. Her exterior became colder because of this and she began shielding her emotions and activities from the well-being of others.

So this shield that Martinique faced was a normal occurrence, especially against someone that Monet could trust as far as she could throw. A bad analogy, but one got the point. As the other woman attempted to explain the situation, Monet crossed her arms and feigned an interest, not entirely sure if the hesitation she noticed was a ploy to display inconspicuous innocence or otherwise. Either way, the expression on Monet’s face was not one of pleasure; she did not look pleased in the least bit that Martinique had seen her inner turmoil. That was between Monet and God, and sometimes not even the latter, in her opinion.

“It was nothing,” Monet said, replying to the woman’s comment of seeing her dreams. “While someone would appreciate you running to their rescue for unharmful mental imagery, one spurred because I decided to indulge in Agent Orchard’s cooking no doubt, it is unnecessary.” She parted her arms and place a hand against the door frame, leaning forward a bit to take in the nearby activity in the hallway, and then returned her sights to Martinique. “If you want to help, if you want to do something that you feel like will make a difference, wear the null cuff. No one wants their inner-most private thoughts gleamed at by an illusionist.”

“Although,” Monet continued, her thoughts beginning to burn with interest. “I’m curious to know something. Other people’s dreams...” There was a small hesitation of Monet’s own, analyzing the best possible way to inquire about a particular subject without seeming too interested. But when nothing came to mind that would make her next few words subtle, the woman conceded. “...are they as... bad as my own?” Maybe the woman could be of some use after all, for scientific purpose. Yes, that always made things sound more important.
Quote Post Goto Top
 
Martinique Jason
Unregistered

Not just a shield, but a well-crafted wall. This woman did not want anyone else in her mind ever – including those she was closest to. Martinique, on the other hand, was relatively open for a telepath. She had a natural shield, but she honestly never wanted to hide anything other than her real appearance and, sometimes, her real social status. Those that she loved, those that she called close, knew much more about her than what was on the outside. Oh, it wasn’t as if she didn’t use her illusions on them, too, it was that she didn’t do it maliciously or in order to protect something of her own. It was either for their enjoyment or what she thought was their own good. Monet here was quite a different person than Martinique, though, and it showed rather easily, telepathy or not.

The Italian woman took a step back and was about to turn and walk away – she had not seen a null-cuff on Monet’s form, but still, the other woman was obviously some sort of telepath – when Monet brought forward a question that Martinique could answer. She toyed with the thought of hinting that she knew, but saying nothing. Obviously, if Monet wanted something, she would get it, come Hell or High Water and Martinique would be content to hold the information from the other woman just to spite her. But, then again, she had absolutely no pull in SHIELD and could easily find herself in some sort of situation in which Monet – or someone like her – lied about what Martinique had or hadn’t done and they would be believed before the Brotherhood reject.

After inhaling and exhaling in a sigh, Martinique nodded her head. “Many are. But, its not that your dream was bad – everyone has nightmares for a variety of reasons – its what was in your dream that is…” She searched for the English word for a bit and then came forth with: “…Troubling.”

Maybe it was not a big deal, maybe she had fought Exodus before – indeed, it would be silly to assume that everyone at SHIELD didn’t have a file on demand about the Brotherhood leaders and their lives. At the risk of sounding stupid, however, Martinique went on to add, “The woman in the dream… Not you, but the woman… I’ve seen her before. I know who she is.” A pause and then, “Do you?”
Quote Post Goto Top
 
Monet
Unregistered

For a couple brief seconds, Monet did not know what to think of the word troubling when it was used in regards to her nightmare predicament. She initially thought the term was directed at her brother’s activity in her mindscape -- his ploy to keep her as his form of revitalization and quarry to torture. While it had been years since Marius and Monet has seen eye to eye, literally, there was a tension between them that would last a lifetime, and the favorite sibling to Cartier and Kamilah St. Croix knew this well.

But the former member of the Brotherhood’s words caught Monet’s attention more than it should have, the attention to detail on a certain subject matter other than Marius causing Monet to even question the authenticity of her own dream. At that point, after Martinique asked her question, Monet took a chance. Her gut bubbled with curiosity even when her logical mind distrusted the feeling; she gave into a temptation and made a decision she was not entirely sure about, but it was one that would satisfy a part of her nonetheless.

“Come inside,” Monet answered.

She backed into her quarters and gave Martinique enough space to enter. Even from the doorway, one would notice the cleanliness and organization that was present throughout the quarters, albeit an unmade bed that had recently been utilized moments before. Everything was quite meticulously placed. When Martinique finally decided to enter, Monet would have closed the door behind the other woman. A chair was pulled out from her desk and she offered it to her guest, and then she sat on a part of her bed that was untouched.

“I am not big on social interaction with members of the Brotherhood, let’s make this clear now,” Monet began. Her expression was serious and her tone void of any emotions that would suggest otherwise. And even though Martinique was no longer a member of the terrorist organization, Monet would not suggest it otherwise until she knew for sure that the woman could be trusted. “But you have come to me to assist and this is me accepting your assistance. You cross me and I will make every effort to break you.”

“That person... that figure in my dream... what -- who was it?”
Quote Post Goto Top
 
Martinique Jason
Unregistered

It didn't surprise Martinique that Monet allowed her into her room - curiosity was a trait that all humans and mutants shared - but the neatness of the room did sort of force Martinique to pause as she entered. Having been a telepath almost all her life, one that picked up mostly surface thoughts, she could read people like a book. It was hard for others to hide their personalities from her and very hard to hide their desires. But when she walked into a room like this, everything was lay bare.

Monet was a perfectionist that was afraid of losing herself somehow. Of course, anyone could tell this after five minutes of being around the other woman, but could they tell the reasons why Monet was that way? Martinique made her way into the room and took the offered chair, seating herself as if she were in an interview. Of course, she was in an interview - sort of - because that's how Monet would see this. Monet wasn't the patient and Martinique the therapist - Monet was the Boss and Martinique the subordinate. She cleared her throat and folded her hands over her knees.

"I am not with the Brotherhood. I would not be here if I were, yes?" She wanted to get that said and done as soon as possible. She hadn't joined the terrorist group for the reasons that most mutants might. It was easier for her to pull away from them because they simply didn't care if she existed. "I am not one of them. I am SHIELD, now." She didn't know exactly how to express where her loyalties lay and, in the long run, it didn't much matter because Monet wouldn't believe her.

"They might not care that I still exist. I believe they've forgotten about me. But, I haven't forgotten them. This is why SHIELD likes me, eh?" Martinique nodded to herself. She hadn't answered Monet's question yet and she could see the other woman wanting to lead her to it, so she cleared her throat and noted, "The leader, this 'Exodus' - he is crippled by ...." Was it love or fear or something quite different? She didn't know, exactly, and that was the biggest problem. "Well, the woman in your nightmare, she is his wife. Dead wife, yes? Of course, dead wife."

It was hard to explain to someone who really didn't want to hear the explanation from this woman in particular. Martinique couldn't help that she was the messenger. "I don't know why she's attacking you in ...erm, in particular. It would make more sense for her to attack me. Or, maybe, it is easier to put it this way - this is no ghost, this is Exodus' mind stretching out through the image of his dead wife." She paused and lifted a finger to her lips, thinking. "At least, this is what I imagine is true. I have never seen a ghost, never felt one. Not a real one. Just the ghost of ideas in a living mind."
Quote Post Goto Top
 
Monet
Unregistered

“Yes,” Monet answered, replying to Martinique’s question in a way that she might not comprehend at this very moment. She did not know why Martinique was a member of SHIELD, or why the organization chose her of all the different candidates across the globe, but it was the fact that the woman was a part of the terrorist group called the Brotherhood that caused Monet not to trust her more than usual. One could understand, with her background coming from The Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters, that such an organization would be easily frowned upon, especially since both founders harbored a natural opposition.

As what would be assumed, Monet did not believe the woman, ignoring her pleas and bargaining options. Once a member, always a member -- it was ingrained in Monet’s mind because of her stubborn nature. “Let’s get to the point, shall we?” Leading the other woman back to the point at hand, the very reason why she allowed Martinique into her personal quarters, Monet’s patience grew weaker by the passing minutes. It was not late but Monet was tired, and she wanted to know what exactly was going on in her brain that someone else knew more about than she did herself. It was rare for her to be on this side of the fence.

The mention of Exodus, a member of the Illuminati, fascinated Monet’s interest. She looked up from Martinique as if going through a databank of information elsewhere -- which one could assume that she, technically, was doing -- and returned her eyes to the woman as if she had never left the conversation. The next part of Martinique’s explanation made little sense in the way of logical thought. What would Exodus’ dead wife want with her dreams, and how on Earth had she been able to breach the sanctity of her thoughts? Rather, why would he project his dead wife’s psyche into her dreams? What was the point?

Monet attempted to piece what was given to her together and come up with a solid conclusion. But it was all inconclusive. “There is no such thing as ghosts,” Monet logically spat. “However, the image of ghosts in society today is bigger than zombies and aliens abducting humans. It would make sense to use it against a world who believed in such drivel. But why? Why go through the effort?” Her questions were not specifically aimed at Martinique, as they were simply spoken words of flowing thought, her curiosities taking over and, again, fascinating her interests. She attempted to make sense of it all.

“Could you project an image of what this dead wife looks like?” Monet asked. “A life-sized replica over there by the wall, if you don’t mind. I’m curious to see this invader again.”
Quote Post Goto Top
 
1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous)
ZetaBoards - Free Forum Hosting
Join the millions that use us for their forum communities. Create your own forum today.
« Previous Topic · S.H.I.E.L.D Helicarrier Archives · Next Topic »
Add Reply