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How Does The Future Really Look?; Young Scott; minor M-Twin cameo
Topic Started: Apr 5 2015, 10:54 AM (377 Views)
Monet
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March 13, 2015.

11:45:31. (11:45 A.M.)

With the first few classes out of the way, Monet was incredibly tense. It was more than the kids and their little wicked imaginations that kept her mind busy, or the constant repetition of lesson plans described to each group that sat for forty-five minutes to an hour at a time. No, it was simply being an assistant to those whom she once ignored or that irritated her incessantly in the past when she attended Xavier’s School. Some of them were still so boring and clueless; many of them Monet knew, even back then, that she would be able to do their jobs so much better than they could. Those thoughts remain.

Nevertheless, as she sped through quizzes, tests, and organized study packets to help the future generation, the realization hit her that she had finished earlier than expected. The next class that she assisted was for Theodore Dolen’s class, and that wasn’t until one-thirty in the afternoon. Placing all her hard work in several stacks at the edge of her desk, Monet leaned forward to place her head into the palms of her hands -- but before a strand of hair was even able to topple into her manicured hands, an ache rose in her shoulders. A familiar sensation, Monet knew exactly what she needed to do to fix it.

11:53:02. (11:53 A.M.)

It didn’t take her long to lock up her desk and make it through the thralls of students running through the hallways to make it to the cafeteria. A lot of the teachers allowed their students to leave earlier when it was time for lunch. In fact, what student was truly paying attention when they were hungry? The decision to do such made perfect sense to Monet. When she finally made it to her room, she opened the door to a well lit room. She hesitated to step inside though, and her thoughts immediately started running.

“I don’t leave the lights on in my room on purpose,” Monet said out loud. The first step she took into the room was her last, as a thought activated her limited form of telekinesis which lifted her silently into her room. “So unless I have a very clumsy maid, who I will have fired in an instant, then I can only guess… that…” Faster than normal human agility, Monet dove to a nearby corner filled with teddy bears, digging through them and pulling to reveal two identical sisters. “Found you!”

“That’s not fair, Monet. You cheated! Right, Claudette?” One twin spoke as the other responded with a slight nod. They were Nicole and Claudette St. Croix, respectively.

They were Monet’s little sisters, her true pride and joys.

“Claudette says she saw you use your powers,” Nicole said.

“Did she now?” Monet asked, maneuvering the girls so that each was in a hand. She brought Claudette eye-level, where both of their brown eyes connected. “And she had the bears covering her too? That means you’re getting better at your telepathy if you could see me with your eyes obstructed. That’s my little sister!”

“Sooooooo! I’m getting better at flying, Monet! See! Watch me!” Breaking free of Monet’s grasp, the active little girl floated around the expanse of the room. When she almost hit the ceiling fan, Monet intervened and pushed her head in the opposite direction, causing the twin to drift from the mechanical device. “I’m almost better than you, Monet!”

The elder sibling couldn’t help but smile at that. “Almost! That means I need to start training harder then. And that’s what I’m going to do right now.” She walked to her closet and began changing out of her work attire, substituting those clothes for workout gear.

“Claudette wants to know if we can go with you. Plllllllllllleeeeeeaaaaassssseeeee??”

“Are you sure Claudette is asking, or are you asking?” Monet replied.

“Umm… we both did! Sort of…” Nicole lied.

Grinning widely as she pulled a shirt over her bra, Monet went and sat on her bed as she put on running shoes. “Either way, the answer is no. You two need to have lunch, some milk, and whatever else Professor Logan is telling you to eat to get strong and powerful.”

“Awwww! But why?”

“No more questions! I have spoken.” Monet shouted, pulling her still floating little sister to her face, and then she placed a kiss on her forehead. “We will go to the gym later. Now is not a good time, okay?” She asked the first twin. “Okay?” And then, she asked the second twin, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Both responded with their versions of acceptance. “Now, go mingle with the regular kids. Show them you’re better than them… I mean… make friends!” As they were off, Monet was finally able to leave for the gym.

She made sure the lights were off behind her, like always.

13:15:49. (1:15 P.M.)

“Ahh! Yahh! Ahh! Yahh!”

The tempo of Monet’s shouts was consistent and flowed nicely with each punch she threw. She didn’t wear the designated red and white boxing gloves, preferring her bare hands instead. Worry of protecting her hands was not a concern to her, as she wouldn’t feel pain from the now worn bag in the first place. It felt good to hit something with her bare hands. Also because it loosened Monet’s arms and shoulders up too. Having fallen out of her usual routine in the gym, there was no time on some days to work out the punching bag. But Monet certainly enjoyed it when it finally came.

“Ahh! Yahh! Ahh! Yahh!”

She continued on hitting the bag. Truthfully, she didn’t know how long she had been at it, but she remembered doing some light cardio, ab work, push-ups, and then she just wanted to hit something. Monet’s time with S.H.I.E.L.D. afforded her a lot of different experiences, but the best one she discovered was releasing her stress through shopping and hand-to-hand combat. While she was proficient in the field, Monet wanted to master the art without punching someone’s head off their body. Temperament had a lot to do with concentration, and that was what would keep her from becoming a murderer.

But sometimes…

“AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!”

Punching the bag with all her might, Monet broke the chain that held the bag, sending it catapulting against a nearby wall. Catching her breath, she made a note to get the bag replaced before retrieving a backup bag from a closet behind her. She knew powers were not allowed in this area of the sub-basement, but sometimes it was difficult even for individuals like Monet to not get so carried away with her super strength.

Removing the previous latch from the old bag and replacing it with the new, Monet released a big breath of air before she started to strike the bag again. However, the door to the gym opened suddenly and it caught Monet’s attention, which stopped her from striking. Instead, she looked at the young familiar face that stood at the doorway to the entrance. His appearance and connection to his elder self was undeniable, yet something seemed off, even for the situation laid before them all.

"Despite all the time traveling nonsense you are going through currently, are you lost?"
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Young Cyclops
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Optic Blasts and Teenage Awkwardness
So.

It had been a full day, and nothing. Jean was working with Miss Frost in Cerebro, which was a lot bigger and more impressive than the model he was accustomed to. They had invited him to come along and watch the proceedings, but he declined. Jean always got nervous when she pushed her powers past their limit and the last time she'd tried, a wave of telepathic energy had given them all nosebleeds. He wasn't not interested in a repeat. Besides, that Miss Frost... she made him uncomfortable the way she looked at him, like she wanted to say something, or tell him some secret that he wasn't sure he wanted to know. She was pretty, and all, but a little... intense for him.

So, Scott had bowed out and went to find out what Hank was going, but he was busily investigating the medical facilities with a few of the student nurses, and that was just way over Scott's head. He didn't consider himself a smart person. School had been rough for him after he came out of the coma, and though he had worked his hardest to catch up with his grade, he'd missed so much because of his headaches, and because Jack made it hard for him to go. He couldn't show up to school covered in bruises, or exhausted because he had been tearing open a bank vault until four in the morning.

Left alone to his own devices, Scott was... well, bored. They hadn't made headway on finding Warren, and they hadn't decided if they were going to let them go outside on their own yet. So he was stuck in the sub-basement, with nothing to do but wander around and look at things he shouldn't really know about yet. He had spent a couple hours sitting in the plane named after his mother, imagining flying it, imagining their last moments together.

"What have I gotten into, Mom..." he muttered, "I just wanted a home, that's all. I just wanted to be safe."

But, that wasn't going to be happening, was it? His whole life was going to be endless fighting and weirdness and danger and he was going to grow up to marry the girl of his dreams, and save the world, but did it make him happy? Did it make him safe? Did it matter? The man he was going to be never left this school. He wore the weight of the world on his shoulders and... well, Scott was seventeen years old. He didn't know that he wanted that.

Wandering out of the hangar, Scott stopped and found himself near the Danger Room, this extremely high tech gymnasium that had almost nothing in common with their own. There was a class in there now, and Scott peered through the control room window and watched a group of kids, younger than him, performed highly skilled maneuvers, dodge lasers, robotic opponents. It was beautiful and terrifying and Scott couldn't believe that the school he knew would eventually become this.

Leaving the Danger Room control area, Scott continued down the hall, until he heard the sounds of someone working out. There was apparently a regular gym here, too. He poked his head in, in time to see a pretty woman beat the hell out of a sandbag. She noticed him and said, "Despite all the time traveling nonsense you are going through currently, are you lost?"

"Excuse me?" he frowned, "Oh. No, ma'am... I'm not lost. I'm just... I'm just restless, I guess. I was sent here to do something, and I haven't gotten to do it, yet, so I'm... having a little trouble sitting still."
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Monet
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"Excuse me?" Scott asked.

For that brief second, Monet analyzed the teenager’s body language. While his frown did not escape her, the elder woman silently wondered if there was a different emotion behind it. She adjusted the bag just slightly as he continued to speak.

"Oh. No, ma'am... I'm not lost. I'm just... I'm just restless, I guess. I was sent here to do something, and I haven't gotten to do it, yet, so I'm... having a little trouble sitting still." Scott said, his hesitation as clear as the frown that was on his face.

Attention drawn from the bag back to Scott, Monet listened to the time traveler’s words intently. She shook her head slightly as she took in the boy’s appearance one more time. “You were always pretty uptight,” Monet offered, maneuvering around the bag and to the same closet that stored the equipment. “And that is saying a lot coming from someone who wants everything perfect.” Gloved hands sorted through the closet as she moved various sized boxing gloves around. When she believed she had found the right size, Monet pulled out a pair of red and white gloves, and she tossed them in Scott’s direction.

“If you are that bored, put those on,” Monet said as she closed the closet door.

An intelligent woman, she knew that having your future exposed to you, especially in such a fashion that Scott was going through, was a jarring and probably surreal experience. Never would Monet have thought that she would see the leader of the X-Men as a frail little thing. But it sort of put things in a perspective she was able to understand with logic - people grew up to be different people, for the better or worse.

Well, except Monet, she believed.

But even the spoiled little girl from Monaco had hidden fears that she overcame as she grew older. It was the desire to shed all her weaknesses in order to be perfect - in order to feel perfect. A photographic memory afforded Monet a quick moment of reflection that cursed her for many, many years. “You’ll never do anything right. You will fail, you ugly, little brat, and I will be there to witness it all,” Monet repeated in her head. The images of Marius’ evil, disgusting descriptive caused her skin to crawl just slightly.

“I am Monet Yvette Clarissa Maria Therese St. Croix,” she introduced herself. Monet then cut the distance between them, enough where they were both afforded personal spaces, and then she continued. “I used to be a student at the school almost ten years ago, and as you’ve probably guessed, you were my instructor - one of the more competent instructors, despite your disheartening sense of style. And now you teach my sisters.”

She extended a gloved hand to Scott, an action that would stay within those four walls.
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Young Cyclops
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Optic Blasts and Teenage Awkwardness
“You were always pretty uptight,” the woman said, as she began rummaging in the equipment locker and Scott bristled a little.

"I'm not uptight," he said, uptightly, "I'm... cautious, and... and controlled... or I try to be. I have to be. I don't know what your powers are, but mine... they're dangerous, and I don't want to be a danger." The boy shrugged his shoulders, unhappily, "I'm guessing if I become this big deal that everyone keeps telling me I do, I learn how to be something more than that, but right now? I'm not really all that keen on blowing a hole in the wall if I blink wrong."

She tossed the gloves at him, and he caught them easily, despite being caught off guard. He understood spatial relationships like it was some kind of 3d map, which the Professor had told him was probably part of his abilities, and he just knew where things were located in space, even when they were moving through it. When he was fresh out of the coma, one of the tests they had done him was to have him bounce a ball in ever more complicated sequence. It had been weird, but eventually, the Professor said, he would be able to use that ability to bounce his beams in complex ricochet to strike even the most difficult to reach target.

She told him her name, and that he had been (would be), of course, her teacher and she apparently found him competent. Scott, obviously, didn't know her, but he was pretty sure that she was the type of woman that thought that was a compliment. She was probably pretty rich, she looked rich. He'd met rich people before, though before the Professor and Warren, he was usually stealing from them at the time, and they always had a way about him, that he promised himself he would never have, ever, even if the Professor left him the school when he inevitably...

Looking down at the gloves in his hands, Scott frowned, "You don't expect me to fight with you, do you, Ma'am? I... I can't fight a woman." He realized suddenly how that sounded and he said, "I can't fight anyone. I'm a ranger fighter... not a boxer... I don't think I have ever actually punched anyone. I am usually the one getting punched."
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Monet
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"I'm not uptight," Scott said, uptightly.

Monet rolled her eyes.

"I'm... cautious, and... and controlled... or I try to be. I have to be. I don't know what your powers are, but mine... they're dangerous, and I don't want to be a danger."

His reasoning was sound. It was amazing how stable Scott’s mind was in his youth, how focused his intention to protect others and himself was, in fact. It was easy for her to think back to when her powers first manifested. She had scared her mother on many occasions because of accidentally breaking a glass in her grasp, or floating to the ceiling of their various vacation cabins unable to get down. Monet was sure her mother thought she was some kind of amazing monster, while her father cherished the very ground she walked on.

One thing was certain, nevertheless. Monet knew her parents loved her.

That’s what she had that the young man didn’t. They were there to protect her; their privilege, their money, and their influence protected Monet. It was because of them - and her brilliance, she supposed - that she was where she was at today. In the few moments that they had just met, Monet was able to piece a better understanding of the teenager’s thought processes. Having grown underneath Scott through the years, his personality and reactions to certain things were familiar to her; his foundation truly set the tone.

Young Scott from the past certainly helped to paint an interesting picture in M’s mind.

"I'm guessing if I become this big deal that everyone keeps telling me I do, I learn how to be something more than that, but right now? I'm not really all that keen on blowing a hole in the wall if I blink wrong," Scott continued while Monet was in thought for a second.

“You do realize you are in a school filled with hormonal mutant teenagers?” Monet responded. “If you blow a hole in the wall, it will just get replaced. Unlike your time, you are in a completely safe place to make mistakes. Unless you are me, of course.”

Having tossed him a pair of boxing gloves, Monet watched as Scott looked down at them. She took in his frown and his words, and simply grinned as he admitted that he couldn’t fight her. And then, almost instantly, that grin faded at Scott’s next sentence; however, his hesitation was the only thing that saved him. She recorded his facial expressions quickly, with him finally understanding how he might have sounded. Then, Monet gave him a reassured expression that might have illustrated that she knew.

"I can't fight anyone. I'm a ranger fighter... not a boxer... I don't think I have ever actually punched anyone. I am usually the one getting punched."

“Well you should stop that then. Now, hit the bag,” Monet ordered, stepping behind it and peaking her head to its side to see how Young Scott added up physically.
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Young Cyclops
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“You do realize you are in a school filled with hormonal mutant teenagers?” Monet responded. “If you blow a hole in the wall, it will just get replaced. Unlike your time, you are in a completely safe place to make mistakes. Unless you are me, of course.”

"That's just the point though, isn't it, Ma'am?" the boy asked, looking around at the gym, at the equipment, at the absolute lack of indication that this wasn't a normal gym in a normal school. "The goal is to not make mistakes at all, not to make excuses if you do. Hormones aren't an excuse to just let your powers go all wild and uncontrolled. When that happens, bad stuff happens. I killed someone with my powers," he looked back at her, his face serious and grim, "When the Professor stopped Jack and me at Fort Knox, when Jack tried to... I killed him. He turned to diamond and I shattered him with my powers because I made a mistake. No one else dies because I can't control myself. No one."

Scott jabbed his hand towards the door, in an accusatory point to indicate wherever his adult counterpart happened to be and said, "I don't know if he was able to keep my promise, and I've seen a couple of things that kinda tell me he couldn't, but I am not him, not yet, anyway. So until I am, I am just going to work on not making mistakes."

He shrugged and made himself calm down. Looking down at the gloves, he said, "Do you know why the Professor made me field leader? Because I wouldn't follow orders. I couldn't. Everything I was ordered to do... I see better ways of doing. I see ways that will keep us alive, will help more people, do more good. I'm not a follower..." He shook his head, "I'm not a brawler either, Ma'am... There's more efficient..."

With a sigh, Scott slipped his fists into the gloves, not entirely sure he had them on properly, and he said, "You're not going to be happy until I totally look like an idiot, are you."

She ordered him to punch the bag, and he jabbed at it half heartedly. Looking at her, he pushed his glasses tighter to his face with the padded gloves and then he turned to hit the bag again. Harder this time. Then again, and again. It wasn't graceful. It wasn't controlled.

But he hit the bag as hard as he could, over and over, because he didn't know how to do it, and he needed to not only know, but to be perfect.

If he wasn't, someday, someone would be hurt because of him.

Someday, he would be the danger he was afraid he'd be.

Then, he wouldn't be worth the sacrifice his parents made when they saved his life.

He'd be what everyone told him he was. Worthless. Useless. Damaged. Wrong. Bad...

So, he hit the bag. Not because she told him to. But because doing it of his own choice meant he was in control.
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