Generation X #8 ... Outward Bound Written by Lee & Andy January 18, 1996 Disclaimer: This is a project of the X-Writers. We have neither asked nor been given permission by Marvel Comics to do this. They get to get all their rights and we get to keep ours, but they have the copyright, now, don't they? Don't bother sueing us. We can barely afford college, like we'd have something extra? Ha. WARNING: This is a story. This is only a story. Had it been a recounting of issues from real life, spandex would be in style. NOTE: This story may contain cuss words, questionable morals, killing, death, blatant acts of kindness, brief scenes of nudity, kissing, friendship, angst, original ideas, risky business, and all sorts of thought provoking questions regarding the cosmic powers and our unique advantages to become higher than our base animalistic selves. You may be inspired to write your own works of art and be inspire to break free of the chains of society and let your mind go free. This story may even win a Noble Peace Prize, bringing warring factions of estranged brothers and sisters to a long needed era of peace. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Everett's Room --- The alarm slaps into the side of his brain like a locomotive from hell, rap*rap*rapping against his head with the speed of the Flash and the sharp sting of an angry pimp's slap. Everett's eyes slowly open, the slight sand between his eyelids cracking apart, the only remnant of a fleeting dream. What was the dream, we might ask? It's already far away, running faster, picking up speed as we try to chase it down. Quick glimpses of it are all we catch: a falling kid (a barbie doll?), a cracked egg, a broken fuse. But this all matters not to Everett, as he never takes special care in reciting the dreams of the night before. No, young Everett Thomas has always looked ahead, no sense in dwelling in the past. The past always sticks to the roof of your mind like peanut butter, the future seeming slick and new. The sheets are thrown back by one dark hand, both feet swinging themselves over the side of the bed. A rainbow form seems to ooooooze out around his body, but Everett's already past the stage of shock from this, already past the stage of entertainment, even. It seems normal to him, for, after all, it IS him...in a way. Glancing up at the Coolio picture (may the funk be with you, Coo) posted above his bed, he scratches that little unscratchable area in his back once more before slipping into a pair of baggy jeans and an even baggier shirt. His boxers crumple up as he walks away from his bed, and he is forced to pull them back down. *glance*glance* to make sure no one is looking. Embarrassing situation, that. Ah, and now we see his room. Not a complete mess, as these things go. The floor is actually seen in some parts beneath dirty clothes, crumpled comics, CD sleeves. A bed pushed against one corner of the small dorm, posters cluttering the walls. Everett quickly smacks the 'PLAY' button on his stereo as he walks by, the sounds of George Clinton instantly filling the air with funk. "WE GOT THE FUNK! "GOTTA HAVE THAT FUNK! "WE GOT TH*sckrump*THE FUNK... Oh, not again. Has to be Jubes jumping up and down, for whatever reason she does things like that. Don't ask, he tells himself, not for him to judge. He smacks the flimsy wall that his bed is pressed up against, a sharp *KA-NOCK!* ringing out. A moment of silence, then a girl's voice, "Like... chill, man! Not like your music ain't loud nuff! Cheeszus rats guy thinks he owns..." The girl's voice, thankfully, fades off as Everett walks back to the stereo, adjusting the volume control. "Okay. Alright. I don't kill her this time. No. Ev, calm yourself, man. Not her fault she's thirteen and hyper." He cracks his knuckles once, listening to the now muted sounds of some conversation next door. Hopping down next to his suitcase, Parliament filling the air with a bass line from hell, only it sounds like heaven. He fiddles with the locks once again, checking to make he's not forgetting anything. Got... yeh, got that. And that... oops, where's the flashli...oh, there it is. And, yeah, got that little 'Camper's Survival Guide', always helpful... And then there's that distinctive Irish voice down the hall at Angelo's room. Something about breakfast. Everett glances at the clock on the wall, emblazoned with the school's logo. Yes, he tells himself as he walks out the door, heading for the kitchen, Yes, this IS a school... a trippy, funky school. But a school none the less. And today's the day of the field trip. The lights in his room now out, the only thing we can see as we too leave the room is a rainbow coloured glowing aura thing slowly trailing after young Everett. Monet's Room --- BEEP BEEP BEEP The alarm's sharp pierce rings through the air. A bird perched on the window sill squawks and chides the unruly noise. There is a crisp feeling to the atmosphere today and Dawn peeks her eye above the horizon. Her brother will be coming soon, and his rays will light the grounds of the Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters; from the Science Hall, the view is magnificent. For now, though, as the other students begin to wake, the shadows cling and the alarms ring; it's time, once more, to start the day. A young woman lies in her bed. A foot, a hand, a leg, and soon a whole girl comes from underneath the blankets. She is a dark beauty, a healthy one, long black hair, even a flawless face this early in the morning. Calmly, the girl reaches out a hand and softly hits the alarm. Monet has been up for almost ten minutes by this point; she sits and ponders and wonders as she always does. No one understands her, but she likes it better that way. Outside, Dawn peeks further out from her hiding ground; Monet takes a moment to smile at it. "What a perfect day," she whispers to herself. With effortless and graceful ease, she rises and officially starts her day. She reaches over to the stereo she fixed last night and turns the dial to Public Radio. As she dresses in a well-tailored, fashionable outfit, she hums with Beethoven and Mozart and all her old friends. Her room is spotless, but she takes the time to make her bed up neatly, again. An old quilt lies folded in the corner of the bed, and the aura that extremely important things have lies around it. It was her mother's and now she loves it; she touches it lightly, almost reverently. Only a moment latter, she puts such childish thoughts away and double checks her bags. Everything is in there, down to the smallest safety pin. She won't need one, but it's always better to be prepared. The bags rest easily on her shoulder and she nods, in respect, in gratitude, to Dawn, who is starting looking in her window. With a small, dignified smile, she carries the bags with her as she walks down the hall. Paige and Jubilee's Room --- BEEP BEEP BEEP Another scene opens in another make-shift dorm room, as another student wakes to the harsh ring of the alarm. Two live here; there are books piled up on each other, shoes tossed half-hazardly, clothes lying in respective hampers, an impossible sense of clutter and chaos and disorganisation. The two girls don't mind though. It's a place that one of them fondly calls 'Better Dorms and Dumps". Somewhere, a pizza has crawled to its final resting place. Paige Guthrie, a young, tall blond, a person who doesn't seem like she belongs here, reaches over and violently slaps the alarm clock. She groans as she remembers the time; it's far, far too early, all she wants is another ten minutes, or nine, rather, why is it always nine, that's a funny number to put the snooze on, oh, hell, it's too late, she's already up. She promises herself anything, a nice, hot cup of coffee, a good breakfast, anything, and struggles out of bed. She makes a tentative move and sits up in bed. Her head is a little light, and her yawns are loud, but she opens her eyes anyways. She looks around, at the still dark window, at the night-light in the socket by the door, at the sleeping form of her room-mate. She shakes her head at Jubilation Lee, the Chinese girl soundly asleep with the teddy bear in her arms. That girl had stayed up till almost 3:00 am last night, and damn if she would get an ounce more sleep. The older girl rubs her eyes and yawns again and decides that everyone has to be up. She yells across the room, "Jubilee, wake up." "Mrghgh mmmm ... " comes the reply from under a scruffy, too-thin pillow. Paige sighs and stands up; her hand reaches to her desk to support her and make the world stop fading in and out and in and out. Her eyes again fall on the younger one; the devil on her shoulder sucker punches the angel, and in that moment, she decides that desperate tactics are in order. "Ah said, wake up," and as she repeats herself, she grabs a large handful of blankets and pulls with what strength this early hour allows her. Jubilee wakes suddenly and with a glare of death. She pulls her blankets up around her and wishes, once again, for a really big bat. Or at least some duct tape. She yawns once and says, "Like, geez, what was that for. All ya had to do was just tell me." Paige rolls her eyes and turns back to her half of the room. Soon she is thinking about the day ahead of them; a small, care-worn smile begins to grace her innocent looking face. She looks on the floor, then behind the door, then under her bed and cannot seem to find her clothes. She makes one last effort and looking in the top dresser drawer, though heaven only know why they'd actually be there. With an embarrassed grin, she pulls out her clothes for the day from the exact place they should be. Slowly, trying not to move in a way her body would protest, she begins to dress. The morning was not too bad, and she thought she might actually make it. She reaches under her bed again, and this time comes up with a treasure. She tosses her duffle bag onto the bed and begins to stuff two pairs of jeans, one sweater, three shirts, a pair of shorts, socks, undergarments, first aid kit, canteen, and personal necessities into it. "There," she says, smiling, indeed it was going to be a good day. "That should be all." She thinks of taking a quick nap again, there was still a good half hour before they had to leave, when a harsh, grating, too-loud sound blares up behind her. Wincing, she turns and sees a much more awake Jubilee turning up her Walkman (TM). 'Why me?' she asks mentally. She takes a deep breath, walks up to her not-by-choice room-mate, and yells, at the top of her lungs, "Jubilation Lee, Ah swear, if yuh don't stop that noise and get down here this minute, we're leavin' yuh behind!" The object of Paige's attention dances wildly on her dresser. Her arms are flung out to the side, and her head bangs to a wild beat. She is still dressed in her boxers and night-shirt; it can only be her morning wake up ritual. "Mortal Kombat!" she sings in a slightly out of tune voice at the appropriate times; caught up in her own private Idaho, she jumps into the air, does an imperfect flying kick, and lands squarely next to her bed. After a moment of unsteadiness, when her only thought is that she doesn't want to fall on her butt 'cause it really hurts, she steadies herself and continues. Only a rough hand landing on her shoulder and forcing her to stop ruins the moment. She turns down her Walkman, puts on her best 'how dare you' look, and asks, "What?" Paige sighs. It's going to be one of those days. In an infinitely calm voice, she says, "Ah said that yuh've got ta pack yuhr bags. We're leavin' soon." She notices the lack of clothes, the lack of a bag, and the general lack of readiness, and her inborn intelligence figures it out. She gives Lee a sceptical look. "Yuh've packed yuhr bags, haven't yuh?" "Oh, sure," Jubilation Lee says in a very surly voice. Her face gets a distasteful look on it, as if she'd just eaten pickled beets. She shuts her eyes a second, counts a quick one-two, and opens them again. No good. Still there. She tries to hide a smirk and, after another glance at Paige's outfit, says, "Oh, I get it. Malibu Paige. Where's Ken?" Paige looks down at herself in a quick moment's panic. A hair out of place? Her shirt untucked? She wears dark khaki shorts which reach to just above her knees; sensible black socks lead to new hiking boots; a cream colored safari shirt; and a simple black belt. She thinks she's dressed in a clean, pressed, and very appropriate hiking outfit. Her face reddens a bit, she can feel it, and she folds her arms across her chest and replies, "Ah wouldn't worry about me," she says dismissively. "Yuhr not even dressed, yet. And when did yuh pack yuhr bags?" She looks concerned; she wants this day to be perfect. Jubilee sighs. "Yadda yadda yadda, whatever. I'm done, okay? Like, they're right in there." She points to a closet with one hand, keeping the other firmly behind her back. "I'm so total ready!" She smiles as she says this, two fingers behind her back firmly crossed, and jumps back on to her bed, throwing mock punches in the air. At 5:35 am, Jubilee is off to a great start. Paige shakes her head. She thinks, sometimes, that she is jealous of all that energy. No one should be able to just wake up and be ready to go. She sighs and says, "Well, then, c'mon. Ah heard Sean yell that breakfast's on the table." "Food? Killer!" Jubilee tosses down her walkman, jumps into her fuzzy slippers, and races down the hall. There wouldn't be much food left once she got there. "Last one there's a rotten egg!" Paige shakes her head as she follows Jubilee down the hall. Angelo's Room --- Angelo remembers his dreams. When was the last time this happened to you? Or, rather, when was the last time this happened and you enjoyed it? Angelo can't remember the last time this happened, and for good reason... his dreams are corridors of sweaty anger, sticky sweaty bastard aliens climbing on his face, scenes which would make Giger proud. In his dreams, it is not what he sees that scares Angelo Espinosa to death, but rather what he does not see... the bleeding crack babies that leer overhead, in that rather annoying area of our vision, where we can _feel_ that something is present, but cannot see it... Angelo dreams of hot summer nights in the barro, of shattered crack vials in the streets... It's been said that the most common occurrence in our dreams is a repeated fascination with our own death... either living it out or viewing it. Angelo's dreams never deal with death, however, he is one of the few. His dreams deal with life... or, rather, survival. Yet, suddenly, Angelo's dream is interrupted by one red headed Irish angel of cheer, Sean Cassidy. As Angelo twists and turns in his bed, a soft nudge in the ribs by said Irishman wakes him up... with a good bit of a jolt. "Hey! Maestro, get yer hands off me, eh??" His eyes glued together with 'sand' (yum!), his lips smacking off a good night's sleep, Angelo pushes himself out of bed, one hand extending out for a small cigarette lying casually on his light-table, beside his head. Mr. Cassidy restrains himself from grabbing the cancer-stick (never come between an angry young mutant and his smokes), even to the point of stepping back to avoid the extra feet of skin from Angelo's hand which sags to the ground as he retrieves the cig. "Right, son," Sean begins, "ye know ye're not gunna be allowed any of those during this trip?" A long, steady puff from the cigarette is the only answer at first. Angelo exhales through his nose, wincing slightly as a soft burning sensation (not unpleasant, actually) floods his lungs. "Yeh, sir, I know... excuse this Hispano and his early cigarette, alright?? It's the morn', profesore, I'm allowed t' be a bastard. Now if ya'll excuse me??" The words slipping out of his mouth like molasses, Angelo extends his foot to give Sean a slight push towards the door... "N' close it on your way out, por favor." *PUFFPUFF* and that bit's over with, the regular early morning preach from the Banshee about the evils of smoking - though today's lesson was more informal than most. Putting out the stub of cigarette on his lamp table, Angelo rolls out of bed and into a pair of jeans and a shirt, quite literally. Sliding them over his legs and torso, Skin pulls his suitcase out from under his cluttered bed. Snaps the locks. Click. Click. Click go the three locks in order as they're broken. A slight wafty smell of moth balls flits up into his nose, a suitcase full of neatly pressed pants and shirts. _You can't wear THAT!! You'll DIE of heat!_ M had said. Then again, the bitch was so perfect, it'd probably been a long time since she'd felt any heat... both physically and figuratively. In any case, it wasn't the clothes that Angelo was checking for. This was probably the twelfth time in half as many days that he checked his 'stash'... so cautious was he of Sean and Emma - okay, Emma. Sean was a nice guy, but a bit daft. Emma... she was a bitch. She was also a rather smart bitch, and Angelo realised what that meant - that there'd be very little fucking her over. Which is why he once again checked his stash. All there, full carton of smokes... STRICTLY forbidden where they were going. Not that it mattered, of course. Angelo's nic fits were almost as unsettling to watch occur as they are to endure. However, this time Angelo made one crucial mistake - he forgot to make sure Sean closed the door. Now, if Angelo were lucky, Sean wouldn't even re-enter the room. If he were slightly less lucky (but still quite fortunate), Sean would be too daft to see what Angelo was peering at... as it was, it turned out the latter was the case. "Son?" says Banshee from the door. *SNAPSNAPSNAPCLACK!* goes the suitcase, shut in a hurry... "Breakfast is ready. Thass' all. Yer alright?" "Yes sir, quite all right. I'll, ahh, head downstairs with for breakfast, eh? Right now, eh? Thank you." A cute little conversation and all is said. Isn't that a relief? Now Angelo is THAT much closer to death by lung cancer. Well, he's happy... which is good enough for now, as Angelo slinks out the door and out of his room. The scene closes here. *SNAP!* Jonothan's Room --- He's always been a rather large fan of punk... both the music and the scene, and primarily (as of recent times) the attitude. He was born into wealth, a rich upper-class British family. And, contrary to public belief, punk did not spring from the rebellious working class. It originated with the rich, wealthy kids... the ones whose Mum and Dad were out at cocktail parties at night, the ones who viewed their wealth almost as a curse then as a blessing. Tattered clothes, safety-pins... wasn't 'cause they couldn't afford anything better, but it was 'cause they didn't want to. Then again, as of recent, he's taken heart to punk's nihilist, pessimistic "NO FUTURE! NO FUTURE!" chants of Sex Pistols and even the skittish ska tunes of Operation Ivy soon to become Rancid to the screeching harmonies of electric guitars underneath an ugly voice making for a beautiful concoction. It could be the fact that this is a stage that every young, rebellious man goes through. Or it could be the fact that half of his face has been destroyed by a freak blast of psionic energy, leaving everything below his upper lip splayed and ripped. In other words, he is in no way the kind of bloke yer gunna take home t' meet yer mum. His name is Jonothon Evan Starsmore. And he has the potential to be one of the most powerful psi's the world has ever known. Too bad for him it erupts in a constant stream of power, a blast of energy from a gaping hole in his jaw to his upper chest. Potential be damned, he just wants his life back. But as his mind flits from self-angst to the duty at hand - that of packing - and his record player spins the aforementioned Sex Pistols with the aforementioned chants of "NO FUTURE!", he fails to notice the figure lurking in the dark of the basement. And such a basement it is! Forgetting the shadowy enigma, we take a butcher's (a 'look', for those of you who fail to speak Cockney) at the surroundings and we raise both eyebrows or, if we're lucky, one... and think "No matter how cool this is... I wouldn't want to live here." Pipes and metal rods line the ceiling, giving the entire basement a somewhat sterile appearance ... until one glances towards the ground and the furniture. Unable to avoid stepping on boxes of empty cereal, on tattered magazines and records and books and lots and lots and lots of black leather clothing, we are. A couch, the single fixture, is placed in the middle of the room facing a television, the ubiquitous empty Jolt bottles strewn around like salad garnishings. This appears to be both the place of rest and relaxation for Jonothon, a dark room with a blaring telly and shattering music - and yet, for some reason, he can feel at peace here. And then, a sound is heard near the door, and our eyes swing in that direction. Jonothon appears not to notice, or perhaps he simply doesn't care. Bent at the waist, placing a strain on his tight black jeans, he is carefully tossing black clothing into a tattered black duffel bag. There are also two black trunks pushed against the couch, the suitcases that he brought with him from England. Both unlocked and open, unnervingly empty, unnervingly sterile. The shadowy figure (haven't forgotten yet, I hope) creeps slowly into the room, bent low and dark in the room's small amount of light. Jonothon halts for a split second, his eyes covered by his low hanging, brown hair. Whether he hears the intruder or not is unknown, as he goes back to place the final amount of black shirts (which all, interestingly enough, have a large ripped hole...almost like an _extremely_ low neck line) into his duffel. The intruder silently watches Jonothon finish his task, before slipping itself into one of the black trunks. It pulls the lid shut quietly behind it, but, after a moment, leaves. As the shadowy form looks around, preparing to leave, it accidentally catches Jono's eyes. In a rare moment of pure coincidence, an understanding is reached. At this moment, Jonothon appears to relax, tightening the ends of his duffel bag and locking it with a small combination lock. His eyes, red pupils on black, then pointedly glance around the room before he stands and turns his back to the duffel bag. Reaching down onto a table, he plucks a few black bandages into one long, smooth hand. Tying the bandages around his chest and lower face before pulling on his leather jacket, he brushes his hair back with one hand. No mirror to check himself in. No mirror. He hefts his duffel up in one arm before slinging it over a shoulder and leaving the room. Silence. Minutes pass. Then more. Nothing can be heard as the intruder once again arrives. Without a second glance, it heads straight to the trunk and slips in and pulls the lid shut behind it. *thump* *thump* *thump* heard from the stairs above as Jono hops down them one at a time before re-entering the basement. He glances at the trunk containing our Mystery Guest and, with only a moments hesitation, attempts to lift this up as well. His shoulders heave, before falling from the massive weight. He sighs, turning the trunk sideways and grabbing the handle on one end. Trudging silently to the stairs, leaving score-marks on the floor with his boots, he then braces himself and pulls the trunk up the stairs, one step*thump* at a time. The lights flick off in the room from the switch in the stairway and we are left in darkness and shouts and "No Future! NO FUTURE! No Future! NO FUTURE!" Breakfast --- She sits at a large oak table, one that's seen many families live and love and grow old, a family heirloom. It was her grandmum's, a lovely woman, dead now, but still near at heart. She sits quietly, just listening to the sounds outside. Memories are running rampant inside her mind, swirling up from under the blanket where she sweeps them, forcing themselves on her, willing or no; but no one's around right now and she doesn't have to play the tough, hard as nails, 'I'm teaching you, it's for your own good' teacher, so she lets them in with a curt nod, acknowledging them but giving them no power. The whole room holds memories for her; that chest was her mother's when they were living in the country, the china was her grandmum's when she was young, the set of swords over the entrance way her grandfather's when he was in the War. It looks homey, this room, with its pictures hanging on the wall, small signs of life scattered here and there, a shoe stuck under the hutch that the maid missed; everything in here gives off such a different feel now that she's taken the time to make it her own. And theirs. She hears them coming with her mind before a single sound comes to the informal dining room. Loud thoughts, all of them, coming and pressing in on her mind, like a school of fish around where food has been dropped in. She tries not to see them, to allow them in, she promised, but they're all around her, and it's like trying to run from the rain in the middle of an empty plain, like trying to keep out the other thoughts that bombard her all the time. They're loud thoughts, thoughts which demand to be heard and acknowledged, thoughts that intrude no matter how much you try not to let them, much like their owners. The loudest comes in first, a bright one, hyper and active, with ideas coming in and flying out with a wind of its own. Another one, hmmm, she's hiding something, can't tell what, but she feels so guilty, so sad. Lying thoughts, someone's lying, she laughs to herself when she sees what about. The lyrics of a Coolio song running through the mind of another. Pain, but content, she nods and is glad. Pain for one more, depressed, well, always depressed, but today a bit more than most. She sighs and remembers there is only so much she can do. A more confident, wiser mind, hidden from her. He knows her tendencies, though he doesn't understand that she can't control it, much like he can't control his need to shepherd, baby the students. One last mind, completely hidden from her at this level, frustrating her, though she catches herself quickly and forces herself not to pry. A thud comes from beyond the entrance, followed by a quicker, softer succession of thuds, and then there's one, now two, recognisable foot steps, and soon the chattering starts. She sighs and puts a hand to her temple; she stands and smoothes her dress and tries to shield her mind as much as these thoughts will allow. A young Chinese girl walks in first. Jubilation Lee. A smart girl, if she'd only apply herself, and a very hyper, optimistic one. She isn't dressed yet; that's not good. She comes in bravely, as she does everything, and sits at her 'assigned' seat. There really are no seats assigned to any particular person, but people tend to gravitate, and so Jubilee gravitates to a seat on the left hand side at the far end of the table. Another girl follows her, dressed in full outdoor regalia. Not a girl really, more like a woman-child. Paige Guthrie had come from Kentucky, where she lived with her mother and siblings and had a normal life, with normal friends, a normal school, normal chores and worries and pleasures. Now? Well, now, once she realised that she's a mutant, she tries to deal with all that and become more skilled in her abilities; her family is left behind, it's safer that way, and her school is here, with others of her kind. She isn't afraid of her powers, which is very different than how others think, and she wants to be an X-Men, she wants to live life like that; no normal life, not for her. She walks in and looks around before committing herself to a seat. She's waiting for someone, wants to sit next to that person, wants to show him that she wants to be near, but she doesn't have the nerve to actually go ahead and do it, to ignore what others think and what they say. All she can do is dance around the issue, wait for fate to give her a chance, hope that things will happen like she wants them to. She's a good kid, she could go far, and she is a lot like the older woman when she was young. All Paige has to do is take control, do what she wants, make a stand, not be afraid, and nothing can stand in her way. Husk sighs quietly and decides to take a seat across from Jubilee at the foot of the table. It's been said about this next one that he's a lost cause. A goner. One of the kids who's slipped too far down to grab by the hair and pull back up. And, perhaps, people might believe this. But not her. A look in his eyes telling her what he thinks she should do with her mind (shove it), a sneer on his lips displaying his emotions (boredom), a lump in his right pants pocket hiding something taboo (pack of cigarettes)... she knows what she sees in Angelo Espinosa is not laziness, not a lost cause... but fire, anger, passion... and sarcasm. Sarcasm is a gift, someone once said (it was changed to 'Anger is a gift', for no apparent reason) and this is something she believes fully. Angelo waits at the door, leans his head against the frame and curls his upper lip. Looking at him, he expects something (attention) that he's not going to get. Count to ten... and, now, yes... he (once again) realises getting Paige's attention from Jubes is impossible. Implausible. A car could smash through the wall carrying a waiter holding a flaming telephone booth (Salvador Dali)...and chances are Paige would be too busy rolling her eyes at (Jono) Jubilee to even notice. So Angelo does what is expected of him (smoke) and takes a seat, a beat up old thing near the closer end of the table, next to Jubilee. He slaps out an extended amount of skin, wrapping it around a bowl and brings it close. Mmmn Corn Pops (sugar) to start off the day. Jubilee starts in loudly on another subject, something to do with MTV and a new video by one group or another. Her mind, though, shifts a bit, and she becomes more aware. She's not a stupid child, by any means, and she hides what she really thinks behind her words. *slurp* and Jubilee's constant splurt of words and phrases don't stop him anymore, he can't hear them... can't hear anything except (Paige) his (rather unremarkable) thoughts. She can't help but sigh. If he would simply not hide his anger behind sarcasm, what a prodigy he could be. Rise up from the barro. But, no... not for now. For now he's simply an Angry Young Man with a bad stubble and a glint in his eyes. Skin smiles, shaking his head empty of his (empty) thoughts, and slides his chair closer to the girls to talk. To gossip. To listen to (Paige) Jubilee singing Coolio. She looks up as another of her young ones enters. A tall African-American who wears sensible clothes, jeans, a light shirt, worn in hiking shoes, a friendly attitude, Everett Thomas looks at everyone and nods his greetings. The lyrics to a Coolio song (come along and ride on this fantastic voyage) is running through his mind (what is it with Coolio today?) and he hums quietly as he takes his seat across from his friend Angelo. Of course, Everett believes that everyone is his friend, and acts accordingly. He looks over at Jubilee and smirks, thinking what is she doing singing Coolio, that's usually not her style at all, not trendy-pop (New Kids On The Block) enough (laugh). But, he reminds himself, Coolio transcends all bounds, and limitations aren't encouraged, especially limitations you put on others. He's the responsible one, as she knows. A born leader, though not (yet?) the leader of this group. He wants to learn while he's here (save the world, fight crime), he's a great student, this school is perfect for him. His only down-fall would be his exalted sense of morality. He believes in areas of black and white, no grey for him. She wonders what he will do the first time one of his team mates does something truly immoral. Would he stand by his friend? His aura rests around him as he grabs the cereal, milk, and sugar bowl. She can see this aura, a multi coloured swirl (of energy?) that floats around and in him most of the time. He arranges his face in a mask of interest right now, as Jubilee tries to get him into their conversation. His mask is perfect, and only the fact that his thoughts are still loud enough tip her off to the facade. He remembers young Jubilee's loud music this morning, and still hasn't really forgiven her. So, Synch eats his bowl of cereal and nods when appropriate. Perhaps the strangest of her student enters next. Her thoughts are muddled (dark), nothing is clear (death). The young girl, if you could call her that, stands just inside the door. Her skin (shell, really) is dark red and seems to absorb the light around her. Her hair stands out from her head and ends in long, dangerously sharp spikes. Her body is hard, compact, so dense that it could cut diamonds (and flesh); she can hurt without even meaning to (her life). A dangerous child, certainly. Waves of depression come from her (life = pain = death = life), but, underneath it, she seems ... content? Well, not angry or scared or anti-social, so the older woman smiles to herself and feels a little better. She can only do so much to help her students (Hellions), but she still feels immense satisfaction when someone seems to be doing better. Penance walks in and looks around (strangers), but remains just inside the door (Jono). And then the *SLAP!* door opens with a bang and all heads turn... and almost simultaneously wince. She wipes the wince off of her face and quickly becomes the embodiment of calm once more. She allows a small smirk to come to her face as she realises who just entered. Jonothan Evan Starsmore. She looks around and notes everyone's reaction as he walks in. It would be an understatement to say that everyone has one reaction or another. Interesting. Her smirk turns into a knowing, calculating smile and she laughs inside her own mind. Jono walks into the room and scans it before choosing a seat. He glances once at Paige from the corner of his eye before going to sit next to Skin. Penance follows and sits across from him. <> Her esteemed colleague, Sean Cassidy, follows closely behind Chamber. He sighs as he notices Jono's dramatics, but he knows there's nothing he can do. So, Sean goes to the foot of the table and sits there in the chair. Jubilee looks up from her discussion on the merits of Alanis Morissette's new song and grins at him. With a frown, he sits down. Jubilee isn't ready yet, and they'll be leaving soon. //Hello, Sean// she sends in greeting. He looks directly at her, knowing full well who it was. It still made him uncomfortable to be around a telepath like herself. For the sake of maintaining proper politeness, he finally nods his head in return. She sighs, not understanding his aversion to what she is. Monet St. Croix is the last to enter the room, and the older woman's smile disappears altogether. The young lady who walks in has caused her nothing but trouble from the start. They were just two people who took an instant dislike to one another. Monet constantly disobeys her, or goes on without her team mates (without permission), or gives orders which are (better) not wanted. Then there was the fact that she couldn't read Monet's mind. It frustrates her, makes her want to deliberately dig, and try harder; she doesn't like defeat (losing), especially not when it has to deal with this young girl. M moves to the seat next to Penance. She sighs and rubs her head surreptitiously. She glances around at the students and Sean, and she concentrates and creates a shield between herself and them. They accuse her of being cold. They say she's unfeeling, that whatever heart she once had has long since been rotted away. They say a lot of things about her, but they don't know. She locks herself in her tower to maintain her sanity. Her tower protects her from the world, letting her function in society without screaming out at everyone and everything. So the tower sets her apart and makes her inaccessible, it's true, but she doesn't care. She is tired of hearing them, tired of hearing all the petty squabbles, all the arguments, all the voices in the world. She would be immobilised without her tower, trapped under the weight of a million voices that come to her without her having to make any effort. What little she can feel, what little of their so-called morals she has, what little control she has over herself, is a result of the tower. The tower protects them as much as it does her. Breakfast, Part II --- Sean Cassidy, known to some as Banshee, sits at the foot of the table and smiles at his 'children.' He tries hard not to look at the woman at the other end of the table. Emma Frost was once a part of the Inner Circle of the Hellfire Club, a club which catered to the rich, the elite. She was their White Queen, a leader in their eternal chess match for power. Moreover, she is a telepath, and a very strong one at that. He shakes his head and tries not to think of her as the enemy. Monet takes her seat and smiles at everyone. She sits nearest to Emma; all the others have tried to stay as far away from her as possible; actually, they have tried to stay away from both of them. Next to her, Penance sits on her chair, blithely ignoring the world as far as anyone can tell. Sean watches as Monet reaches for the cereal box. She is a top notch student, and he notices her care as her hand moves near Penance. He reminds himself to talk to her sometime. At the other end of the table, Jubilee notices Monet and rolls her eyes, much to Paige's amusement. They then return to the topic at hand. "No really," Jubilee says, "I'm sure it says 'There is a bathroom on the right.'" She brings another spoonful of cereal to her mouth. **MUNCH** Paige shakes her head and puts her elbows on the table. "It doesn't," she says, leaning forward in her seat. "It's 'There is a bad moon on the rise'." Jubilee says, "Oh, sure." She smirks. "That's nothing like what I said. How could that be it then? Duh." Everett covers a yawn and turns to Angelo. He says, "Mind handing me more sugar." Angelo nods and tears his attention away from Jubilee and Paige. He reaches for the sugar without getting up, three feet of his extra skin lengthening until it reaches the bowl. The skin wraps itself around it and he draws it back towards him. "Here you go, amigo," Angelo says. Everett nods his thanks. They appear to be great friends, though who can tell with Angelo. Everett doesn't seem to mind that sarcastic wit and brimming anger. Emma Frost leans back in her chair at the head of the table and smiles at Sean. He dislikes the knowing look in her eyes. Paige refuses to listen to Jubilee anymore. A hand brushes back her hair; the lock falls right back into her face. She narrows her eyes, looking at it. With a sigh, she reaches back and ties her hair tightly, wrapping it with a brightly coloured scrunchie. A nervous glance around the table, makes sure no one's looking, and then she steals sidelong glances at Jono. He doesn't notice, though. Or, rather, he doesn't want to notice anything going on around him. He's trying his best to ignore everyone today. There is a slight slump to his shoulder. Penance, though, won't be ignored, and keeps trying to get his attention. Sean shakes his head. It may have been a long time since his own childhood, but he still remembers the manoeuvrings. Relationships at their ages were serious and far more devious than modern politics. He clears his throat and says, "Are ye kids ready for yuir trip today?" He smiles as he says this, looking a bit daft as he tries to get the kids as excited as he is. He feels a great pride for them; and, he feels thankful that he had the good sense to agree to this project. More rolled eyes, an embarrassed grin or two, and a snort of laughter. The last is from Jubilee, who says, "Oh, like, for sure! I'm sooo excited about it." She smirks. "Quit it, Lee," Paige insists. She looks at her room mate and tenses for a second. Jubilee grunts suddenly and stares hard at Paige. Sean looks from girl to girl. He guesses that Paige probably just kicked Jubilee from under the table. "Now, Paige, she has a right to speak too," Everett says. He is the peacemaker of the group, and tries to get the two girls distracted from each other. When Jubilee turns her face away from him, he rolls his eyes at her. Paige notes this and nods, a large smile gracing her face. Sean shakes his head. "Now, lass, ye know ye all are going." Angelo mutters something under his breath, which sends Jubilee into hysterical laughter. "How childish," Monet mutters from her side of the table. Jubilee shoots her a look, and does an imperfect imitation, mouthing 'How childish'. Sean shakes his head. "Children, children ... " Damn, wrong thing ta say ta this sensitive bunch. "Well, just be sure t' be nice t' yuir instructor. He's a friend o' mine from me past, an' ye should just go along with what he says. He'll make fine survivalists o' out ye in no time." His fingers wrap around the spoon next to his bowl, and he too begins to eat. Emma, leaning back in her seat, says, "Indeed. Everyone should be on their best behaviours. You'll be spending a week without anything civilised within a two hundred mile radius. Mr. Stratton will not tolerate any misbehaviour. And if you fail to do as he says ... well, let's just say you'll all make it so much better if you comply and try your hardest." "Great, Survival 101," someone mutters. The students, all in their freshmen year here at Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters, nod in agreement. Sean quickly raises his hands as well as his voice. "Ye all know that me friend Jack Stratton has kindly volunteered his time and efforts for all of ye. His organisation is in high demand now a days. Who would have thought that 'Outdoor Adventures' would be such a hit." And who would have thought that his good friend, one of his only good friends outside of the X-Men, would have left a life of deadly intrigue and, instead, found a company which panders to those wanting to take a safe taste of the deadly outdoors. Sometimes life doesn't end in a grave; Jack was proof of that. "Now, this being yuir first field trip and all, ye cannae be leaving without a wee debriefing. First o' all, ye will be flyin' by Lear tae Emma's island in the Caribbean. The trip will be lastin' one week, an' yuir lessons are survival trainin' in the wilderness. Which, knowin' the company ye all 'r in, Ay kin 'twould be a good thing ta learn." All of them, more or less, have to turn their attention to their Head Master and listen intently to his words. He lists out a series of rules and regulations for our young heroes, and he quizzes them to see who is listening. Of course, Jubilee is the only one who isn't, so, he cuts his losses and says, "Every one of ye, go an' get yuir bags. We'll meet in the front foyer." They file out, one or two at a time, and grab their bags from their rooms. Jono and Penance head down to his room, acting for all the world like two strangers. After a moment, only Jono returns, and, notes Sean with approval, drags with him a large trunk of equipment and supplies. Sean sighed, and deep down inside, where that blasted woman wouldn't dare go, he was glad. Finally, a vacation of sorts! Cab --- His name is unpronounceable to most. While this is not horribly offensive to the man, as he deals with this fact daily, it tends to be a bit of a pain. How would you like it if every time some rich woman and her kid tried to pronounce your name and either ended up saying something which reminded you of a bad Taiwanese dish, or simply stuttering for a bit with a giggle and finally ending on 'sir'? Not too snazzy, one would think. Yes, his name is Pooyaniewicz Saiwyntuy. He is a cab driver. Not any normal cab driver mind you, but a CHEQUERED cab driver. The car, not he himself, it should be quick to note. And it is less a car then a remodelled old limousine, the back torn out and replaced with bucket seats. So it is upon the approach of such a car that Angelo Espinosa, out of all bloody nowhere, makes a mental connection to a Very Bad Joke, which goes as such. What is blue, in the corner and squirming? A baby in a plastic bag. What is green, in the corner and motionless? The same baby three weeks later. Right. I don't like it either. In any case, the young men and women around him either gasped, or winced, or sneered, or for those without mouths (which is actually more than you might expect) simply raised an eyebrow. And the doors to the chequered cab are opened like the doors to your soul, except your soul has a lot less shag and probably better music playing. Angelo swings around and pops the trunk, with the help of our unpronounceable cabby's keys, flinging suitcases in at random. A screeching of metal on metal (?) is heard as someone's headset is apparently torn to pieces by the contents of anothers' suitcase. It takes Jono and Angelo and Everett to put the large trunk full of the group's necessaries on top. It's heavy, but they're in shape. That doesn't stop Angelo from complaining, though, or Jono giving him a not so indulging look. But enough foreshadowing for now, into the cab we follow our youthful heroes (or protagonists, if you be one of the pessimist persuasion). The two rows of seats are quickly taken, with one exception being the gum-popping girl who called SHOTGUN and we all know that the people in the front die first in the case of head-on collisions so it's no worry to Paige. Or M, for that matter, but for another reason. M being the only one who could pronounce the driver's name, although she didn't, lacking both the drive and the proper timing. Which as any good comic knows is the key to humour. Jono knows it but decided not to speak cause of the obvious problems that might arise. He being without a mouth and all. So the car starts with a slight thrump and the acceleration pushing back (Paige having the benefit of knowing that yes there CAN be negative acceleration while driving forwards and that Pope Urban the Second instigated the first Crusades. Useful information to know as you're speeding along Interstate 20). Everett's rainbow flings out the window as they burn rubber and time and energy. After all, it's only a ten minute drive to Boston International from the Academy, and the ride is quick and fun and easy and painless, almost like good sex thinks Paige, not like she'd know. And if she did she'd realise this was much too short and that there really isn't any metaphor for the final cigarette. The Grounds --- Sean whistles absentmindedly to himself as he walks towards the small grove of trees south of the Main Hall. He looks forward to these times of the day as a relaxing, yet altruistic, venture to help a young girl. Emma was going to bring the kids, Artie and Leech, to the Westchester Mansion today, leaving only himself and Penance to spend the day studying and trying to converse. He glances at the grove and notices that Penance isn't there. Well, he thinks, that's normal; she's prob'ly at the river. So, he walks there, still relaxed, munching on one of the dozen apples in a little basket, and reading from an Australian book of Aboriginal words. Maybe, he thinks humorously, this will work. With options running out, he will have to try another way. This, though, is outdoor work in lovely weather, so why press too hard? Besides, it's more important that she learn to trust him first. By the time he reaches Jono's room, that being the last place he had seen her, the apple orchard and the small park and her room and the kitchen had all been checked. "Where could the wee lass be?" he mutters to himself, a hint of annoyance (at himself, not her) creeping into his voice. //Sean?// He jumps and turns in the same instance, his guard up. "What do ye want, woman?" he says loudly. Well, not loudly. Loudly for him can be pretty loud indeed. So, he says it so that it will carry down the steps of the Science Hall and to the front lobby where Emma is no doubt standing. "This is so droll," she says, dry wit and sarcasm dripping from a sweet as honey voice. "Anyhow, I'm leaving now with thos... Artie and Leech. We'll be at the mansion most of the day. You think you can handle this place alone?" She allows teasing doubt to enter her voice. No point alienating him worse than he already is. "Aye, aye," he says, absently. Then, "Ye wouldnae happen ta have seen Penance around, have ye?" Emma shakes her head and then remembers that he can't see the movement. "No. Not at all. Or, since breakfast anyways." Her voice carries through the empty halls effortlessly, but she forces herself away from those thoughts. Muttered curses get louder, and finally Sean appears at the top of the staircase. Concern makes him forget his uneasiness, and he approaches Emma. "I cannae find her anywhere. An' I've been looking. Ye think ye could try an' search out her mind?" He waits expectantly, small worry lines appearing in his still young for his years face. With the briefest of nods, Emma closes her eyes. Her mind expands out of her body, growing in the astral plain, trying to cover all of the territory of the Massachusetts Academy. This is extremely easy for her, not to mention familiar territory, and soon she replies with the answer Sean didn't want to hear. "I can't seem to find her anywhere." Plane --- A short walk leads this bad band of merry mutants to the hangar of their particular plane. It is a huge building, made out of aluminium and steel, very plain, undecorated, but, above the huge service doors is a sign which says, quite simply, Frost Enterprises Not that Ms. Frost herself was looking for a sweet and simple name, but she was busy that week, what with the take overs' and manipulating her rival CEO into a nasty little situation at New York's Whips, Clips, and Drips. Between the media, police, and Bambie, she had no trouble adding to her vast millions. But back to the present -- one by one they come to that building. Jubilee leads the way, taking huge strides and reaching the building far before anyone else. Not that there is a race; the others are strolling along casually, with escorts who are carrying the luggage. She sees the sign and raises her eyebrows. She whistles and says, "Man, that woman is loaded!" She thinks that maybe, one day, she wants to have millions too, but then she shrugs and walks to the entrance. Corporate backstabbing isn't her style. One hand tosses back the mop of unruly black hair and she walks fearlessly in. The rest of the students arrive and, after the appropriate show of awe, look to their instructor for the next week. He is Jack Stratton. And he is damn scary looking, thinks Ev with approval. The man stands over six and a half feet, and it's all muscle. Thick, bulging, 'Hi, I'm a European bodybuilder' muscle. His hair is close cropped and grey, and his eyes are almost the same, except maybe much harder. He wears camouflage pants, a tight black t-shirt covers his chest and black, steel-toed combat boots (all the better to stomp you with, Jubilee thinks) encase his feet. The scars do a lot to help his appearance; the one across his neck most especially. Ev knows that this is going to be fun, especially since he'll be the one watching his friends deal with someone who has authority and isn't afraid to knock them around. Jack turns around and eyes the 'children'. He doesn't smile or say anything. With a 'get in' motion, he steps into the Lear. Everett immediately follows. "And hola to you too, Senor Pleasant," Angelo mutters. "No kidding," Jubilee says. M speaks quietly to the escorts, directing them to the cargo area of the plane. Without delaying, she walked up the steps to the Lear. "Let's just be thankful Sean knows this man. I'm sure we can trust him." "Right, right, whatever you say, chica." //Yer don't need ta agree. Let's just get in.// Chamber follows M. "Need to or no, I'd have much preferred to just sleep in. This is way too much like my days with the X-Men," Jubilee says. Her feet drag along the hangar's concrete floor. "Ohhh!" Both Angelo and Paige cry out at once. "Not again," Paige says, the exasperated tone made soft by an undercurrent of humour. "Si, again," Angelo replies. With a laugh, Jubilee says, "Hey, I can't help it if it's true! I mean, c'mon, you'd be saying that sorta stuff too if you were a part of the greatest team on Earth." "What, we're not great?" Angelo challenges. "Nah. We're only extremely cool. There's a difference." It is Paige's turn to laugh now. "Okay." She steps into the plane, her two classmates and team-mates on her heels. "Ah -- I -- can see that." She gazes a moment at the insides of the Lear, her eyes scanning the animate and inanimate. A pause, and then she moves over to the central gathering area, a place surrounded on all four sides by plush chairs. "Window!" Jubilee yells. "I want the window!" Paige moves enough that Jubilee can come in, and then she states the obvious, "Well, I don't know. There are so many of us. Can we leave one of the 24 window seats free?" She grins at Jubilee. "Hardy har har. You're soooooo funny. And I mean that." Jubilee takes a seat next to her, and Angelo, who follows and laughs to himself, looking much unlike the angry young man he's supposed to be, takes a seat on the opposite side. At the same time, further back along the Lear, Monet and Everett speak quietly with Jack. "Yes, sir," Everett replies, cheerful and expectant despite the probable difficulty with the upcoming trials. "We'll get them settled in. And thank you, sir. We appreciate this chance to develop our leadership skills." Jack nods in approval. "Good. And I hope you don't let me down. There is a lot riding on this, no matter what you kids say. You'll be learning how to survive on your own here." His attention is drawn to the laughing bunch in the gathering centre and smirks. "And it looks like some of you'll be needing this." He nods briskly. "Good then." With that, he stands and leaves. As he makes his way to the pilots' cabin, he says, "Strap yourselves in. Let's get a move on." in a strong enough voice to almost get a reflexive response of stubbornness from the rebels of the group. Which, in this group, one way or the other meant all of them. After half of an hour passes, boredom sets in. Monet remains in the back of the Lear, idly staring outside. She thinks that, maybe, if she were to have flown on her own, she could have been there already. Not that she minds their company. Well, she does mind their company. Sometimes, like now, she wants to be alone. That's not bad, is it? No. No it's not. Everett, though, has moved over to the central area and plays scrabble along with the rest of them. They are playing Scrabble (TM) (oh, joy, thinks Jubes), and all of them are actually appearing to enjoy themselves. In the very front seat sits a brooding, worried Jono. But, hey, what's new, right? There is an explosion of laughter around the central area. It doesn't seem to be competitive laughing, either; the kind where everyone gangs up on the current winner with disparaging remarks, only to defend themselves later when it's their turn. Paige takes a tile and stares thoughtfully at it. Glancing up, she says, "Yuh two want ta play 'r somethin'? It's a new game." Three other heads pop up and look around, waiting to see if the offer's actually taken up on. Strangely enough, Jono nods and walks back. //Sure, luv.// He needs something to keep his mind off of his trunk in the bottom of the plane. What if something happened? With a physical shake of his head, he moves over to Jubilee's left, which makes him face Everett. Nice man, Ev is. Monet, though, doesn't respond, and Jubilee gets to make the Obvious Call this time. "Look, there she goes again." Angelo glances over and shrugs, and others pretty much follow that sentiment. "It don't matter the chica is like that. So long as she's fine when the fighters starts, soy muy bueno." Jubilee shakes her head and says, loftily, "We didn't need her help." Everett quickly interjects. "I don't know. You saw what we faced. Those Gene-Nation people and all. The made mince-meat out of those guards." With a nod and a suppressed sigh, Jubilee backs down and returns to the game. She still remembers the blood and killing. The tiles are randomised and taken and set up on those wooden blocks they all have. Game play begins as Paige smiles and sets down 'Quickly'. And that sets the tone of the game. The Grounds --- Sean shrugs. "I dinna know how I could have lost her." Emma nods. "Right. Well, let's start searching." The phone rings at this time and Sean, being nearest, picks it up. "Hello." He listens for a long while and finally says, "Ah'll be right there." Apologetically, he sets down the phone and looks at Emma. "Let me guess," she says. "You've been called away and now it's up to me to find her." Sean nods, smiling a bit, but mostly looking far more concerned. "Aye. 'Twas Charlotte. Charlotte Jones, ye remember, the policewoman. She says she needs me help." Artie and Leech walk up the steps to the Science Hall and look expectantly at Emma. She, on the other hand, sighs in exasperation and says, "Well, Sean, I'll find her as soon as I can. Maybe Charles will have something that could help. Right now, I've got to get these kids over to Westchester." Her look turns hard. "I'm sure the young lady can hold for a couple of hours." Sean suffers a crisis of conscience for a moment. Charlotte was a friend of his, albeit a friend he didn't often get a chance to meet with. She couldn't call him up unless she really needed just what she say --- help. Yet, Penance. The wee lass has put her trust in him and this group; and he, in return, has taken it upon himself to be her patron of sorts. He couldn't leave it to Emma. She wasn't even going to go looking for her yet. He gave a mental sigh and told himself to trust her. Besides, she was better prepared to find Penance with her telepathy. "Aye. She can. I'll send word as soon as I can." Turning, Emma nods and then steps out of the door. "Take the cellular just in case. And I'll let you know when I find something." Sweeping past the kids, and quickly past Leech, she moves to the flashy red Ferrari with the new-smelling leather and the 'I dare you' body. Artie and Leech, in the meanwhile, are quiet, as they sometimes are around the grown ups. The White Queen gestures, and they hop into the almost non-existent back seat of the fast car. An image of the Westchester Mansion appears next to Artie, and he and Leech share a conspiratory look. They'd put up with the White Queen just because she could take them to the mansion where they could see their friends. She really wasn't very nice, though. Grownups --- there's no understanding them. The Island --- "Helloooooooooooooooooooooo, paradise!" Angelo pushes his sunglasses further up his nose with a strand of skin from his finger. Brighter than the gleam off the sands is his smile. Heaven is a myth, reality is all you got, Mama Espinosa always said; but this reality *is* heaven, Angelo thinks. He grabs his bag and heads towards the small group who stands on the edge of the clearing. Holding onto her own bag, Paige keeps up. "This is nice," she says, her thoughts apparent in the understated description of Emma's private island. "Nice? Nice?!" Angelo searches around for a witty come back, but finds none right now. "Well, I suppose it is nice, chica." He glances sidelong at the girl walking beside him. Walking along in the company on her friends, Paige seemed almost carefree. She thinks she can get a better look at the puzzle from up here --- try to discern a little bit more about what was on it, where certain strange pieces fit. "Angelo?" "Mmm?" "Ah ... I was wondering ... " A long pause. "What, chica?" A pause and then, "What do guys think? I mean, you're a guy. What would you do to let a girl know that you're interested in her?" She ponders the question herself and so fails to see his skin become far more grey than normal. "No lo se, Paige. Look, I gotta go help those guys over there with that trunk. I'll meet you out on the trail or something." His words stumble and trip over themselves as he hastily backs away. Paige, though looking at him, fails to notice what has just happened. She has committed a deadly sin. Or, rather, she has gone against one of those intangible group of rules about intra-gender relationships that nobody really has the manual for. Not only did she not notice his hurried leave taking and nervous gestures, she didn't concern herself with the whys. And so, understanding walks away from her, leaving her to ponder and learn by herself. Ironically, she's not the only one. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= The Sunset --- The sun. The cycle of the sun is like the cycles of life. The sun rises, and a new understanding dawns. We can see so much more clearly by the light. The sun continues its ascent, and we almost seem to know ourselves and to know that by which we must, and can, and will stand. Then the sun reaches the apex of its journey and only passes through slowly; in the heat of the moment, waxing slides into waning. Our moments of clarity and wisdom become clouded; whether by storms physical or mental, its far reaching tendrils grab ahold to anything which passes within its grasps. The sky changes colours. Yellow, brilliant, followed by orange and, sometimes, a hint of red. Continuing its descent, the sky turns from light blue to dark blue, and from there to the purple darkness which heralds true night. The sun fades from view. It has set, and one last explosion of colour and light can do nothing to prevent it. Night has come. And so we fall once more into ignorance or unkindness or hate or any one of a million human limitations. The light which led us so clearly before cannot be found. Maybe it has fled. Then, the sun rises once more ... =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=