|
|
Post by Pietro Maximoff on Sept 25, 2007 22:02:03 GMT -5
::It had been three weeks since that cursed beach vacation. With the exception of his birthday and a few scattered hours of pleasant conversation with loved ones, it had been a terrible stretch of time; the worst period he could remember. Those weeks had been marred by constant battles and other trauma: the discovery that the shape-shifter had stolen the tiger cub's identity, the false labor scare, Magneto's return, the fight with the man in the trench coat, Typhoid's power surge, the hasty retreat from the lamaze class and the resulting mob and argument with his Uncle who had held him still, the bank robbery and their defeat there, that infuriating conversation with the shape-shifter where he had injured his hand, his encounter with Mary on the roof...the list went on.
He barely ate, he barely slept, and he was constantly moving. He ran on empty at this point, physically and emotionally weary, unable to let his guard down. Wanda had offered to take guard one night, but he had not wanted to burden her. Rossignol had offered to let him take naps with her, but he vibrated during nightmares and had constantly suffered them since his premonition in those few hours he slept.
Pietro internalized every trauma, did not speak of them, reacted with anger at first and then behaved as though nothing had happened. Still he bore the scars, the bruises, and the anxiety held his heart in an iron grip. He felt as though he might explode.
Now he zipped around the grounds, tending to his afternoon security sweep, but his heart was simply not in it.::
|
|
|
|
Post by Mystique on Sept 25, 2007 22:15:01 GMT -5
Mystique walked outside with a book under her arm, and a bottle of water in hand. She carefully picked her way across the grounds; eight months pregnant, it was harder for her to be coordinated. She was planning on going over to the side patio to read in the sun. There was a patio/lounge chair that had a great cushion, for her butt and back. It was very comfortable.
The temperature was nice, and she preferred to be outside on days when it wasn't too hot.
Looking over, she thought she saw a blur, at the far corner of her vision, and on the edge of the grounds. Without a doubt, she knew it to be Pietro. In the past week, she had seen him doing nothing but run and do hard, manual labor. When was he going to take a break? It seemed he was constantly paranoid, on edge. If she just ignored him, she wouldn't set him off, and he wouldn't punch anything. Hopefully. She continued to head towards the patio, silent.
|
|
|
|
Post by Pietro Maximoff on Sept 25, 2007 22:21:37 GMT -5
::Pietro continued to zip around the grounds, starting down at the gates where he hovered. He trusted Uncle's ability to alter memory, but one could never been too careful. Nobody was there, and he moved on, ran up the path towards the main grounds. He ran through the stables, which he had shoveled that morning, through the gardens which he had weeded yet again, past the trees whose branches he had begun to trim for the coming winter months, around the mansion and up towards the lake, then back again. He pushed himself further, forced himself to move faster. He would reach that bliss when he ran, where nothing could bother him, nothing could catch him. That place where the past three weeks would be left behind in the dust, if only he pushed himself more. The grass beneath his boots turned up as he ran.::
|
|
|
|
Post by Mystique on Sept 25, 2007 22:27:46 GMT -5
Now actually sitting in the chair, Mystique had just settled when she heard a gust of wind, and saw grass being kicked up. Pietro was going faster, if he was kicking up the grass now. She had no idea of how fast he could actually go, but his mutation was indeed interesting. If only they were on good terms; she'd love to ask him about it, if she didn't know the reaction he would give in response to her curiosity.
|
|
|
|
Post by Pietro Maximoff on Sept 25, 2007 22:38:19 GMT -5
::Pietro ran over the lake, pushed himself further, broke the sound barrier. It wasn't fast enough; he could still make out the world around him, seemingly frozen; could still feel his exhaustion. He pushed on, faster still, nearing one-thousand miles per hour. The grass beneath his boots died as he circled the grounds again, following that same route.::
|
|
|
|
Post by Mystique on Sept 25, 2007 22:44:47 GMT -5
Suddenly the trees at the edge of the grounds whipped around, as if an invisible force were willing them to suddenly jerk horribly in the opposite direction of the wind. This was insane; Pietro was going too fast for her to even see, or hear. This was getting ridiculous, why was he going so fast? There was no reason to. She set her book down and stood up, watching.
|
|
|
|
Post by Pietro Maximoff on Sept 25, 2007 22:58:58 GMT -5
::It was not enough; it was never enough. Nothing was as it should be. Pietro should be in Ostrov with Wanda; Uncle should be sane and single; Magneto should have died in his last war. He and Wanda should be happy together, far away; they had left this all behind...
He was coming undone; the memories, the fears all pressed against his mind. No matter how hard he ran, he would never escape this damnation. He thought of Rossignol. If Mary were to take control, but not leave her body, there was nothing he could do to stop her; she would be lost to him. He thought of Ororo, downstairs in the medical laboratory, injured because he had not been able to save her. He thought of Wanda; if he slept, Magneto would kill her. He had gotten close three weeks ago, because Pietro had not been by her side. He had neglected them, failed them all.
Then he was transported backwards in his memory, to another time when he pushed himself so hard, tried to prove himself useful. When he had thought himself worthless because he could not slow himself. Then, he had ran and let his mouth run too, going at the speed he was destined for. It had been poetry then, but he remembered so little. Just one poem in its entirety. He spoke quickly, his words left behind, reaching the ears of others long after he ran by.:: "SomesaytheworldwillendinfiresomesayiniceFromwhatIvetastedofdesireIholdwiththosewhofavorfire..."
|
|
|
|
Post by Mystique on Sept 25, 2007 23:02:59 GMT -5
"Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice, from what I've tasted of desire..." His words were fast, but Mystique had good ears, and for the most part, was able to find out what he meant. He was going too fast, spouting off nonsense. Was something wrong?
"Pietro!" She shouted, trying to let her voice reach him.
|
|
|
|
Post by Pietro Maximoff on Sept 25, 2007 23:06:39 GMT -5
"ButifIhadtoperishtwiceIthinkIveknownenoughofhate..." ::Pietro's words continued as his head whipped around at the call of his name, barely audible above the wind which lapped at his ears. Distracted by thoughts and his sudden search for the voice, he paid little attention to the space before him. That he collided with a tree should not have been surprising; that it fell was a result of his speed. That he fell was a result of the impact, and that he did not rise a result of the past three weeks.::
|
|
|
|
Post by Mystique on Sept 25, 2007 23:18:48 GMT -5
A loud thud reached her ears, and she saw Pietro collide with the tree. Or rather, she saw him as he came to an abrupt stop, hitting the tree. When he fell over, he did not get back up. Oh god, she thought. Something was wrong.
She got up from her chair and hurried over to him, as fast as she was able. Going to his side, she noticed his eyes were open, but he wasn't focusing on her or anything in particular. "Pietro," she said softly, kneeling (with some difficulty) by his side.
|
|
|
|
Post by Pietro Maximoff on Sept 25, 2007 23:23:56 GMT -5
::The wind cushioned him, which helped to survive high-speed impact, but it did not spare him injury. Scratches and bruises began to appear on his face and beneath his shirt. Pietro had burned holes in the bottom of his boots, but he was unaware. There had only been speed, then the pain of impact, and finally nothing. His eyes stared up, blinking so fast that they appeared to not blink at all.::
|
|
|
|
Post by Mystique on Sept 25, 2007 23:28:22 GMT -5
She was worried now; there were some big bruises on his face, and from how low his shirt was, his chest. He hit the tree so fast, there could be internal damage, possibly a few bruised ribs, etc. He didn't look like he was blinking, either. Just staring straight up.
"Pietro, I'm going to call for help," she told him, planning on seeking out Charles mentally.
|
|
|
|
Post by Pietro Maximoff on Sept 25, 2007 23:30:54 GMT -5
::The meaning of her words made it through the fog that settled in, and he shook his head. He did not want anyone; he did not need anyone.:: "Nicht."
|
|
|
|
Post by Mystique on Sept 25, 2007 23:34:32 GMT -5
Her eyes immediately darted to his mouth as he spoke in German. Even though she wasn't fluent, she knew the meaning of his words. "Pietro, you could have internal damage from the collision," she said carefully.
|
|
|
|
Post by Pietro Maximoff on Sept 25, 2007 23:36:50 GMT -5
::Awareness eluded him, and neither vision nor recognition had returned. Pain settled over him, but he refused the argument. Pietro found his English and stayed with it.:: "I don't care."
|
|
