|
|
Post by Typhoid on Sept 5, 2007 20:44:32 GMT -5
((After Breakfast After Magnet Man))
Typhoid woke in her dormitory that night, feeling like her skin was crawling. Getting out of bed was almost next to useless, but she did anyways, falling to the floor when her stomach lurched, getting back up again and forcing herself to go outside and onto the grounds. The crawling feeling turned to pain as she walked, different from her normal feeling, as if something was scratching on the inside of her, trying to get out. Out on the grass she sank down to her knees, grateful to be outside while part of her still frantically tried to find an alter in her mind, any of her alters, to help her try to regain control over her power, but they were all silent....except for Mary, who goaded the pain on her skin as if it gave her joy to do so. Were Typhoid still cognizant, she would have said that it probably did.
Ty curled into a ball on the wet grass, the power that shimmered around her making the grass ash. It had not been like this before, neither the pain or the loss of control, not since she'd come back from running away to the tunnels, and it was all she could do to curl in on herself and hope it touched no one else.
|
|
|
|
Post by Pietro Maximoff on Sept 5, 2007 20:54:40 GMT -5
::Pietro had been guarding Wanda in her sleep, once again. He had been angry after the fight today with that stranger. There was a gun under the mattress, although he had not told Wanda that. He had simply told her there had been a fight. She awoke in the middle of the night, offering to take a watch shift, as he hadn't slept since the night before last. He refused the offer, energized from the fight, and knew he would not find sleep. He agreed to take a walk on the grounds, so that he was not rigid in front of their door.
His jaw ached mildly, the same way his legs and neck did, all bruised. His back in more pain from the impact against the car. These past two days had been nothing short of terrible, and Pietro sincerely wished that whatever came in the near future, it would not be another fight. He wore his usual trousers and shirt, with his boots and a light jacket to help cushion his back.
As soon as he stepped onto the grounds, he saw a radiant display of light further off in the grounds. Not scarlet like Wanda's, but green...like Rossignol's. He broke into a sprint. If she was in pain, or Mary had taken control of her, she might need his help. He would have been at her side, but he saw the grass around her ashed. Unable to make a force field, he stopped at the edge of the ashed grass. Concern in his face and voice.:: "Rossignol? It's Pietro."
|
|
|
|
Post by Typhoid on Sept 5, 2007 21:03:07 GMT -5
She recognized the voice, but only barely. Shaking, she uncurled her head only enough to say "Hurts." Her power brightened briefly, and then seemed to travel into her, the green shimmer disappearing but her pain doubling. It was better then hurting someone.
|
|
|
|
Post by Pietro Maximoff on Sept 5, 2007 21:08:55 GMT -5
::As soon as the green brilliance disappeared, Pietro crossed the last distance between them and knelt at her side. Thinking of her in that sort of agony pained him as well. Wasn't Mary supposed to ease this for her? Hadn't that been their agreement?
He wracked his brain for a way to help her, them remembered the conversation on their date. How touch helped to ease the pain. No thoughts to his own safety; he knew she would not hurt him. And if she had no control, let his fingertips become ash. He shifted so he lay beside her, and placed his hands on her face, fingers stroking her cheeks in a soothing manner. Before he did anything complicated, he needed to be sure she knew he would not harm her.:: "I'm here, Rossignol. I will not let you be hurt."
|
|
|
|
Post by Typhoid on Sept 5, 2007 21:16:49 GMT -5
The touch made her jaw unclench, but only slightly, and she stared at him with recognition, though it was pained. This was someone she trusted; it made her bite back her power with as much strength as she had left. "Don't know what happened..."
|
|
|
|
Post by Pietro Maximoff on Sept 5, 2007 21:26:57 GMT -5
::One of Pietro's hands slid from her cheek to her hair, stroking back the damp locks from her forehead. She recognized him, which was a start. His other hand slid down her neck caressing the flesh. Slowly at first, then faster, dozens of soft touches on her skin in seconds. He needed to calm her, to reassure her. When Wanda or he were upset, they spoke in German, sometimes in Romany. Native tongue helped bring pleasant memories. He had been studying Italian, just as he promised. He had wanted to surprise her, but she needed the comfort now. In a soft, low tone he spoke, as he continued to touch.:: "Non ti preoccupare, Rossignol. Ti amo."
|
|
|
|
Post by Typhoid on Sept 5, 2007 21:40:18 GMT -5
She gravitated towards the touch, as she did any other time, but more so now, moving closer, eyes closed against the pain. It ebbed and flowed now, moved away in waves at each touch only to come back, less strong but still persistent. Her eyes opened when she heard her native language, spoken in Pietro's voice. "Non è stato mai questo male."
|
|
|
|
Post by Pietro Maximoff on Sept 5, 2007 21:47:25 GMT -5
::She moved closer to him, which Pietro took as a good sign. His hands moved all over her body, feather-light, soothing touches, anywhere he could reach. He wanted to soothe her, to bring her comfort. Hearing her voice speak her native tongue he had two thoughts. The first that she was taking comfort from him; the second that Italian was more pleasant than his father tongue. He spoke soothingly back to her.:: "Aiuterò la marca esso meglio."
|
|
|
|
Post by Typhoid on Sept 5, 2007 21:56:36 GMT -5
Typhoid didn't respond, not for a long moment, her eyes clenching shut again. The pain was leaving her slowly, but her power was not, and instead of affecting the world around it, it was making her ill. Her eyes reopened, muscles still taut and shaking. Very slowly, her hair began to turn from red to a light red to blonde to white. "Come voi...?" It was all she could get out of the question.
|
|
|
|
Post by Pietro Maximoff on Sept 5, 2007 22:09:28 GMT -5
::Pietro understood the part of the question she managed to speak; it brought pain to her to get the words out, he surmised. "How will you?" How will he help her? By touching her, speaking softly to her, that was all he had the power to do. It might be enough; he had to try. Fingers ran down her arms, back up to her hair. He bent his head, brushed his lips across hers briefly, before kissing a trail over her cheek. Not erotic, comforting; as he might with family. He spoke between kisses.:: "Tutto farò posso."
|
|
|
|
Post by Typhoid on Sept 5, 2007 22:19:44 GMT -5
Her arms moved to him, she brought herself minutely closer, curling into him as opposed to curling into herself. The words and the touch were working, slowly, and the calmer she became, the less power she had to hold back, an old emotional control trigger she thought she was rid of long ago. Her hair was entirely white, and her breathing still came up short. She had, by not using her power, made herself ill, and a fever broke out on her skin. "Difetto della Mary," she said, her voice strained.
|
|
|
|
Post by Pietro Maximoff on Sept 5, 2007 22:30:19 GMT -5
::Pietro wrapped his arm around her, letting her curl against him. That hand worked around her back, touching her neck, her arm, while his other hand worked the other side. His lips softly caressing her flesh, too light to have a taste of her. There would be other times for that. It was Mary's fault; she confirmed his suspicions. When this ended, when she was calmer, he would ask if she still wanted to be indebted to that other personality. If she changed her mind, he would take her for help. She should not have to suffer so.
The moonlight reigned down on them, catching her hair. No longer bright red, as it had been, it was as white as his. Was that a side effect? He would not ask, not now.:: "Non pensare di lei adesso. Pensare di me."
|
|
|
|
Post by Typhoid on Sept 5, 2007 22:43:25 GMT -5
She listened, his words and touch comforting, the level of power she had to hold back receding, as Mary found a new way to use her abilities- causing them to make her ill. She reached up a hand, ran it along Pietro's jawline, her pain next to gone for the moment, but she shivered even in the warm air. "My power's making me s-sick," she said, switching back to English, pain no longer clouding her thoughts as much. "....it's happened before..."
|
|
|
|
Post by Pietro Maximoff on Sept 6, 2007 0:32:34 GMT -5
::Pietro's instinct was the flinch from the touch to his jaw; it still ached. However, he kept calm, still, let her touch wherever she wanted. Feeling her shiver, he removed his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. If she was ill, he should get her to the basement. Yet she said it had happened before, and he would take his cues from her.:: "How do I make you well?"
|
|
|
|
Post by Typhoid on Sept 6, 2007 20:28:50 GMT -5
Her fingers were light, barely brushing his skin, and her hand dropped to rest between the two of them when Pietro's jacket wrapped around her. She still shivered, her teeth chattering. "Last time...lasted 2 days...I almost killed....3 people..."
|
|
