Post by Typhoid on May 16, 2011 20:46:43 GMT -5
((This is open for those who might have access to the Danger Room or have a reason to be in the basement))
It sat there, taunting her. She almost hated it, until the rational part of her mind decided it was inane of her to hate an inanimate object. She hated what it represented: lack of control.
Her instincts had dominated the use of her power, as long as she could remember. They developed wildly, affected negatively, and were held at bay only temporarily before striking out again. With them came a sense of the beyond, as well; a sense of knowing that she could go farther in so many ways if she tried, and a sense of anger that she couldn’t because others prevented it. The very existence of other people around her prevented it, never mind their expectations or assumptions about her. Her power depended on its range and explosiveness for strength, not necessarily on precision or finesse. Use too much, things or people dissolved. Use too little, all it created was a pretty glow. There was rarely an in between, and trying to create a middle ground often harmed anything around her. She could never so much as levitate a sheet of paper without it turning to ash a moment later. And at the moment, that pissed her off to no end.
And so now she sat in the middle of the only room she knew she could safely do this exercise in without doing much harm, staring at a simulated wooden block measuring three inches on all sides, and it was SHAKING, goddammit, but there was nothing she could do to make it LIFT.
Naturally, at that thought, it exploded into ash. She made a low noise of frustration. The room was set to automatically create another, and a new wooden block appeared. The floor around her was smeared with old ash, remnants of the exercise she’d been conducting for the past hour.
It wasn’t ash, technically. That was just a nice term for it, because explaining it every time would take too long. Her powers separated anything into component parts and then caused accelerated degradation; converting them into a gray substance she could only call ash but was really a reduced form of whatever mineral it had been. Nothing really burned, per se. Glass became sand and that sand was separated down into individual mineral bits so small that no one could pick out a single grain and see it under a microscope. Metal was separated out into its individual types and then those parts became flakes of carbon. Plants, fruit, or flowers rotted and then dissolved. Nothing was immune to it. Even when she didn’t WANT to destroy the stupid…whatever it was, she still did. And reversing the damage she caused was an entirely different process that had nothing to do with simply lifting things off the ground. It was all the more galling that she knew she could do it but simply didn’t know how. And she wasn’t going to have anyone standing around watching her fail time and again. So…it was back to the wooden block.
It sat there, taunting her. She almost hated it, until the rational part of her mind decided it was inane of her to hate an inanimate object. She hated what it represented: lack of control.
Her instincts had dominated the use of her power, as long as she could remember. They developed wildly, affected negatively, and were held at bay only temporarily before striking out again. With them came a sense of the beyond, as well; a sense of knowing that she could go farther in so many ways if she tried, and a sense of anger that she couldn’t because others prevented it. The very existence of other people around her prevented it, never mind their expectations or assumptions about her. Her power depended on its range and explosiveness for strength, not necessarily on precision or finesse. Use too much, things or people dissolved. Use too little, all it created was a pretty glow. There was rarely an in between, and trying to create a middle ground often harmed anything around her. She could never so much as levitate a sheet of paper without it turning to ash a moment later. And at the moment, that pissed her off to no end.
And so now she sat in the middle of the only room she knew she could safely do this exercise in without doing much harm, staring at a simulated wooden block measuring three inches on all sides, and it was SHAKING, goddammit, but there was nothing she could do to make it LIFT.
Naturally, at that thought, it exploded into ash. She made a low noise of frustration. The room was set to automatically create another, and a new wooden block appeared. The floor around her was smeared with old ash, remnants of the exercise she’d been conducting for the past hour.
It wasn’t ash, technically. That was just a nice term for it, because explaining it every time would take too long. Her powers separated anything into component parts and then caused accelerated degradation; converting them into a gray substance she could only call ash but was really a reduced form of whatever mineral it had been. Nothing really burned, per se. Glass became sand and that sand was separated down into individual mineral bits so small that no one could pick out a single grain and see it under a microscope. Metal was separated out into its individual types and then those parts became flakes of carbon. Plants, fruit, or flowers rotted and then dissolved. Nothing was immune to it. Even when she didn’t WANT to destroy the stupid…whatever it was, she still did. And reversing the damage she caused was an entirely different process that had nothing to do with simply lifting things off the ground. It was all the more galling that she knew she could do it but simply didn’t know how. And she wasn’t going to have anyone standing around watching her fail time and again. So…it was back to the wooden block.
