|
|
Home
|
|
Disclaimer: Marvel's characters are Marvel's, but they don't own me. Not yet, anyway. Hah! No money is being made and no harm is meant. If yer gonna archive it, ask me first. Author's Note: I leaped up at four in the morning to write this out on a crummy borrowed laptop because my husband was playing Tie Fighter like a demon on the "real" computer. It all started when I couldn't sleep and I jokingly challenged myself to come up with a fangirl story in which the main character got NO lucky breaks and the established characters acted like intelligent human beings for once...and I found to my amused dismay that making a fangirl story under these strict rules is, frankly, impossible. <G> That, and the fact that someone recently challenged me to do something like this. Heh heh heh. In other words, this is NOT what you think it is. Read on... |
|
Strangers In The Night.(So Close and Yet...) by Kielle |
|
|
"Well. This is typical." I don't know why I said that, exactly. Because if there was one thing this certainly WASN'T, it was "typical." But I said it anyway, the false bravado breaking the chill moonlit silence. At least it wasn't so cold that my breath steamed on the air; I was, after all, dressed for a warm California night. And this probably wasn't California. It was cold enough, anyway. I hugged my bare arms to my chest and wished that I'd been wearing shoes. Considering my usual sleeping habits, I was lucky to be wearing ANYTHING. On the bright side, it all looked peaceful enough. The stars and moon were incredibly bright and clear to a girl accustomed to squinting through smog thick enough to slice up and serve on sandwiches. No streetlights for miles, then. I peered thoughtfully up at the brick and glass buildings, then around at the planters and sidewalks and the occasional piece of statuary. Every window was dark. A research facility, perhaps, or a college? I wasn't quite ready to believe this yet. As a habitual sleepwalker and nighttalker I was subject to some pretty vivid dreams. I'd had my share of waking up to find that I'd done something really embarrassing that my husband was going to be laughing about for at least the next forty-eight hours. This was probably going to turn out to be something along those lines... I let myself believe that for all of ten seconds before sighing and admitting that if this was a dream, I was certifiably insane. I don't think it's possibly to dream that your feet are freezing... Still, though. I bit my lip and picked a direction that looked like it might lead towards the front entry to this place and started walking. It was entirely unbelievable. Ever since I was a kid, I had this superstition that if I went to the back of my closet at a precise magical time (12:34 or 10:22, don't ask) and really, TRULY believed that it was a gateway to a magical place, it would be. I don't mean "believed" like "pretended," I mean BELIEVED, B-E-L-I-E-V-E-D, like how you believe in your next step or your next breath. I was never quite able to achieve that state of blindly confident nirvana, so I never got to take that little trip to Fantasia that I'd always wanted. Every now and then when I'm getting ready for bed, though, I spot the "magic time" glowing ruby on my alarm clock and I can't resist giving the back of my closet one little push. Just for good luck, like guiltily sneaking a little rub at that old Aladdin-esque lamp you find at an antique store. Admit it, you've done it, haven't you? Only this time, it had worked. This had better not turn out to be one of Chris's killer roleplaying games, I thought tiredly, rubbing my eyes at the thought. This IS how they usually start out. Always said the boy was on the verge of tearing reality to tatters... Oh god. I can't believe I'm thinking this.
...zzzhmmmmwha?...g'way fr'st... *Cassidy, I am NOT playing this game with you again. Wake up. Now. We have an intruder.* Sean Cassidy shot straight up in bed, instantly awake. "Why didn't ye say so in the first place? You wake up the boys, I'll go rouse the..." *Not necessary.* The mental voice was as calm and unruffled as fresh snow. *I've already shut down the alarms and made a telepathic sweep of the area. No supervillains or mysterious St. Croix relatives this time, just some confused young woman--* Sean was already into his jeans and pulling his Celtics jacket on over a grubby shirt which he'd found draped over the end of his bed. One shirt-tail stuck haphazardly out in back. "Mutant? Alien? Ninja?" *No.* She sounded exasperated now. *Cassidy, for goodness sake, go back to bed. It's nothing -- I just knew that you'd throw a fit in the morning if I didn't tell you before you found it on the logs yourself. It's happened before, back during summer break when the school was public. A lost hitchhiker, perhaps. I'll just give her a 'nudge' towards the main road and the problem's solved.* "That easily?" *That easily. I'll even make sure that someone gets the urge to be a good samaritan and pick her up, how about that?* Sean raked a hand though his orange-red hair, roostering it up even more than before. "All right, Emma. But I'll want ta be watchin' ta make sure tha' the lass does indeed leave." There was no reply to that. With a sigh, the man known in some circles as "Banshee" headed up towards the dorm roof.
Maybe I can hitchhike to civilization from here. I paused at the thought. I'd never hitchhiked in my life -- I'd pretty much had it drilled into my head by my protective mother that hitchhiking was about as dangerous as putting a gun to your head and pulling the trigger... Then I reached the gate (open? lucky break) and took one look at the country road which stretched away over gently rolling forestland for as far as the eye could see. Guess I'm gonna be hitchhiking, I thought glumly. I'd be lucky if ANY cars came down this road, let alone picked me up.
I'd been seated on a low brick verge, idly drumming my heels against a metal plaque that I couldn't read in the dark. Surprised at the sudden appearance of a potential rescuer, I hastily jumped down and scuffled over to the car through a carpet of fallen leaves before the driver could change their mind. I was relieved to see that the driver was a middle-aged woman with a toddler asleep in a car seat in the back. I mean, sure, a woman with a baby COULD be a serial killer, but what are the odds? She was already rolling down the passenger-side window. "Hey there! Where you going?" "Anywhere with a McDonalds and a police station," I replied, trying NOT to sound like I'd rehearsed the answer for twenty minutes. Which I had. Frankly, I didn't even know what COUNTRY I was in and I was just relieved to hear that she spoke English. The door unlocked. "I can do that. What happened to you?" I considered weaving an elaborate lie involving kidnapping and an inheritance and then scrapped it. "I...don't know. I know this sounds weird, but I swear: I can't remember how I got here, I don't even know where here is, and I don't drink so that's not it. That's why I need to go to the authorities." "The authorities"? Oh, THAT'S corny... I don't know if she believed me or not, but she let me settle into the passenger seat without a complaint. It was MUCH more comfortable than the brick planter which had been indented into my butt for the last half-hour or so, and my feet were thrilled at the sensation of carpet as opposed to cement. The car begin to roll forward, turning back towards the road. As it did so, I took one last curious look out the window at the darkened campus -- just in time to catch the writing on the bronze gate-side plaque as it gleamed dully in the car's headlights. Xavier's
School For Gifted Children There was more, a motto and an address, but the glare of headlights was only a brief sweep and even I can't read that fast. We were already past and accelerating away, towards Boston I suppose. I sat back in the car seat, stunned, blinking slowly behind my glasses as it sank in. Well. What do you know? I didn't even consider asking the nice lady to turn around and take me back. I don't know why. It just...didn't seem like a good idea at the time. But as the moon-silvered buildings of the infamous school faded into the darkness behind me, this one funny little thought kept running through my head: Oh, brilliant, Newcomb. There goes your one shot at living out your very own fangirl story. |
|
|
DISCLAIMER! Since this is a site featuring Fan-Fiction and Fan-Art which is the use of other peoples property this disclaimer applies to all pages on the site: Any Characters, Magazines and Trademarks mentioned or used are the sole property of their respective owners. Marvel, DC or any other publishing entity does _not_ endorse and is _not_ responsible for any of the contents on these pages. The stories, characters and images appearing on the site are with the above mentioned exceptions owned by their respective creators and is used with their permission. |
