Everything Falling Apart (Brooke, Marcelo, Mansion Folk)

[pyroprincess]

WHEN: One week after the Hellfire Club soiree
WHAT: Stephanie is a complete mess, guys.
WHO: Could be a variety of folks, honestly. This is just laying the fields of awful.
WHERE: The Mansion.

The first day she'd just been angry and confused at Marcelo for insulting her friend, a man who had done so much to help the family. She'd felt a strange feeling of pride in her father, and she'd wanted more than anything to keep him on that path he'd drawn out for himself. She just figured she needed a night of time out, and Marcelo would apologize and she'd probably feel like she was a bit too hard on him. He'd always done nothing but support her, and he was probably wary. And it probably wasn't too bad that he was wary. Her father had hurt her in the past, he really had.

The second day, she'd called Xavier's and, revealing as little as possible, indicated that she needed, if possible, to stay with them for a time. They'd been supportive enough. She felt a little bit better, she swore, though she still couldn't quite reach out and call Marcelo or Reginald. In fact, Crane had called. The picture of solicitude. He came off a little cool and reserved to people that didn't know him, but he'd always been warmly supportive of her. She'd convinced a very skeptical board that she should succeed her father. It was only right and natural. Sebastian was a king, and they could all agree she had the talents. With Sebastian returned of course, that complicated things, but Crane had quietly let it be known that he expected Sebastian would eventually hand the reins to her. Managing the global Hellfire Club was a full-time job, more than, and Shaw Industries would be in good hands.

She'd listened to the message, but she hadn't called him back. Something felt wrong and she swore the voice seemed more cold and distant on that messaging machine than it ever did in life.

Naturally, they didn't believe that at the school. Marcelo had contacted Tessa- no, not Tessa, Sage now, and she'd contacted the others. She was understanding enough when they spoke to her, but she wasn't fully convinced. It didn't quite add up. They hadn't been there. They didn't know Reginald. And yet, he had sounded cold and distant and almost inhuman on the phone.

The third day, she'd felt numb, so numb that she'd actually intentionally nicked herself while shaving her legs. It hurt. So at least there was sensation, if there wasn't feeling. There was blood too, so she was actually alive. Everything else felt so strange and greyed-out, though. She couldn't bring herself to cry, even though she knew she'd probably feel better if she did. She only spoke to people when she was spoken to, or when she absolutely needed to talk.

On the fourth day, she'd asked to participate in one of the training simulations, to keep her skills sharp if nothing else. She suspected Logan agreed to it because that's how he would deal with trauma or pain or frustration. It had felt good at first, distracting, but then a horrifying inchoate rage had crept up and they'd had to shut down the lesson, and then shut her down, before she either destroyed the Danger Room or killed someone. Despite the hard-light technology, there were still some ugly burnmarks and even molten gashes in the walls of the Room itself. When spoken to about it later, she had no recollection of anything other than a rage so all-consuming that it blanked out all sense of reality.

She'd spent the fifth day in a sobbing mess, refusing to leave her room, apologizing profusely and apparently sending out such disturbing emotional messages that they'd actually gone in and ensured nothing sharp or poisonous was in her room. What she hadn't told them was that she wasn't going to kill herself, because firstly, she felt like she was already mostly dead, and secondly, because she didn't deserve the peace that would come with that. She'd betrayed everyone she cared about.

It was on the sixth day that she'd formally given permission to look inside her mind. What they found was a complete scabbed mess, parts twisted in a way that was not compatable with telepathy (much more insidious and cancerous) , but also evidence of finer telepathic manipulations. Ones that could not easily be undone, even by Rachel. One that had clearly been slipped into her mind like a computer virus. Others that had been slipped in, despite an anti-telepathic implant that, if removed and looked at, would show signs to be calibrated to allow telepathic manipulations from a single individual. Sabotaged, perhaps, or specifically designed for that purpose?

It was a week later, before she was able to contact Marcelo again- shamefully, it was by text message, because she didn't trust herself to talk. She needed to say it before some insidious programming broke out of her head and onto the phone.

I'm sorry. I love you, but I'm not myself. You were right about everything. I have to stay here until my mind is sorted out. Please visit soon, with Sancho.

I'm so sorry, Marcelo. Please forgive me.

Comments

[hellfire_empath]

There was a basket loaded with carbs and sparkling alcohol, BluRays of every Audrey Hepburn hit, Diptyque candles for aromatherapy, and one of Brooke's favourite cashmere throw blankets, all for Stephanie.

She's even brought along her favourite mutant manicurist/pedicurist from Saks, Tanya Roberts.

Brooke knocked on the door, waiting for admittance. It simply wouldn't do to barge in on Stephanie in her current state of mind.

[nohoundsallowed]

Rachel rubbed her temples momentarily. She hoped today would go better than the previous ones. Her hands dropped away as she huffed out a soft breath. Her schedule had been cleared for the day. She would fit in what she needed to if and when Stephanie wanted a break.

She knocked gently on the door and waited to see if Stephanie would answer. If not, she would walk in, but it was more helpful to Stephanie if the distraught young woman answered the door.

[vesper_verde]

Marcelo has almost wept at getting the text message. Nearly a week of pretending everything was fine to the outside world and spending his time inside the penthouse not really living in it. He played with Sancho and mostly kept to the third bedroom. The rest of the large domicile looked not lived in since they had left for the party.

It had been rough since the first night back. When the alcohol he had drank the night of the Hellfire Club party reacted with his pain meds. He had vomited and smacked his head against the side of the bathtub. He spent the night sleeping in the tub after he had washed his suit off the easy way.

He had started going back to work early. If for nothing else than to work with Sage to figure out how to take Sebastian Shaw down. He was trying hard to hold himself together during this meeting. He managed to last almost to the end before he excused himself. He went back to his office to pull himself together and cut out early.

He needed to go home to grab Sancho, shave a week's worth of growth off his face, and dress to impress. She had said she loved him, but he desperately needed to hear it. To make sure it was true. If he had to dress to impress to do it, he would.

After loading up Sancho and all the supplies so the cat could stay with Stephanie, he stopped to pick up flowers. He got a dozen roses as he called Xavier's to let them know he was coming.

Even if he got there and Stephanie turned him away, he needed someone to take the cat and maybe the flowers to Stephanie. Whatever it took. He would wait. And he would get more reason to take down the people who had harmed her most.

His hands were shaking by the time he got to the school. It took him a few minutes once he was parked to get himself together. He grabbed the pet carrier and the flowers.

Here went everything.