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nextgenerationmarvel2013-12-29 08:25 pm
pyroprincess) wrote in nextgenerationmarvel2013-12-29 08:25 pm
Everything Falling Apart (Brooke, Marcelo, Mansion Folk)
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.
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.
no subject
Those were the last words Rachel said aloud. Anything else would come mentally. She carefully entered as she was let in. No force, just gentle flowing in. Rachel's eyes were open but unseeing as she floated there.
Her consciousness strengthened the path she used to get in. To help heal it to wholly under Stephanie's control. To fight off tendrils of things wanting to creep back.
I'm here, Stephanie. Together, we'll undo this. Lean on me as much as you need. Hold onto him as firmly as you can.
no subject
I can see where to go. There's ... there's where all my ambitions were played upon. To keep me involved even when I should have known better.
no subject
Follow the path. It's your mind, so your instincts are best here. When it gets hard, stop. That's where we'll work on clearing.
no subject
And then, finally, in his true visage, dull grey eyes hiding an astonishing amount of manipulative cruelty. The blank expression became a cold sneer and he reached out towards Stephanie and the perception of Marcelo.
no subject
Rachel spread a wing out. Her own force was behind the energy she plucked from Stephanie. She was the back up to the... glowing kitten that came out from Stephanie and her mental anchor.
The fiery raptor blinked but didn't question the small protector. She put energy behind it to stop this manipulation from grabbing hold of Stephanie.
no subject
I have a cat. Was Stephanie's mental thought as psi-Sancho proved himself to be surprisingly adept at dealing with horrific mental illusions.
no subject
She kept an eye on the cat dealing with the dead eyed man. The healing worked better when Stephanie or her small, furry avatar in this case did more of the banishing of what Reginald Crane had done. The other manipulations needed more of Rachel's own work.
no subject
... that looks pretty dangerous.
no subject
It is. Not Crane's work. Keep doing what you're doing. If you have to move out of the way, go back the way we came here. Don't come near me at the moment.
Careful about the psychic reverberations the phoenix turned into an armor-clad woman with a hand trowel and a scalpel. She crouched down next to the mental booby trap. The energy for this would come from Rachel herself rather than Stephanie.
no subject
It was at that moment that Rachel would notice a small red dot settling on her.
no subject
The trowel turned into a shield since brute force was not the call for the day and defenses were. She put the shield up in front of her as she checked behind her on Stephanie. Seeing the person whose mind she was in doing fine, she turned back to whatever was going to hit her and probably hit her hard.
no subject
More shadowy visages started coalescing out of seemingly nowhere. The Marauders. All of them, by the looks of it.
"Doc should've put up a sign. This bitch's brain is his now." A mentally-projected Arclight sneered, sending a seismic wave rolling towards Rachel, Stephanie, Marcelo and the projected Sancho.
no subject
Well, this confirms Sinister. Freaking family stalker. Pull back, Stephanie. We've done enough for today.
She would rather not turn Miss Shaw into a vegetable taking out the mental booby traps. As much as she was loathe to admit it, Rachel needed help. Someone with more scalpel precision.
no subject
"This is going to take awhile, isn't it?" She'd certainly suspected it might before, but it seemed clear that it would now.
But progress had been made, and would continue to be made.
no subject
"Yes, I'm afraid this will take awhile. We'll keep chipping at it, but I'm going to need some help with what Sinister's done." That it was Sinister and who she felt would be the greatest help did not make her feel any better. She frowned momentarily before going into a slight smile. "Though you are doing wonderfully against what Crane has done. We'll pick this up again tomorrow."