"Christmas Miracle" -- Lithe

“Wow, quel slut.” Hugh remarked, and I punched him in the arm. He scowled. “It’s true.”
I had just told him what happened - in a thick voice, nonetheless. My tongue was still thawing. Undoubtedly, I would be adding Rogue to my “officially pissed” list. Hugh continued to shake his head, but said nothing more.
“Well?” I prompted.
“Well, what?” He replied, exasperated with me. “If you go around acting slutty I’m going to say ‘quel slut.’ That’s it. That’s all.”
“But Hugh…” I whined, holding Dora’s forepaws and dancing her on my stomach. She purred, and I mirrored the sound. Do kittens have retard sexual instincts? Five minutes passed, in silence.
Hugh sighed, knowing he couldn’t keep quiet. “Why did you do it, Sophie?”
I blew hair out of my eyes with a huff of air. I felt a small pressure on my stomach and Dora had leapt onto Hugh’s shoulder. I shrugged, which is hard to do lying down. “She called me a slut,” I said quietly, realizing how defensive I could get.
Hugh laughed, a flat-out belly laugh. “I’ve called you a slut twice in the last ten minutes, and you didn’t mack on my boyfriend.”
I grinned reluctantly. “I danced with your cat,” I offered feebly. Hugh made a small propulsion and let it pop in front of my face.
“Apologize to Rogue, she’ll understand,” Hugh said, “It’s not like she hasn’t dealt with your shit before.” He was right. In the first few months I was at the school I’d wake up forgetting a lot about who or what I was and tried beating the shit out of her. It took at least three of these incidents before realizing that if I tried hurting her, she could kill me. Plus, the firework burns from Jubilee just weren’t becoming.
“Do I have to?” I moaned, rolling off the bed and onto my feet.
“I won’t talk to you again until you do,” Hugh replied.
I stuck out my lower lip. “Then I guess we’ll never speak again.”
I smiled. A blank look crossed Hugh’s face and he turned around, opening his commerce textbook and completely ignoring me.
I waited for a minute before saying, “Well, fuck you then,” and leaving the room. I could distinctly hear him laugh as I stepped onto the elevator.

“Wake up, it’s Christmas,” Rogue said gruffly, thwacking me with a pillow. Christ. I had had the heart to mumble an “I’m sorry”, the least she could do is let me borrow her leather jacket now and again, like before. True to his word, Hugh hadn’t spoken a word to me until I had two witnesses attesting to the apology.
I pulled the covers over my head. Last Christmas at the Xavier Institute was a complete bust. To be truthful, Gordo handknitted me a nice green scarf and Hugh gave me an espresso maker, but it was a pretty empty holiday. Especially since so many kids went home and enjoyed it with their families. Or, at least their families sent their presents to them. The snow fell thickly outside the window. Perhaps a snowfight later. But, for now, slumber.
There was another resounding thwack to my midsection. “I said, get the fuck up,” Rogue said, sounding angry.
“Since when are my sleep patterns any of your concern?” I retorted, brushing hair out of my eyes and wrinkling my nose at my increasingly violent roommate.
She practically spat, “Since you were wanted at breakfast with the Professor. Hurry, please.”
I pulled a sweater dress over my leggings and slipped on my flats. Doing what Rogue asked, I quickened and made it into the Professor’s office, which is in the Southern wing of the building, in about 7 seconds (maybe 8). “Hello, Sophie,” I heard the Professor’s voice in my head, then aloud, “I figured you’d be the first one here.”
“I’d never be late, Professor,” I said sweetly, sinking into a plush dining chair. The Professor’s office had changed into a private dining room, with a long, set table. The usual darkwood desk and leather armchairs by the fireplace had been moved.
“Not by virtue of punctuality, I’m sure,” he replied, smiling, the crow’s feet around his eyes crinkling them and obscuring their piercing depth.
In time, Gordo stumbled in with his sweater half on, followed by Kitty, Peter, Bobby, and finally Hugh, who tugged at his bedhead self-consciously before sitting next to me.
“What are we here for?” He whispered.
“No idea,” I replied truthfully. Across the table Gordo was showing off his new PSP that his parents had sent him, and I fought an urge to punch him, right in his freckly nose.
“I can see that some of you are curious as to why you are here,” The Professor began, winking at Hugh and I. Right. “In truth, we have been testing you six for some time. You have exhibited particular strength not only in the use of your abilities, but your disciplines of them, despite notable exceptions.” He grinned again, and my face began to glow, remembering the incident at the café not two weeks ago.
The Professor continued. “So, in addition to the Christmas gifts you will all be receiving for your exceptional achievements at the institute, your instructors and I feel it is time to bestow additional responsibilities upon your schedules.” He paused.
“Like what?” Bobby said cautiously, freezing a bunch of grapes in front of him before crunching them between his teeth.
“It is time for you to train, Mr. Drake,” he said, albeit more ruefully, “If you wish, it is your time to be part of the X-Men.”
I felt my eyes light up, and I kicked Hugh and Gordo under the table.
“Could Mr. Wilkonson come to the front?” Gordo rose, dreamlike, from his seat and went to stand next to the Professor. “You have shown persistence not only in developing your powers, Mr. Wilkonson, but incredible restraint in knowing when to use your abilities. You have an advanced sense of morality, and this will be integral in your leadership of the junior X-men.” Gordo’s face flushed, and he took the box that the Professor was offering him with an ecstatic grin on his face. The other four students clapped, but I felt my expression involuntarily sour. Gordo, that tool, that jerk, that kid who had parents and gifts and the professor’s love. He had leadership and he had that elusive thing, a history, that fucking thing that everyone here had but me.
I made to stand, but I heard that soothing voice, again. “Please sit down, Sophie,” the Professor said to me, as he shook Gordo’s hand. I sat, biting my lip and forcing my hands together in quiet, French applause.
“Mr. Braiden,” The Professor called, and Hugh, after tripping over his chair leg, made to stand in Gordo’s vacated space. “Your determination and growth through these months has been worthy of notice. Your development on the field and your inherent sensitivity towards all of the other students in this institute will be invariable when you are second-in-command. Congratulations.” Hugh took his gift-wrapped package and, after shaking the Professor’s hand, returned to his seat.
The Professor said aloud, “Miss Martin,” as he said in my head, “My Sophie,” and I approached, realizing that my history was void of context until this point. The Professor winked and began, “You came to us a girl with nothing but determination. All of these students know of your unquenchable thirst to exceed expectations, in all regards. You have done this. It is my belief that you will continue to do so, when you learn to fly the X-jet alongside Storm and Dr. Grey.” My heart fluttered and I hugged the Professor, that sweet old man, and accepted the package that he pushed into my hands.
I returned to my seat, and as Bobby was called to the front, I made sure to mouth a genuine “Congratulations,” to Gordo.

Hugh, Gordo and I went to Hugh’s room, the only single out of the three of us, and tore into our packages. As Dora wrestled with the shreds of Christmas paper, I pulled a fine, black, double-breasted suit jacket, with “x” buttons and a silk flower ending the embroidered name “Martin.” A pair of matching pedalpushers, was in the box, along with leather, open-fingered gloves and ballet slippers. The very bottom of the box had a pair of wraparound black sunglasses that wore almost like goggles.
“Nice suit, Soph,” Hugh said, lifting a see-through shirt from his box and peering through it. “What’s this stuff for, do you think?”
There was a letter next to the sunglasses, as I reached for it, Gordo had already scanned through his.
“You guys,” he said slowly, “ These are our uniforms.”
We shared awed looks, and I realized that the snowfight I had been thinking about suddenly seemed a demure and almost boring endeavour.

"Ground Off" -- Hugh

Grounded...

These words have weight to them, they aren't a huge anvil hanging over my head but there are still there. They bring tension to my shoulders, an unwanted flex to my wings and tiny little knit in my brow. They mean that I am no longer the commander of my own will, that I am back to being a prisoner in this castle turned school turned home. The first time I was held prisoner had nothing to do with the people who care for me, nothing to do with my friends. But now since my friends and I are all on lock down this is all about them. If they hadn't been there for me at the cafe I probably would been in a far more terrible spot than alone and sulking in my bedroom. If I could be improsined in this way again, lost within my own insecurities but always having friends then I would let myself be grounded ten times over just so I can know that they always got my back.

"I suppose I should stretch my neglected legs a bit, Dora?" All my cat can do is mew and continue her vigilant attack on my shoe lace.
The second I end the scuffle between Dora and my shoe and myself and my door I am pretty much spread eagle on the floor. "Sorry, Hugh" A rather angered but satisfied Sophie says, with a sadistic grin of course.
After our quick staring contest with me backing out like a scared dog I mumble, "What did you do?"
The smirk I got back, mixed witha tinge of worry in her eyes leaves me with one option... Get the fuck off the floor.

"Frost" -- Lithe

“Grounded?” Jubilee spat dubiously. “Grounded? What the fuck, Sophs? Can’t you stay out of trouble for like, five fucking minutes?” She flopped onto my bed, disturbing me.
“Apparently not,” I mumbled, turning away from her. My bangs fell into my eyes and I pondered my situation. In normal time, one month was 2678400 seconds. If I sped up, it could take as much as one hundred times that amount (one thousand, Professor Xavier tells me, with practice). On the other side, if I slowed, I could pass that time sixteen times faster, 167400 seconds. But then I’d be missing out on one month of my life.
“You said we were going to go out! What the hell?”
I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my fingers to my temples. “Jubilee, could you shut the fuck up for five minutes? Honestly.” I slowed and listened to her angry retort like it was on fast-forward – five minutes seeming like roughly 20 seconds. Maybe missing one month of my life wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Hugh was being his usual, moody self, so I wandered around the grounds in search of an alternate source of entertainment. I spotted Gordo and Logan in the distance, bouncing off each other. Hmm. Gordo must still be doing his self-defence classes. He tells me he’s all about suffrage and yet he still can’t seem to get over the fact that I can whoop him.
I met what felt like a wall, and shook my head, temporarily stunned. I had walked headlong into a lanky guy, jet-black hair, icy eyes like mine.
“You okay there?” He asked amicably.
“I was thinking, sorry.” I muttered, then recognizing him, said, “Hey, you’re Rogue’s friend. Billy, right?”
“Bobby. And you’re Sophie, the new girl.”
“If you call a year ‘new’, then yes. I am her,” I grinned.
Bobby smiled back, saying, “I see you bounding around campus every so often, what are you up to?”
“Just blowing off some steam, I guess. Easier than making weak conversation.” He blushed. Ha.
“Wanna race?”
I raised a dubious eyebrow. “Are you kidding me? Do you have any idea what I can do?”
“Can it, princess,” he said, but kindly, “You’re not the only special one around here.” He turned my wrist over and a butterfly, made entirely of ice, materialized on my palm.
“Wow.”
“Can you do that?”
“No,” I admitted, grudgingly.
“Okay,” Bobby said, smiling again. “So now you beat me at something.”
Ah. “You’re on,” I challenged.
Bobby made himself an ice-type snowboard and I leaned forward. “On my mark,” he said. “Go!”
We took off. I made myself twice as fast as normal, nothing too extreme. He was actually maintaining a good speed, creating a path of ice as he went, using the snow already on the ground to try and screw me up. I jumped an ice-hurdle by grabbing an overhanging tree branch and leapt into the air, accelerating three, five, ten times faster than normal. I felt the winter air slide past my face, whipping my hair back. I slowed to descend, now almost a football field ahead of Bobby. I spun on my heels to wave at him, and upon turning back saw a giant wall of ice rise in front of me. I banked a sharp left and instantly slipped on a frozen patch. I skidded out and plunged into the snow, slowing indefinitely.
“Shit!” Bobby exclaimed, stopping in a spray of ice. “Are you alright?”
I laughed, wondering how I must have looked. “Here,” Bobby offered a hand, “let me help you up.” I grabbed it and pulled, forcing him to land face-first in the snow.
“Ha!” I cried, victorious. “Thought you could play dirty with me, huh?” I pushed a handful of snow in his face and soon we both collapsed, laughing.
“Oh, Bobby,” I exclaimed, “Why haven’t we met before?”
“I don’t know, Sophs,” he said ruefully, using Jubilee’s nickname for me.
“Bobby!” That southern twang was unmistakeable.
“Hey Rogue,” I said, brushing myself off.
“Bobby,” she repeated, ignoring me. “Where have you been?”
“Sorry, Rogue,” he stammered, “I ran into Sophie here, we had a race.”
“Well we had a date!” She yelled, the white streak in her hair almost electric.
“Rogue,” I explained, “It’s not like that, we just met.”
“Shut up, you slut.”
I grit my teeth, knowing Rogue was the only one I couldn’t touch, couldn’t fight. I’d seen what she could do. Letting my animalism get the best of me, I kissed Bobby on the mouth and spat at Rogue’s feet.
He meant nothing to me. But no one calls me a slut, saving Hugh, and gets away with it scot-free. I looked forward to seeing what would unfold over the next month at Mutant High, and decided to spend it in realtime after all.

"Grounded" -- Static

Grounded, surprise surprise. Aparently the guy made the 6 o'clock news. Nothing big really. "Innocent Man Attacked by Nomadic Mutants....and now on to sports, the local hockey team..." or something along those lines. There were no other witnesses, or at least none that came forward, so they had nothing to go on except the incoherent ramblings of a guy with a bloody nose and staticy hair. I think the professor has the cafe on the pay roll.
Its amazing how good we have gotten at running away though, guerilla warriors of the theory of evolution. Within seconds of leaving the cafe Sophie was in Hughs scrawny arms and we had flown off. Its always WAM, BAM, "Thank you Ma'am". Never a second date. A second date would probably mean a severe ass kicking by some inbred locals. Of cource I would take more then a few down with me.
Proffessor X was far from amused when we got home though. I don't have any regrets though. Not a huge fan of eugenics, especially because a number of people want to breed out the mutant gene, but euthanizing the ignorant sounds like a fun plan to me. Hell I'll do it myself, relatively painless too. Humane and everything. Anyways yeah not allowed to leave the compound grounds for a month, three weeks maybe for good behaviour. Its not as if I used enough juice to ice him, just enough to keep him busy for a little while.
Whatever, I am not justifying this anymore. Bastard had it coming, enough said.
I do feel bad for adding to the professors stress though. He has enough on his mind, what with the brotherhood pulling stupid stunts all over the place and governments debating over the idea of "harvesting mutant abilities for profit".

About an hour after my sentencing I was lieing in bed staring at the ceiling when there was a knock at the door.
"Its open, its always fucking open." I called out, before I could finish the door swung open with Logan on the other side.
"Hey kid, I heard about your grounding. Want to spar? Helps take off the stress" He said strolling into the room crossing his arms. Last year just after Sophie showed up we had to have self-defence classes with Logan. He would continually kick our ass and only when we could beat him would the classes end. When Sophie joined our class the tables turned. She has an ego, but she is a good fighter. I wish I could say it was a humiliating defeat but it wasn't. Logan still made it a close one. Sophie used her speed to get close to him while the rest were on distraction. Logan may have gone down but we were still fairly bruised up. Ever since then though he has been teaching me battle strategy and different forms of martial arts. I have grown fond of the quarter staff.
"Yeah sure but when I kick your ass again you can't cry this time because your going to rust your claws. And I aint oiling you or nothing, I had to do that to Peter once and it was just awkward."

"Day in the Life" -- Lithe

“You’re going to die early, drinking that stuff.”
“Stuff it, Gordo,” I replied indifferently, sipping the second double-shot of espresso I’d ordered. Besides, what’s the point of coming to a coffee shop just to order that herbal-tea shit he’s always drinking? I wrinkled my nose at it and inhaled my coffee to mask the musty smell of ginseng (or whatever).
“You know, you’ve been a real cunt since you learned you were Parisian,” he sniffed.
“Correction,” Hugh quipped, entering the café. “She’s been a real slut since she learned she was Parisian.” He bestowed a lopsided grin, something I was learning to like. Hugh’s sullenness was tolerable, and the notion of a warm, loving friendship was daunting, but new, and somewhat thrilling. I saw his wings flicker into existence for a brief second, and forced myself to calm down.
Easy, Sophie, I thought to myself, the hologram will do fine.
“Agreed,” Gordo said happily, sliding down the vinyl sofa to make room for Hugh. He sat instead on the fireplace ledge, all folded and brooding.
“Hey happy,” I cooed, “reposez-vous avec moi.”
“Non.” Hugh replied, signalling to the waitress to bring him his usual. She handed him the steaming mocha with a wink, and I felt a twinge of jealousy. Mother Nature had decided that Hugh and I’s relationship (and indeed, the relationship between him and any woman) would be entirely platonic, but I still felt an animal possession over him, one that I felt for all of the small number of people I had learned to trust.
“Whatchoo thinkin’ about, Soph?” Hugh asked, sounding concerned.
“Does it hurt?” Gordo ruffled my hair and I fought the urge to punch him. While we had reached the level of standing each other, Gordo and I still couldn’t quite get along. I suppose he tried harder to be civil than I did, but that’s to be expected. After all, he had accused me of killing his old friend, which I hadn’t done, and then attempted to turn all of the Xavier Institute against me. His personal bias could have been a result of me knocking him out with a single hit a year ago, but whatever. I thought it was funny. Still do.
I ignored their questions and began filing my nails, trying to look affluent.
“If you stick your nose any higher, it’ll burn up in the atmosphere,” Gordo said.
“Lame,” said Hugh, taking a bite of raisin cookie.
“Pfah.” I blew a stray hair out of my eyes and wrapped my pashmina around my shoulders. The snow fell gently outside, and I felt a twinge of remembering – the only memories I didn’t want – the ones in the mutant containment facility.
“Hey lovely, penny for your thoughts,” Hugh tried again. I didn’t answer and we both fell into silence.
Gordo stared at both of us for a minute and then rolled his eyes. Grabbing for his jacket, he snipped, “Well, not that this hasn’t been fun…”
He was three feet from the door when Hugh’s hologram flickered and went out. The patrons’ eyes went wide as he rose to his full height – six-foot wingspan and all.
The man closest to me muttered, “freaks” and a tear ran down Hugh’s face. I punched the man’s nose at the same time as Gordo sent a streak of electricity in his direction, and I moved so quickly that it was nothing more than a caress moving from my fingertips to the ground.
“Hey Gordo,” I murmured, as the three of us booked from the café. “Having fun now?”

"El Cafe" -- Hugh

I've been at this place, this school, for such a long time it's actually starting to feel natural to wake up every morning and know (and like) where I am. All, or almost all, of the fear that used to race through me when I awoke in this room has left me. Now when my eyes slide (or creak, depending on the morning)open I don't want to crawl under my bed and weep. Now instead of openly gagging like a small scared child, I choke down on the bile and brush my teeth. I may not be stable or talkative but I sure as hell am not scared. I'm not alone either, for the past year or so I've gained the trust of my friends and teachers and I've started to learn how to trust myself. Where I was before, in my real home, I wasn't ever able to trust or love to the fullest exent. I came to the Xavier Institute distrustful and wary towards everyone that I met I guess I am still that way. But it isn't so bad now, because my friends just don't want to give up on me. I do hurtful things to them to test them and some people might say that is inauthentic but it's for my protection. It's not like Sophie can ever hate me for being distant and cold sometimes. She probably expects it since I come off as sch a fuck up. I think I'm the only one that can do that, hate me, I mean. I see myself as an arrogant coward. I'm arrogant because I put so much faith into the suppsed never ending flow of forgiveness that my friend's have shown me. I never stop for too long and think about what would happen to me if they all just stopped taking my bullshit and gave me a taste of what I've been doing to them. I never stew over it for too long because it makes me want to give up. It makes me want to stop hurting them by completely denying their existence. I;ve ben thinking about this for way too long. At this rate Sophie and Gordo are proabbaly already drinking their coffees without me, wondering if the "goth-o-freak-angel-boy" has final owned up and died. Or mayeb I'm the only one who thinks that. Either way, it's not like I'm going to keep them waiting. I want my damn coffee.