Tuesday, June 21st, 2011 11:21 pm
okay, i really am getting my clothes from the washer now
I'm seven and a half hours from my flight to LA and I think the first load of clothes may be done washing. I should possibly go check that?
Okay, it does sound like I enjoy the stress, but beautiful part is, stress only begins when I begin packing; it's like a switch. Once the packing begins, so does the stress, be it a week early or while the cab honks outside. So if you will squint and ignore logic, it makes sense the majority of my packing is sometimes done while the cab is driving into the driveway.
...that's an exaggeration. The cab was late last time.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
svmadelyn and I were given two glorious options by an old friend who I officially am nominating for sainthood that we're staying with. Well, I'm not actually sure what the second one was, as the first involved a deck, snacks, possibly some small, man-made body of heated water, and lounging. God, lounging. Like, half a country away from the current special hell that is the testing environments all kind of not working and the word 'deployment' means we all stare blankly at our screens and I, for one, have learned some surprisingly creative phrases in Hindi and Spanish to better explain to the screen the depth of my feelings. You might say to yourself, you are actually taking on faith they aren't teaching you something like "I smell like goats" or "Feet yay!" (okay, that would be hilarious).
In my defense, I am known to sing along to German heavy metal which I have been assured that despite the fact my ancestors actually came from that country (they left due to the reunification of--wait--the unification of two branches of German Protestantism. For some reason, I cannot get over the idea. They seem nice, I think) I sound like Wolverine with a hairball. As if Wolverine would get a goddamn hairball, so you see this is a total lie. Also, I apparently sing words that don't exist, or if they do, probably will summon Cthulhu or Pee-Wee Herman or some other epic and dreadful beast.
I may or may not have--please don't ask how--started a story that I assumed would be all post-beach-breakup angst and is--again, don't ask--Emma going to Charles for training because Shaw in between being a very special psycho never let her learn anything she could actually use against him. I don't even think they like each other, but I also am staring at five paragraphs of them getting drunk together because telepath do epic terrible jokes in between competitively trying to see if she can push him down the stairs before he can freeze her in place. They apparently have money riding on this. And Alex is the only one that doesn't hate her because it's the first time Charles has laughed since the beach.
...I literally keep staring at it wondering what the hell just happened. Though competitive stair-pushing, that I get.
So assuming I don't spend the night posting--which is totes possible--I will be in LA until next Wednesday and will be chasing down a grilled cheese truck like it insulted my mother because hello, double brie grilled cheese with fig jam? This has been missing from my life.
Later, he'll think the problem is he recognized it immediately, and that's why he didn't react.
Emma's boneless stroll across the room isn't out of character; Shaw oversaw the travesty of her initial training, and the practiced, contemptuous sexuality she'd been conditioned to flaunt is buried too deeply for her to easily discard. There's a polite fiction between them all that after an attack by a small and surprisingly vicious human militia she'd simply decided to disappear for a time; the truth is both more and less complicated. Charles offered her three months in Westchester to teach her the defenses that until now had been universally handled by a shift of form, a defense he and Charles had already proven could be overcome.
There's never been a way to ask the questions that Erik stores like treasures in a box locked so deeply in his mind that even he can't often find it, but when he looks at her, watches the slowly-evolving changes in the way she uses her body, the ripening certainty in what she is and what she can do, it's easier to admit (though no less frustrating) that Erik can't match Charles as instructor. More than one newly minted Brotherhood operative he's considered sending to Charles. He'd never refuse them, and if the price of education is being preached sweetness and light, those that choose to believe it deserve what they will reap.
Mostly, however, he watches her for those brief glimpses of Charles, the body language that's no longer entirely Shaw's creature and perhaps will never belong to anyone ever again: a tilt of the head, a brush of fingers against her temple when she attempts something new or something difficult, a certain way she smiles; if it were imagination, it would be so much easier to bear.
Even accustomed to her as he is, he's surprised as she settles on the coffee table before him, long legs spread on either side of his thighs, and for a second, he sees Charles' breathtaking smile, the one he gave Erik like a gift a lifetime ago, the glittering seductive warmth of a home that Erik can never accept.
"I never explained to you what I did when I controlled another person's body," she says, the faintest trace of Oxford in her voice; Erik stops breathing. "I'm both and neither; there's no way you could have known. I don't blame you for that. I never did."
Erik thinks of his helmet, of the others just outside this room, of what he knows of what Charles can do and the vastness he still doesn't and perhaps never will.
"I wish to request a meeting," Emma says, no, *Charles** says with Emma's mouth, Emma's voice, each consonant sharper; Emma's easy sensuality evaporates for the unconscious exercise of Charles' own. "The usual contacts weren't available."
"They're dead," Erik answers numbly as Charles picks curiously at the short hem of the A-line skirt. "They were--"
"No need to elaborate," Charles answers with a pretty wince. "Time and place are your choice, but I ask you only bring one person." Charles smiles ruefully. "For obvious reasons, I rarely have the luxury of traveling alone, so it only seems fair."
All unwitting, Erik's drawn to the impossible length of Emma's legs, the expanse of white leather stretching to mid-thigh and strip of pale golden skin before the edge of the skirt. Charles glances down at himself, mouth quirking. "If there were another way to assure delivery, I would have utilized it."
Standing up, Charles stares down at him; even in this body, Erik would recognize him, and in the end, it's the smile that decides him; in two years, its' the first time Charles has initiated contact with him, not the Brotherhood's leader. Erik is many things, and opportunistic has always been one of them.
"I'll be in touch," Charles says, easing down on the other side of the couch and shutting his eyes. Abruptly, the body goes limp, and when the blue eyes open, Emma looks back, surprisingly calm for what Charles had just done; he locks another question away before it can be formed.
Raising a hand to her face, she lazily rubs her eyes, then looks at Erik with neither surprise nor apology. "Charles didn't think secondhand delivery would be as effective."
*Charles.** Erik doesn't flinch, hearing the name she speaks with such casual ease, that he hasn't heard spoken since a deserted beach two years and two different men away. It's a jarring moment, the sudden, bitter jealousy in the intimacy of it, as if she'd stolen something that was his and his alone.
He should think betrayal; since she returned from Charles, the woman who obeyed without question or interest is seen less and less. Her services are bought and paid for, and he's never fooled himself that a higher bidder would never arrive--
--but this is Charles, and whatever this is, it's nothing so mundane and petty as sending a spy.
"He'll contact me in three days," she says, getting to her feet, hands automatically smoothing the front of her skirt. "Tell me what you-"
Erik answers before he thinks; impulsivity is nothing new. "I want speak to him directly."
Emma hesitates, looking at him with the first flare of actual, personal interest he thinks he's ever earned from her. "As you wish." Turning toward the door, she walks with Erik's memoy of Charles' careless, boneless stride before it melts back into something not quite Shaw and every question he's never asked of those three months floods back again.
It's perhaps preferable that she closed the door; he might have so lost himself as to ask.
Okay, it does sound like I enjoy the stress, but beautiful part is, stress only begins when I begin packing; it's like a switch. Once the packing begins, so does the stress, be it a week early or while the cab honks outside. So if you will squint and ignore logic, it makes sense the majority of my packing is sometimes done while the cab is driving into the driveway.
...that's an exaggeration. The cab was late last time.
svmadelyn and I were given two glorious options by an old friend who I officially am nominating for sainthood that we're staying with. Well, I'm not actually sure what the second one was, as the first involved a deck, snacks, possibly some small, man-made body of heated water, and lounging. God, lounging. Like, half a country away from the current special hell that is the testing environments all kind of not working and the word 'deployment' means we all stare blankly at our screens and I, for one, have learned some surprisingly creative phrases in Hindi and Spanish to better explain to the screen the depth of my feelings. You might say to yourself, you are actually taking on faith they aren't teaching you something like "I smell like goats" or "Feet yay!" (okay, that would be hilarious).In my defense, I am known to sing along to German heavy metal which I have been assured that despite the fact my ancestors actually came from that country (they left due to the reunification of--wait--the unification of two branches of German Protestantism. For some reason, I cannot get over the idea. They seem nice, I think) I sound like Wolverine with a hairball. As if Wolverine would get a goddamn hairball, so you see this is a total lie. Also, I apparently sing words that don't exist, or if they do, probably will summon Cthulhu or Pee-Wee Herman or some other epic and dreadful beast.
I may or may not have--please don't ask how--started a story that I assumed would be all post-beach-breakup angst and is--again, don't ask--Emma going to Charles for training because Shaw in between being a very special psycho never let her learn anything she could actually use against him. I don't even think they like each other, but I also am staring at five paragraphs of them getting drunk together because telepath do epic terrible jokes in between competitively trying to see if she can push him down the stairs before he can freeze her in place. They apparently have money riding on this. And Alex is the only one that doesn't hate her because it's the first time Charles has laughed since the beach.
...I literally keep staring at it wondering what the hell just happened. Though competitive stair-pushing, that I get.
So assuming I don't spend the night posting--which is totes possible--I will be in LA until next Wednesday and will be chasing down a grilled cheese truck like it insulted my mother because hello, double brie grilled cheese with fig jam? This has been missing from my life.
Later, he'll think the problem is he recognized it immediately, and that's why he didn't react.
Emma's boneless stroll across the room isn't out of character; Shaw oversaw the travesty of her initial training, and the practiced, contemptuous sexuality she'd been conditioned to flaunt is buried too deeply for her to easily discard. There's a polite fiction between them all that after an attack by a small and surprisingly vicious human militia she'd simply decided to disappear for a time; the truth is both more and less complicated. Charles offered her three months in Westchester to teach her the defenses that until now had been universally handled by a shift of form, a defense he and Charles had already proven could be overcome.
There's never been a way to ask the questions that Erik stores like treasures in a box locked so deeply in his mind that even he can't often find it, but when he looks at her, watches the slowly-evolving changes in the way she uses her body, the ripening certainty in what she is and what she can do, it's easier to admit (though no less frustrating) that Erik can't match Charles as instructor. More than one newly minted Brotherhood operative he's considered sending to Charles. He'd never refuse them, and if the price of education is being preached sweetness and light, those that choose to believe it deserve what they will reap.
Mostly, however, he watches her for those brief glimpses of Charles, the body language that's no longer entirely Shaw's creature and perhaps will never belong to anyone ever again: a tilt of the head, a brush of fingers against her temple when she attempts something new or something difficult, a certain way she smiles; if it were imagination, it would be so much easier to bear.
Even accustomed to her as he is, he's surprised as she settles on the coffee table before him, long legs spread on either side of his thighs, and for a second, he sees Charles' breathtaking smile, the one he gave Erik like a gift a lifetime ago, the glittering seductive warmth of a home that Erik can never accept.
"I never explained to you what I did when I controlled another person's body," she says, the faintest trace of Oxford in her voice; Erik stops breathing. "I'm both and neither; there's no way you could have known. I don't blame you for that. I never did."
Erik thinks of his helmet, of the others just outside this room, of what he knows of what Charles can do and the vastness he still doesn't and perhaps never will.
"I wish to request a meeting," Emma says, no, *Charles** says with Emma's mouth, Emma's voice, each consonant sharper; Emma's easy sensuality evaporates for the unconscious exercise of Charles' own. "The usual contacts weren't available."
"They're dead," Erik answers numbly as Charles picks curiously at the short hem of the A-line skirt. "They were--"
"No need to elaborate," Charles answers with a pretty wince. "Time and place are your choice, but I ask you only bring one person." Charles smiles ruefully. "For obvious reasons, I rarely have the luxury of traveling alone, so it only seems fair."
All unwitting, Erik's drawn to the impossible length of Emma's legs, the expanse of white leather stretching to mid-thigh and strip of pale golden skin before the edge of the skirt. Charles glances down at himself, mouth quirking. "If there were another way to assure delivery, I would have utilized it."
Standing up, Charles stares down at him; even in this body, Erik would recognize him, and in the end, it's the smile that decides him; in two years, its' the first time Charles has initiated contact with him, not the Brotherhood's leader. Erik is many things, and opportunistic has always been one of them.
"I'll be in touch," Charles says, easing down on the other side of the couch and shutting his eyes. Abruptly, the body goes limp, and when the blue eyes open, Emma looks back, surprisingly calm for what Charles had just done; he locks another question away before it can be formed.
Raising a hand to her face, she lazily rubs her eyes, then looks at Erik with neither surprise nor apology. "Charles didn't think secondhand delivery would be as effective."
*Charles.** Erik doesn't flinch, hearing the name she speaks with such casual ease, that he hasn't heard spoken since a deserted beach two years and two different men away. It's a jarring moment, the sudden, bitter jealousy in the intimacy of it, as if she'd stolen something that was his and his alone.
He should think betrayal; since she returned from Charles, the woman who obeyed without question or interest is seen less and less. Her services are bought and paid for, and he's never fooled himself that a higher bidder would never arrive--
--but this is Charles, and whatever this is, it's nothing so mundane and petty as sending a spy.
"He'll contact me in three days," she says, getting to her feet, hands automatically smoothing the front of her skirt. "Tell me what you-"
Erik answers before he thinks; impulsivity is nothing new. "I want speak to him directly."
Emma hesitates, looking at him with the first flare of actual, personal interest he thinks he's ever earned from her. "As you wish." Turning toward the door, she walks with Erik's memoy of Charles' careless, boneless stride before it melts back into something not quite Shaw and every question he's never asked of those three months floods back again.
It's perhaps preferable that she closed the door; he might have so lost himself as to ask.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
From:*bounces*
(- reply to this
- thread
- link
)
no subject
From:(- reply to this
- parent
- thread
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From:I am a lefty (but also ambidextrous), I can deal with sudden direction changes.
(- reply to this
- parent
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From:Second, eee, I want more of this. I'm super happy to see you writing in this fandom.
(- reply to this
- thread
- link
)
no subject
From:And thank you!
(- reply to this
- parent
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From:But moving on – EEEEEE! ERIK! OH, ERIK! To be SO JEASLOUS and REPRESSED, even about Charles name. I swim in your MAIN!PAIN!
In the meantime, why is Charles!As!Emma!FROST so VERY HOT? WHY?!!! I
(- reply to this
- thread
- link
)
no subject
From:Seriously. They're both damaged in such different ways, and they know what its' like to have to live in everyone's head, whether you want to or not.
*grins*
(- reply to this
- parent
- thread
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From:And I think, on another level, it is because they don't feel obligated to each other on a personal level. That yes, Charles will obviously want to help Emma because Charles ALWAYS wants to help, and because, a mutation that's like his but not. GROOVY. And Emma is like, yeah, you are pretty powerful, but whatever, I can TURN my skin into DIAMOND.
The bagage, it is NOT there! Gods, they are going be the BESTEST of friends, and it will drive everybody completely crazy because it shouldn't work but it DOES! EEE! Oh, Raven, oh, that's going to be interesting right there.
(- reply to this
- parent
- thread
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From:SO MUCH THIS.
(- reply to this
- parent
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From:Agreed. And good question.
I think ... Charles is such a chameleon, he can use her sexuality as well as her voice. And that's hot.
Oh, good lord, I think we just found a way Charles can have a sex life--quite directly--despite the chair.
Please tell me someone has written this. Or else I might have to.
(- reply to this
- parent
- thread
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From:I'm incapable of producing good works of fic. You (or seperis) are only hope!
(- reply to this
- parent
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From:(- reply to this
- parent
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From:(- reply to this
- thread
- link
)
no subject
From:(- reply to this
- parent
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From:And this snippet is very intriguing. I hope to see more.
(- reply to this
- thread
- link
)
no subject
From:I should find some songs in one of them. I doubt I could easily find Wendish songs, but related and root languages might be possible. I didn't realize until recently that they spoke Wendish as their first language as well as German.
(- reply to this
- parent
- thread
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From:(- reply to this
- parent
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From:Emma and Charles being all crazy telepaths at each other and doing crazy/impossible stuff is however entirely awesome in it's own right too!
(Also, once Erik has to deal with both of them at the same time, he's going to break a little, probably, he's lucky that Charles loves him so much, as Charles probably wants him able to function, on the other hand it'll draw attention to him, so YOU BETTER TRY TO PREPARE YOUSELF NOW, "MAGNETO" (I still find that name, and "Professor X" basically ridiculous, which is why I totally love that the origin story for them is basically that some repressed kids on their first wild night out(or in really) basically drunk (on endorphines) gave them to their dads. I mean I get that they are comic book names and I do think that even the most ridiculous names can become something you identify as, but this is CHARLES and ERiK!).
(- reply to this
- thread
- link
)
no subject
From:(- reply to this
- parent
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From:Dammit, I'm going to need an icon, aren't I?
(- reply to this
- thread
- link
)
no subject
From:(- reply to this
- parent
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From:I love that phrase. And, to be honest, I love the amount of promise in this. The descriptions of Charles -- clearly so attractive to Erik, even in another body -- were fascinating.
(- reply to this
- thread
- link
)
no subject
From:I am mulling the finished version. It still seems incomplete.
(- reply to this
- parent
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From:God, Charles is so casually powerful. And Erik considering Charles preaching "sweetness and light" a small price to pay, ha. What a great, complex arrangement they have. Charles trains potential weapons for Erik. And while Erik risks losing them, Charles risks the same. A system where the mutants have a genuine opportunity to make up their own minds because they have a foot in both camps. I see why Erik accepts the risk and why Charles is willing as well.
Yes, Erik is impulsive.
Love the way you indicate it's Charles, the Oxford accent, the subtle cues.
Annnd ... you really understand Emma. She was forged by Shaw, much like Erik, but using different triggers. Hmm. I'm now finding I dislike Shaw a great deal more.
(- reply to this
- thread
- link
)
no subject
From:I keep thinking how she glanced at her projection with that guy and the disgust was just--yeah.
(- reply to this
- parent
- thread
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From:The question is ... how would Charles deal with such a trauma? Because of course he would know. Maybe not the emotional content, but certainly the images, the thoughts. He could extrapolate the feelings.
(That translates to: more, please.)
(- reply to this
- parent
- thread
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From:I think that one of the reasons Charles argued himself down and contacted Emma was the awareness that Shaw had quite literally crippled her powers (and her ability to function as an independent person) both with emotional abuse and only training her (for what value of that) with things he could use. Which would explain why Charles had problems the first time they went against each other at the submarine but not the second time; proximity plus her weakened defenses, so her only choice was diamond and when that was done, she had nothing left.
(She also couldn't overwrite/manipulate that general. I'm pretty sure her powers do include that, but Shaw wouldn't teach her something she could use on him that he couldn't defend herself from, even if he knew it was possible; too much risk.)
Even if she's going to be an enemy, she's still someone that needs help wit her powers, and I can easily see Charles making a decision that the side they're on is irrelevant to assuring they become everything they could be. That's very much within his philosophy. He and Erik really aren't that far off each other philosophically until you hit final solution territory, so I can see Erik sending mutants to Charles that are too young/untrained/etc with exactly the same reasoning.
And yes, it's kind of the perfect way for both of them to go about this. Being enemies politically doesn't mean they can't respect each other personally. Erik just may take a little longer than Charles to realize that in this, at least, they are perfectly in synch.
...I have been thinking about this a lot through the medium of Emma's experiences, both as student and Brotherhood operative, and most interestingly, the idea that Brotherhood members may and do follow Erik philosophically but also will understand Charles' pov the way Erik can't yet, and possibly never will.
(- reply to this
- parent
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From:(- reply to this
- link
)
no subject
From:Everyone at that Con is going to be so excited you're there!
(- reply to this
- thread
- link
)
no subject
From:(- reply to this
- parent
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From:but I'm enjoying seeing what you have to say.
(- reply to this
- thread
- link
)
no subject
From:And thank you!
(- reply to this
- parent
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From:(- reply to this
- thread
- link
)
no subject
From:AND OMG I KNOW. It's like...oh, didn't see that coming.
(- reply to this
- parent
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From:(- reply to this
- thread
- link
)
no subject
From:(- reply to this
- parent
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From:(- reply to this
- thread
- link
)
no subject
From:Thanks!
(- reply to this
- parent
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From:Love the communication between Charles and Erik.
(- reply to this
- thread
- link
)
no subject
From:Thank you!
(- reply to this
- parent
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From:(- reply to this
- thread
- link
)
no subject
From:(- reply to this
- parent
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From:(- reply to this
- thread
- link
)
no subject
From:(- reply to this
- parent
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From: (Anonymous) Date: 2011-06-23 11:43 am (UTC)woohoo!!! :)
(- reply to this
- thread
- link
)
no subject
From:(- reply to this
- parent
- top thread
- link
)
no subject
From:(- reply to this
- link
)