Fanfic Time: Don't Pity Me part 36
Very much NSFW fic continued from yesterday:
Fracture Thirty-Six: Justice
“‘Sup with him, yo?”
“Looks like a nightmare,” said Fred. He gently taped Lance on the shoulder. “Hey, wake up.”
“That’s not how you do it,” said Pietro. “Allow *me*.” In a flash, the speedster had Lance over his shoulder and headed towards the bathroom.
“Let us have a moment of silence,” announced Tabitha, “for the lost peace and quiet that we had once enjoyed.”
{Flush!}
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!”
{zwip} Pietro was instantly behind Fred. “Ididn'tdoit, nobodysawmedoit, there'snowayanyonecanproveanything.”
To everyone’s suprise, Lance didn’t immediately follow him out and threaten battle, war, and sudden death to the rest of the Brotherhood for letting him get flushed.
He actually *walked* out, looking pale and -well- flushed. “Thanks," he said, and turned the news off. "That was one heck of a nightmare.”
“Yo, ’s gotta be,” said Todd. “I’d'a thought *anythin’* was better'n havin’ your head down *our* toilet…”
“Try dreaming about being in Rosa’s fun house, sometime,” said Lance. "I’d rather have the toilet.“
*
"Let me get this straight. You *never* watch the news?”
“Not a bit of it,” said Ms Wilde. “It’s *way* too boring for me.” She scooped her purple hair away from her eyes. “Besides, anything *really* important gets to me through word of mouth.”
“You mean gossip.”
“Pretty much, yeah. And I’ve learned to take what I hear with a grain of salt. According to *rumour*, that Wagner kid has a kid that's practically half his age.” She snorted. “How real is *that*?”
The prosecution and the defense conferred.
“She’s too young.”
“So are over half of Hess’ victims. She’s an American citizen. She's old enough to decide who runs the country. *I* say why not?”
The defence hummed. “Well, it *is* kind of hard to find someone who hasn’t seen any of the news. She has an open mind.”
“I’m willing to let her in,” said the prosecution. “She sounds like a nice girl.”
“Okay. She’s a candidate.”
The prosecution turned back to Ms Wilde. “Thank you, that’s all we need to know. Do you have any questions for us about being a juror?”
“Yeah. I heard you get paid for this?” Risty swept her hair back again. “How much?”
*
Kurt looked at the studio, at the cameras set up around it, and the play area in the middle. “You know that I’ve formally requested that her identity is obscured.”
“Yes. We’re going to do that on the released videos. We’re also going to destroy the originals, so that her privacy is maintained.”
“Sehr gut.” Kurt turned to his daughter. “You think you can do this, liebe? Just answer the questions to the best of your memory, ja?”
Bluebelle nodded.
“Go on. I’ll be watching from out here. If you get scared, just call for me.”
“…okay…”
He kissed her on the forehead before he helped her into the room.
“The psychologist’s bilingual,” said the supervising technician. His hand hovered over a control panel. “Just in case the kid panics and switches languages.”
Kurt just watched through the trick mirror. He was extremely worried about Bluebelle, since the psychologist’s curly hair might remind her of Hess. On the other hand, the psychologist was softly spoken, pleasant, and apparently carried an infinite supply of candy in her voluminous purse.
Kurt watched Dr. Prinz enter through another door. Bluebelle spotted her and tried to hide behind a chair.
“Hello, Bluebelle,” Prinz’s voice carried over the speakers. “Don't you remember me? I spoke with your father the other day. You looked at my books, as I recall. And you had a lollipop.”
Had was a slightly incorrect term. Kurt had had to act as an intermediary for its transfer. Bluebelle had always kept something between herself and Prinz.
“Must burn you up, havin’ that living with ya,” said the technician.
Kurt glared at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“That’s Hess’ kid. Wouldn’t she be like a constant reminder of everything that happened to you?”
“Nein. She’s just a little girl. *My* little girl. Hess’ sins aren't hers.”
In the room, Bluebelle had crept forward to touch Prinz’s lacy, floral-print dress. Prinz maintained a gentle, encouraging smile, and let her take things at her own pace.
“Schones hubches,” Bluebelle whispered. “Why do *you* get to wear so many colours at once?”
Kurt had to laugh. “I dressed her this morning,” he informed. “She was quite upset at my three colour limit.”
The technician boggled at him. “You’re kidding me.”
“Nein. Bluebelle’s kind of new to clothing.”
“Jesus,” the technician whispered. “She’s one sick bitch, isn’t she?”
For once, Kurt didn’t upbraid him about the minor blasphemy. “Sick," he repeated, testing the word. "Ja. It fits. A diseased and scabrous mind. Trying to infect others.”
Prinz had worked out that Bluebelle was scared of her hair, and got the little girl to put it in a different style. She’d chosen pigtails, because of another little girl who’d 'come in’ with them.
Soon, she’d get Bluebelle to start 'showing’ her what happened to the girls and boys who 'came in’ with Hess. It was going to be a long day.
“Uh. Pal? Mind if I ask you a question?”
“Go for it,” said Kurt.
“What’s with the chicken?”
*
Evan hadn’t been here since the funeral. The whole thing creeped him out to such an extent that he’d been giving it, and K-man, a wide berth. Now he was out taping Bluebelle’s testimony, he felt more or less safe to come here.
Kurt’s 'church’.
It was just a big-ass rock in the middle of a clearing in the woods, but Kurt felt it was holy ground.
This was the place where Hess finally abducted him, and he still felt safe, here.
Evan skirted around the grave and climbed the rock from the low side, staring at the clearing from Kurt’s favourite perching spot. What did he see here? Evan just saw a dumb clearing.
Maybe it was a German thing.
Or a Gypsy thing.
Or a Heirelgart thing, he didn’t know.
It certainly didn’t feel as intimidating as the average church. The few times he’d been in one, he’d sweated his way through the entire service, trying to keep up with the others and being a beat behind all the sitting and kneeling and standing.
Here, it was actually peaceful. Maybe that was why Kurt kept coming back.
The talking to himself part was just a mystery. Kurt claimed he was talking to God; but God *knew* everything and saw everything. A big omnipotent invisible guy, looking down on everyone.
Evan lay down on the rock and watched the clouds drift by.
“I don’t get it,” he announced. “What’s so holy about *this* place that makes the K-man keep coming here? This ain’t no scary church. There’s nothing here like the churches *I’ve* seen. So why’s *this* holy ground?”
No response. Evan had more or less expected that. He was perpetually afraid of doing something wrong in *real* churches and getting swallowed up by the ground, or smote from heaven for screwing up. Not here, though. Here, talking out your problems seemed right.
“I swear, every day I’ve been here, I’ve been trying to figure the K-man out. Where he comes from, you know? Well. Okay. After I was done being scared of him and everything, but you know that. At first I though he was such a goof 'cause he wanted people to like him despite his looks, and then I figured he did it to get people to like him *because* of his looks. Guy’s got an ego like *that*, y'know. He spent most of his life in this tiny little mountain town where everyone knew everyone else’s business… Not that he isn’t a likeable guy. He’s sweet, y'know? You can’t *help* liking him - but –” Evan sighed. “This whole business with Hess or Rosa or whatever she calls herself… He’s started scaring me again. And I don’t wanna be scared…”
*
Risty Wilde settled herself into her Juror’s hotel room. Signed permission from her 'parents’, and other documentation had long since been dealt with. She locked the door and let herself revert to her normal shape.
She toured the two rooms and a closet, tested the bed, and checked the view.
She could see the Institute from here.
“You’ll have justice, my son,” she said. “I’m not much of a mother, but I can promise you justice. Everything she did to you will be reflected back on her in full. Every child she hurt will be vindicated, every death avenged.”
Raven touched the glass and wished, not for the first time, that she was touching her son.
“I’ll see to it,” she said. “Personally.”