Very much NSFW fic continued from yesterday:
Fracture Forty-Eight: Home Away From Home
“What on *Earth*?” Scott boggled. “He is *not* greeting everyone by name.”
“Heirelgart’s a small town,” said Jean. “What do you expect?”
“Okay,” said Kitty, “That is *so* not German,” she flipped through her dictionary. “That is *way* not German. It’s not even *dialect*. What *language* are they like, *speaking*?”
“It’s Romany,” said Rogue. “Ever since he found out about our relationship? He’s been tryin’ to teach me the lingo. Said I wouldn’t be able to fit in, otherwise.”
Everyone turned to her with a hopeful look.
“And no, I am *not* providin’ a translation for y'all. What I can understand is mostly ‘hello’s and 'how are ya’s. Pretty borin’.”
Evan was the one with the cynical prediction. “We’re going to the circus, tonight, aren’t we?”
“Going, hell,” said Kitty. “We’re like, guests.”
*
Bluebelle stared at the envelope. “What’s this for?”
“Your blood test results,” said Doctor Hank.
She opened it, and read the paper. “Oh, I failed,” she said. “See? I got negatives in everything.”
Doctor Hank patted her head. “When it comes to nasty diseases,” he said, “That sort of result is a pass. With flying colours.”
“Huh,” she said. Adults were *weird*.
*
He could care less about his left elbow. Or forty-eighths of seconds. All that mattered was the smell of sawdust and the wind in his hair, the feel of the bars in his hands or the wire under his feet. He was flying high.
He was in his element.
Kurt was never more whole than when he was flying, *really* flying; not pulling stunts on gymnastics equipment a mere few feet above the ground.
Here, he was the amazing, the astounding, the awe-inspiring Fleidertuefel. Here, he was free. The concerns of earthbound life were nothing while he was in the air. There was just his body, and the laws of gravity, and he was at home with both.
His sisters, his tribe, and his family were with him. He was at peace, with nothing more to concern him than chalk dust and playing to the audience.
Hess didn’t exist, when he was up in the air. Predators and their ilk were ground-creatures. Stumbling, ungainly things jealous of his ability to fly, and hurtful about it.
He pitied them.
*
“…holy *crap*…” Evan muttered.
The tumbling Wagners were such a hit that the audience was dumbstruck.
“Professor,” whispered Ororo, “remember all those times Kurt would ask you for a practice rig and you said 'no’?”
“He has the Danger room if he wishes to excercise his abilities," Xavier whispered back. "The extra advantage is that he can share his skills amongst the others.”
“Sir, I don’t often say this, but–” Ororo fought with the phraseology. “That’s just damn stupid.”
“I agree,” Jubes murmured. She was focussing a camcorder on the Wagners. “With all due respect, sir, that’s one bone-headed move.”
“Hey, Chuck,” Logan whispered. He’d been completely absorbed in the act. “Remember all those times the Elf came whinin’ to ya for a practice rig?”
Charles sighed. “Yes. I’ve just been reminded.”
“You’re changin’ your mind.”
Kitty leaned across Ororo and tapped his arm. “Pssst! Professor…" she whispered. "Could you like, re-think the whole practice rig thing? Kurt like, *so* needs it, and we won’t like, take up the Danger Room when he like, teaches us.”
“Damn,” Amara murmured, eyes fixed firmly skywards. “He’s *hot* in that outfit… Hey, Professor–”
“I *know*,” said Charles. “I’ll consider it.”
“Wow,” Bluebelle murmured at a particularly impressive stunt. “I wanna fly like that, too.”
“Kurt’s gonna teach you,” said Jamie. He had a giant wad of cotton candy in one hand and Bluebelle’s holographically-disguised digits firmly in the other. He offered Bluebelle a bite. “He’s good at teaching stuff like that.”
Bluebelle, in turn, offered him a lick of her lollipop.
Jamie couldn’t help but grin.
*
It had been a long trial already. Why did they have to make it longer with closing statements? Raven tried not to yawn whilst doodling a picture of Hess on a gibbet in her margins.
“…and we’ve heard, most importantly, from the victims who were unable to speak. Mountains of evidence to some, human remains to others. Children were abducted. Raped. Killed. Dissected and put on display as if they were *animals*. And all of this was done by one woman. One, very sick, woman.” Murdock pointed at Hess’ table. “She’s sitting right there, ladies and gentlemen, and she does *not* deserve to go free.”
Murdock found his place, sat, and tidied away his things.
Mason stood. Raven had watched him go grey during the trial. She'd have gone grey, too, in his place.
“I’ve done a lot of things in my time as a lawyer,” he began. “I've never been ashamed, because I told myself I was just doing my job. This one has been my hardest. I can not defend everything that my client has done. I can only defend a few acts, here and there, as the actions of a madwoman. The rest, I’m afraid, fall into the category of atrocities. She has only *recently* begun to show signs of remorse and, given her record, I can not say if it is genuine.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury; Bruna Irene Hess is insane. No stretch of the imagination can classify her as otherwise. She calls her actions her 'work’ or her 'art’. She believed herself to be improving the children she abducted. She a thousand reasons why. A million tricks to try and make her witnesses back down, or disappear, or be too frightened to come forward.
"Yes, she is insane. Yes, she is old; and *yes*, she has a thin grasp on reality.
"They’re just excuses, and not good reasons to let her go free.” Mason leaned on the divider. “It’s my job to tell you that they are. It’s my job to let *that*,” he pointed at Hess. “Go out, free, on the streets. Well, ladies and gentlemen, if I succeed in that job; I’m going to quit.” He took a deep breath and sighed. “The most lenience I could hope for is imprisonment in a mental institution. Please. Consider it.”
He went and sat back down, while Hess looked like she could start on adults. Beginning with Philip Mason.
*
The jury didn’t take long to deliberate on the verdict.
“Guilty.”
“Guilty.”
“Guilty.”
“Guilty as Hell.”
“Guilty.”
“Guilty.”
“Guilty.”
“Guilty.”
“Guiltier than the Devil hisself.”
“Guilty.”
“Guilty.”
“Guilty.”
“That was easy,” said the elected foreman. “Okay. Punishment, anyone?”
“I’m with Mason,” said Risty. “Put her in a mental ward. A *high* *security* mental ward. It’s ideal. They’ll keep her so doped up she won’t know up from down. *And* she gets to spend the rest of her life with people pulling her apart to see what makes her tick.” She smiled. "Sort of appropriate when you think about it.“
There were a group of nods.
"I’m with her,” said another. “Lock her in the loony bin.”
“Germany wants her,” said another juror. “I say we let the USA extradite her after about - what? Ten, fifteen years?”
“Twenty at the outmost,” suggested a third.
“Sounds good to me,” said Risty. “All in favour?”
*
Kitty practically leaped on him the second he was offstage. Her tongue was almost down his throat in seconds.
“Katzchen!” he managed, a little shocked. “What’s got *into* you?”
“All those other girls drooling for your lovely, blue, fuzzy, *gorgeous* tight ass…” Kitty licked her lips. “I had to make 'em know you’re *mine*.”
“Always and ever,” Kurt chuckled, returning the favour. She was as sweet as ever. Delicious.
When they came up for air, she said. “*God*, you’re hot in that outfit… And you smell so - so… *Rrrroowwwwrrrrr*…”
“Pheremones, liebchen,” Kurt said. “I’m a little bit blessed on that score. I make it a point to wait until I’ve bathed before I see if the lady is really that interested.”
“You *know* I’m like, interested,” Kitty teased, running her hand over his exposed pelt. No-one minded him as he was on the highwire, or in his circus gear. Everyone thought it an elaborate costume and let it go. After all, the centaurs were more interesting to look at.
“True, but I like to know I’m not taking advantage of anyone.”
“Gallant Elf,” Kitty cooed.
Kurt bowed as he headed for the nearest available shower. “I shall see you anon, my love. Then I’ll know if you like me - or my smell.”
Kitty laughed. She’d caught his carefree attitude, tonight.
And, perhaps later, they’d find another way to fly. Together.