Continued from yesterday:
“Okay,” Scott drawled, feeling an intense relief to have made it into Sara’s room. The various mind-spooks[1] were still scurrying around, but he’d achieved a goal. A safe haven. An environment which, as far as everyone knew, Sara had yet to hurt herself in. The creepyness of some of her ‘decorations’ was more than enough to creep him out without having to deal with the phantasms from her mind. Some of them, even taken individually, made him wonder about the exact nature of her sanity.
All of them combined, however, made him bloody certain.
Butter-flish - hybrids of butterflies and fish - swam/flew through the mirror and cavorted in the room. They seemed impervious to the machinations of the nightmares.
Who knew? Maybe dreams and nightmares existed seperately in Sara's mind.
Wait. Scratch that. A dranglett just ate one.
_Why the fuck am I even taking notes?_ he wondered. “Heeeere we go," he cooed. "You have some *niiiiiiice* quiet-time here on your bed. And here’s a book you can read…”
She fumbled her way completely under a blanket and - like a miracle - the creatures disappeared. There were mere suggestions of them, now… flickering around the edges of Sara’s bed.
Scott breathed a sigh of relief and made himself comfortable in her reading corner - a space he shared with Dead Fred and a fake dusty book entitled _Forgotten Lore_.
_It’s official. The girl is nuts._ He found a book he could actually enjoy and sent to Betsy, _All right. You can cut off the contact, now._
_You’re sure?_ 'said’ her astral representation. _Something important might crop up…_
Sara’s arm, blending with the scenery, withdrew a snorkel and a flashlight from a drawer and dragged them back under the covers. After a few seconds, the snorkel emerged.
_I think there won’t be that much action any time soon._
_If you saaay sooo…_ Betsy singsonged.
_You’re not getting me to volunteer to dip into her nightmares, Betsy, so quit trying to set me up._
_Rats._ There was a hint of real-world communication on her side of the link. A vague impression of a small crowd. And a disappointed one at that.
_Are you and some others *up* to something?_
_No…_ she 'said’. _Not yet, anyway._
Just what he needed. An anti-Scott conspiracy. _Tell them the Professor draws the line at mess-making pranks._
Now they were severely disappointed.
_You know she’s doing this out of subliminalized stress,_ wheedled Betsy. _She’s only going to have more and more spectacular accidents as time goes by. And Mort’ll get hurt, too._
_Mort?_
A blush infused the purple butterfly. _He’s been showing us some cool stuff… and stuff._ Somewhere on the other end of the telepathic 'line’, Betsy’s hands were wringing. _He’s actually kinda cool, you know._
_Get back to your lessons, Betsy,_ he told her. Deal or no deal, he had to do something about Toynbee corrupting the rest of the kids.
“…luuuuke… luuuuuke… i ang you phaaaarrrzhaaaarrr…” said Sara through the snorkel.
Later. *After* Sara resumed operating in normal space.
[1] A term I made up when confronting the Things In The Dark.
~
“I’m serious,” Betsy was telling the attentive crowd. “Nightmares all *over* the freakin’ place. Living colour, surround sound… she even had tactile feedback.”
“Whoah…”
In a darkened corner, Mort muttered, “…'kinell…”
“And he *shared* all of that?”
“I tried to tone it down, honest,” said Betsy, “but *I* could feel 'em and I was like, *way* out of the projection zone. It was too much all at once. And Mr Summers just gritted his teeth and soldiered right on through them. Sometimes literally.”
One of the older kids whistled backwards.
“Darn it, how do you *do* that?” demanded Jamie. “I’ve been trying for weeks…”
“It’s a knack. You’ll get it.”
“I still say you should have formed a permanent link,” said Ray. “He might be redeeming himself, but he’s still being a jerk.”
“He was born a jerk,” dismissed Amy.
“Hey. C'mon,” said Mort. “Even jerks get a chance to get better.”
Everyone stared at him.
“Are you *serious*?” said Jubes. “He’s been the biggest jerk of all to you.”
“'E’s go’ 'is reasons,” said Mort. “Di'n’t make a good first impression.”
“That’s not a reason to be a king-sized jerk,” said Rogue. “I mean, half of us prob'ly shot at him, right?”
“Accident or design?” asked Ray.
“In your case, probably both,” cracked Bobby. “But you’re right. We've all done stuff to him in one way or another… Logan took his bike *and* his car… and he still deals with us like we’re everyday people.”
Jubes had a nasty smirk crawling across her face. “Is anyone else pondering what *I’m* pondering?”
“I think so, Brain, but where are we going to get a bucket of soapy frogs at this hour?”[1]
“Hardy har har…” Jubes glared daggers at the comedian. “*I* was pondering a little… civil disobedience combined with a prank war. What’s Sara’s phrase, Mort?”
“Kharmic re-alignment,” he supplied. “You lot remember to keep it low-key, awrigh’?”
“Okay,” said Ray. “First rule of the Scooter Conspiracy - do not talk about the Scooter Conspiracy…”[2]
“…gordon *bennet*…” muttered Mort.
[1] Side fling to both _Pinky and the Brain_ *AND* one of the _Red Dwarf_ books.
[2] _Fight Club_ ^_^ Never seen it though.
~
“What?” Ray demanded.
“Does the phrase, 'livin’ in the same 'ouse as the world’s most powerful bleedin’ telepath’ ring any bloody alarm bells, cocky? It’s not bloody talkin’ 'bout it that ya gotta worry about.” Mort sighed. “Not that it won’t be all around the bloody school by tomorrow any-bloody-way…”
“It’s okay,” said Amy. “The Professor taught us how to do psychic shields.”
Mort rubbed at an incipient migrane. “Put it this way, luv. How to you secure your house when the village locksmith turns out t’ be the village thief?”
“But the Professor isn’t *like* that. He respects our right to privacy.”
“Yeh? An’ yer all plannin’ to use that *against* him?”
That bought on a contemplative, and rather morose, silence. Each and every one of them owed Xavier in their own ways. From his kind and generous heart to his openly understanding mind… and the unique way he had of being a keystone in their new lives. They all knew where they’d be without Professor Xavier, and down which dark and dismal road they’d be if it hadn’t been for his guiding hand.
It occurred to Mort that Charles and Sara were woven from the same thread. It’s just that Xavier had more readily available resources.
“So Scooter gets away with being a dickwad, is that it?” Ray sniped.
“Never said *that*, kid. You want to pull pranks on Summers? Fine. Just be willin’ to take whatever the ol’ boy decides to dish out. It *is* about justice, right?”
A definitive murmur of assent.
“So let it *be* about justice. You step over the line, you get what you deserve. End of bloody story.”
“I notice you never say 'we’,” said Ray.
“Me? I’m on bloody parole, mate. I know better than to go *near* any bleedin’ lines.”
“You can’t,” said an adult voice, “but *I* can.”
Everyone turned in fear.
Logan lit a fresh cigar[1]. “Me an’ Slim don’t get along. Think he kinda likes it that way…” puff. “Any shit I give him’s likely to be part of the scenery.”
“You’re not gonna rat us out?”
“Me? Fuck no. I’d *love* to see Shades get his.” He took another drag. "Besides. I kinda like Tallwater.“
"Why? She fails every one of your classes.”
“That’ll change,” said Logan, and dropped that subject with an almost audible clang. “You want to piss Shades off? Scooter’s a good start.”
“Give it an edge,” said Mort. “Like… *mister* Scoo'er. The right balance between respect - an’ absolute arse.”
Logan gave him an appraising look. “I can see what Tallwater sees in ya.”
_Good,_ thought Mort. _Less shit in my fan[2]…_ He grinned.
“But if ya hurt her, I’ll cut yer heart out an’ feed it to ya. Got it?”
“Gospel, mate,” said Mort. “Hell, if I hurt her, I’d cut me own bloody heart out.”
“Glad we understand each other.” Logan grinned back. “Now. You've known the enemy longer'n any of us. What else shits him off?”
[1] Is it me, or has he always got a stub or half-stogie in the films?
[2] I just made that up and I’m loving it.
~
“…owie,” Sara moaned. “I have the single *worst* case of cotton-mouth. Bleh.”
“That’s what you get for breathing through a snorkel for half an hour,” said Scott. Then reality caught up with him. “You're cogniscent?”
Sara emerged from her cocoon, looking slightly haggard. “I was living in dreamland, wasn’t I?”
“Something close to it.” He spent a great deal of effort not smirking. "It’s okay. I was keeping watch. Made sure you didn’t do anything overtly embarrassing.“
She blushed, despite her under-the–weather pallor. "I didn’t say anything… awful, did I?”
“Kid, you barely said anything *intelligable*.” He put the book he'd been reading back in its place. “I’ll keep your bizarre subconscious to myself. Promise. You okay to walk to the kitchen?”
Sara disentangled herself, putting things away in the manner of a marionette - one manipulated by a complete newb. Watching her stand was an exercise in Zen and the Art of Repeatedly Not Flinching. “Just,” she finally announced. “Not all of the controls are responding.”
He offered his elbow. “Hopefully a drink and something resembling a solid meal should help.” Then he saw what some of the kids had set up.
Kitty was obviously in on part of it. Few others at the school were capable of rigging the old bucket-on-the-door from the *outside* of a room.
“Oh *dear*,” Sara sighed.
“Just wait a second.” He strode forward and steadied the pail, then jerked open the door. “All right, you little–”
{splatasplatasplatasplutasplat} A positive volley of water balloons soaked him from head to toe. And, to add insult to injury, the pail soaked him when he instinctively flinched to ward them off.
The perpetuators scattered to the four winds, laughing all the way.
“I love my work,” he said sarcastically.
~
“You’re absolutely certain you can look after yourself in here?” said Mr Summers for the umpty-umpth time.
“You’re dripping on the tiles, sir,” she said. “I have a tub of chocolate-fudge ripple Haagen Daas[1], a full can of whipped cream, and all the ungodly toppings I could dream of. And a spoon. Why would I wish to get up?”
“Right. I’ll be gone ten minutes, tops.” He ducked out, trying not to slip in his own footprints on the way.
Sara smirked. He was such a wet hen, sometimes. Were it not for his predilection towards judging once and never again, she could get to like him. Now that he was gone, she gave herself a shot of whipped cream the fun way[2] and considered this evening’s gastronomic perversion.
Ice cream, layer of Ice Magic[3], ice cream, lime topping, sprinkles, ice cream, a gloop of caramel, some more Ice Magic and then whipped cream in any place that looked bare.
Aaaah. Sugar jag combined with art. Her favourite.
“Y'know, most people just eat the ice cream out of the tub when they’re feeling down,” said Kitty.
“Most people don’t enjoy sugar overloads as much as I do.” Sara delicately scooped out a cross-section and savoured it. Oooohhhh yeah. That was the stuff. “And in lieu of drugs, this helps the pain diminish into something less important.”
“Yeah, I heard you were pretty high this afternoon.” She found a bowl and a spoon and made herself something a lot milder.
“Bless my ideosynchratic bloodstream, yes,” said Sara. “I’m never amazed about the rumour mill, though. Just how awful are they making it out to be?”
Kitty looked perplexed. “As bad as it *was*,” she said. “You learn not to embellish with telepaths in the house.”
Sara considered this around a mouthful of sugar, artificial flavourings, and polyputthekettleon 3[4]. “Now *there* would be a marvellous little gift mother would definitely not have appreciated." She paused to lap fudge from her spoon. "She couldn’t cope with the mere knowledge that I’m a mutant… imagine having to cope with the *exact* details of what other people think.” Another shot of whipped cream. “You know… I could almost wish it on her.”
Kitty gave herself a shot. “Mnu-uh,” she said. “Teeping is hell. And not user-friendly, either. Take it from someone who roomed with someone who was a teep.”
“This is a true story,” prattled Sara. “It happened to a friend of a friend of mine…[5]” she giggled. “The sugar’s kicked in, I'm free-associating.”
“I love it when that happens,” said Kitty. “It’s like mental fission. You really need someone to stop you before there’s a mushroom cloud.”
“I only make mushroom clouds in tanks,” said Sara. “Which reminds me of this really fun movie I made once…”
“And this one time? At band camp?[6]” said Kitty.
“Have you heard that one?”
“No, but I recognise the theme.” She waved a spoon while she processed a mouthful. “Post-apocalyptic parody in the basement-slash-garage?”
“Well, mother was off on a series of quote-unquote 'sleepovers’ with her social circle, so we got some exterior filming in. Junkyards, mostly.”
“But of course.”
“Dead Fred did a *lot* of cameos. He does drag very well.”
Kitty cracked up.
“Of course, I had to make up some dupes for the crowd scenes, but I got my money back on Halloween sales. Someone bought an entire _Rocky Horror_ set for their porch.”
“Eeeuuwww,” Kitty laughed. “*Sick*!”
“You should have seen what he did with 'Magenta’.”
“*EUW*!”
They both fell to cackling like hens. It might have been a bad day, but sugar sped her mind into the Now and laughter boosted the endorphins she needed to forget her aching back. The only thing that could make it perfect would be having Mort with her… _Carpe munus[7], Sara Louise._ And with that thought, she let herself skim from minute to minute, enjoying the good.
[1] Gourmet ice cream people. I’m not sure if I spelled them correctly, alas.
[2] Directly into the mouth. Just saw this in _Joan of Arcadia_ ^_^
[3] Chocolate stuff that sets hard in the cold. Now availlable in mint and orange flavours of chocolate as well as the original.
[4] If you’ve read Terry Pratchett’s _Bromeliad_ series, you know all about Polyputthekettleon ;)
[5] The traditional opening to _Freaky Stories_, an animated series containing urban myths.
[6] I had to throw in a riff to _American Pie_
[7] I *think* it’s “Sieze the moment[present]” in Latin. Translation provided by InterTran and all corrections from Latin!nerds eagerly accepted.
~