[open thread] pyromaniac bitches are my favorite kind of bitches

[fireaholic.livejournal.com]

Characters: John Allerdyce, you.
Setting: Common area, recreation room, what have you.
Content: Amazing.
Status: Open and incomplete.



[John's in one of his usual moods. (Read: a bored and prickish one.) He's sitting on one of the couches in the wreck room, leaning forward, both his injured hand and his good one propped on his knees. He's opening and closing his Zippo, surveying the room and its occupants. Every now and then he turns towards the TV, where the news is on, but only when he hears something about mutants or fires or anything that catches his ear.]

Comments

[fireaholic.livejournal.com]

[John sobers just a little at that, his eyes turning ever more unreadable - it's a good sign something more is going on upstairs. Pet projects. Right. Shaping them both into good little soldiers. At least that's one thing John knows he doesn't want to be.] Fuck that, man. The day I'm an X-men is the day I shoot myself in the head.

[witheredecay.livejournal.com]

[Now Kevin glares at John out of the corners of his eyes, a serious look on his face.]

You know, it could be worse. You could be in jail right now. And me, too. If not for recently, then just, from the very beginning, with what happened with Dad.

[Kevin is not about to completely disagree with John. In fact, his thoughts on the X-Men are probably more aligned with John's than with anyone else's. And so he clarifies with:] Just thinking out loud, now.

[fireaholic.livejournal.com]

[Kevin gets a look for that - and not just any old glare. John feels a surge of resentment over the words - not necessarily over the truth of them, but that's certainly part of it. He doesn't care what they do for him; John's not stupid enough to even think they're fucking saints.

Kevin's last words soften that anger a little, John tears his gaze away.]

It could be worse. [The admission is resigned - it's the truth. And it's a truth he probably wouldn't confess so easily or frankly to anyone but Kevin.] But don't you think for goddamn second these people won't use you, Kevin. Maybe not like that, not like- [John stops himself there. He knows Kevin knows: like the Brotherhood.] Only difference between them and these sapien lovers is they give a shit what happens to you. And not just whether you die or not. [John's voice is strong now; has been throughout his speech. His penetrating gaze finds Kevin's.] It's the only reason it could be worse and the only fucking reason I left that damn place. That's why I got you out of there.

[witheredecay.livejournal.com]

[Kevin holds John's eye contact now, acknowledging the seriousness of this conversation.] No, I know. Believe me. That's -- [A small shrug here, with a cursory glance around behind him to see that they're alone] -- kinda part of why I took off, isn't it? I know they'd use me.

[Before John can answer, Kevin continues on here, still thinking out loud, knowing John is the one and only person here who wouldn't berate him for these thoughts.] Sometimes I just feel, you know, what if I just give in and follow the track laid out for me here? I'd train, I'd pass all their little tests, and then graduate to X-Man. Because there isn't really any other option here. Life wouldn't be so horrible. But then, doesn't it fucking suck to do something, for the reason of "it's the only option I have"? And then I get all pissed again, and then I'm back to square one. I don't know what to do.

[fireaholic.livejournal.com]

That's bullshit, man. That's fucking bullshit. [John says this in the only way he can: with blunt irritation.] You have options. Just because you live here, it doesn't mean you have to fit into their fucking mold, you got that? You can do whatever the fuck you want to with your life now. You don't have to go along with their shit.

[The words are spoken bitterly; there's such conviction in them it's hard not to listen to them. Because John's talking about something he cares about, like he cares about it. He feels the purpose rising in his chest, making his knuckles whiten over his lighter. He believes this: and maybe not for myself, not anymore. But he believes this for Kevin. He really fucking does, and the realization staggers him so much he gets up, feeling the sudden urge to leave, to escape this truth, the hopelessness he feels. There are no options for him anymore. He's a wanted terrorist. He's a fucking cold-hearted killer. There's nothing in this goddamn world that's his, and nothing he's believed in for months besides this stupid kid.]

[witheredecay.livejournal.com]

[Kevin just shrugs at the thought of having options. He doesn't really see any, but does know he doesn't necessarily have to follow the X-Men exactly the way they want him to. John's outrage is making Kevin quieter, though he's not intimidated by him. Kevin just leans on the arm of the couch and stares out of the window, ignoring the TV now.]

When I first got here I wanted to be an X-Man, so bad. Now? I think I'd hate it.

[fireaholic.livejournal.com]

What, you think putting your life on the line for some cause is fun? [John says this incredulously, kicking Kevin's calf hard enough to jostle him, turn his attention back to John, but not hurt him. He's angled now to face his roommate, standing over him, palms open-faced and arms slightly apart from his body.] Shit, you think having a cause is a fucking rodeo, man, is that what you're saying? [John's on a roll now; he lifts his hands to gesture carelessly in the direction of the basketball court, the jet hanger, beyond the windows.] You slap on some fucking spandex and life makes sense and you've got a goddamn place to belong? Of course you'd hate it; it's worth horseshit. We don't need it.