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Gremlyn (Sharon) |
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| I am not the fire. I am the steel that is tempered within it. | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Jan. 25th, 2005 @ 06:57 pm (no subject) | |||
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Current Mood:
The tunnels were sealed. The main ones, in any case. Not in a way that would prevent them doing what they were designed to do any more than a regular safety grill, but solidly enough to make the deeper portions inaccessible to the curious or the homicidally inclined. tiredCrouching in the half-dark, Sharon stole a look at one of the barricades and allowed herself a smile. A work of primitive art, it didn't just sit; it loomed, a mass of unfriendly steel and glinting, rattling chains. She wondered if there were any contests for ... what would it be called? Art Noir, perhaps? OK, probably not, but she thought maybe she could come up with something. Mort - and Rock, Tuff, Biggin and all the others who'd helped - deserved an award. Right now, of course, Mort was just pissed. Pissed at the world, and the news that had filtered in through the papers and over the crappy little TV Tinker kept tapped into the city's electricity supply, and at her because she hadn't let him know about it until the work was done and they were settling down with a sixpack of beer. She stood, stretching her legs. She wasn't sure just what part pissed him off the most. That the Brotherhood still existed, that the X-Men were getting caned - both of which struck her more cynical nerves as no-brainers - or the other thing. Watching someone fuck themselves up for the sake of stamping their feet. To see someone not figure that when a boss says 'kill' you don't get to choose your target ... or maybe not care. To see himself in someone else's belligerent eyes. Over by the tunnel wall, Sprout was finishing her ministrations. By the barricade, a line of soft, luminous moss crept up the concrete, glowing faintly in the dark and forming - if you knew what to look for - an arrow, pointing up and a little to the left. The moss now grew alongside each of the barricades, subtly indicating the nearest bolt hole, the nearest hidden path around the ominous steel grill. The Morlocks were boarding enemies out, not each other. Sharon nodded, boosted Sprout and climbed after her onto a ledge. Half a concrete slab slid aside, then back, and they were gone. | ||
| Jan. 13th, 2005 @ 10:54 am (no subject) | |||
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Current Mood: awake
Out. Out, out, out, out, out. And damn the man if he so much as said a word. Not that he needed to. Sharon sighed, pausing long enough to throw a glance back along the tunnel. He'd taken her excuses and watched her go with that mixture of smugness and mock innocence and the air of knowing her better than she knew herself. She still wasn't sure whether she wished he wasn't right.Mort didn't argue with her, or at least not often. He simply pointed things out and waited, trusting that she was smart enough to figure out, despite any initial bursts of denial, that he had a point. Heading for the storm drain and the outside world, Sharon chuckled under her breath. Maybe smart-arse could explain to her how that was incredibly annoying and comforting all at the same time? Take the latest; "You're too serious, Fuzz." he'd said, squeezing her and giving a half-hearted tickle. "You're doin' this leader-thing way too 'ard." and, "Don't wanna end up like Summers, do ya?" Oh yeah. Way less annoying if he wasn't right. She was starting to act like Scott, cutting off 'herself' with the worrying about everyone else. That was going to have to change, and step one was going to be ... well, not a 'step', really, at all. She peeked over the edge of the drain, checked both ways, then scrambled up. Air. Space. Freedom. It had been too long. Sharon tensed, crouched, unfurled her wings - and reached for the sky. | ||
| Oct. 3rd, 2004 @ 06:18 pm Email; | |||
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| After Sharon left the medilabs, she went back to her room and hunted down a shower. Blood, dirt, grime ... you never noticed it during the battle, only after. Emerging, she put on her robe, ran a comb through her hair and sat down at the computer. Taking a deep breath, she composed an email - addressed to Professors Summers and Xavier, CC'd to Dr McCoy and her KP Professor Wagner. She put in a BCC to Mort, hesitated, then took it out again. Him, she'd have to talk to face to face. Dear all, I'm aware that I screwed up. I know where I screwed up, and the possible repercussions of it among the other students. Therefore, please find attached a letter that I would appreciate being circulated among them. I still expect to be called to account for today's adventure, but in the meantime I hope that this is helpful. Sincerely, ~ Sharon. ( Attachment ) | ||
| Oct. 2nd, 2004 @ 04:55 pm (no subject) | |||
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| Sharon climbed the back fence and crossed the grounds, in no real hurry. She climbed the stately oak tree outside her window but didn't go in, simply sat on one of the solid, comforting branches next to the trunk, contemplating the day's events, and what exactly she needed to distill from them. She needed to be clear in her own mind before she faced the roasting that doubtless awaited her. She looked at her tail, coiled around in her usual habit to rest across her lap. Then at her hand, sliding her claws out and back. God's will has a purpose. Though we may not know it. Sharon pushed away from the trunk, slipped in through her window and headed for the Medilabs. | ||
| Oct. 2nd, 2004 @ 04:15 pm (no subject) | |||
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| Westchester_X entry.</i> | ||
| Oct. 1st, 2004 @ 04:45 pm Rescue | |||
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Current Mood: busy
The portal was just ahead. Sharon followed the group as they hurried along the little-used tunnel, watching behind. Inkshop was still crying, rivulets of black tears coursing down her face. Squealer had attached himself around Sharon's neck at the earliest possible instant, and had to be forcibly removed to stranglehold DrugDog instead. Pop-Gun had a hold on the a slender youth that no-one seemed to know, but who very obviously was as good as dead if they left him behind. Rocky and Tuff were carrying Static as carefully as they could, but it was obvious they weren't going to get him far. They reached the tall concrete slab set into the wall. It jammed a little, but Lotion slapped on some oil and they managed to prise it open and scramble inside.Sharon shoved the slab back over the entrance-way, Tuff hurrying to help her, and leaned against it. She closed her eyes, suddenly having trouble catching her breath. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and if not for the cold concrete her knees would have given way. Slowly, she became aware that the room was eerily silent, and opened her eyes. They were looking at her, those that were conscious. Scared ... hopeful ... waiting. She stared at them, confused, then settled on DrugDog. He nodded to her, assuringly, and almost smiled. Every group had a leader. Sharon bit down on the mounting panic, the sudden release of fear. It wasn't over yet. She breathed, slowly, forcing her brain to engage, and scrabbled in her pocket for her phone. | ||
| Oct. 1st, 2004 @ 04:02 pm (no subject) | |||
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Current Mood: awake
( Into the Breach ) | ||
| Oct. 1st, 2004 @ 03:41 pm (no subject) | |||
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Current Mood:
This time she was running. Full tilt, not even looking back at the people she stiff-armed out of her way. She could hear Mort in the doorway of the TV room, trying to yell after her - none too successfully, given that she'd just knocked the wind out of him in her headlong rush out of the house. Behind him, the TV was still playing; an aerial shot, taken from a helicopter. There were trees, a field, old farm buildings. Flashes. Noise. And an edgy, excited reporter's voice narrating over the scene ... shocked" ... this is the view here in upstate New York, where members of the anti-mutant organization known as the Saviours are engaged in a pitched battle with an unknown number of mutants. The mutants so far have not been identified, and their powers are still unknown. From our vantage point here in the CNN chopper, we can tell you that there has been gunfire, and we've definitely seen some kind of electrical or lightning power being exhibited. Unfortunately the dense tree cover is preventing us from bringing you a better view ... " ... "Fuzz - !" Mort hollered, scrambling after her, but it was too late. Outside the Mansion, Sharon was airborne - and gone. | ||
| Sep. 24th, 2004 @ 05:49 pm (no subject) | |||
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| Sharon was walking down the street. This would have been amusing for her if she hadn't been quite so twitchy. The image inducer was switched on, of course - to an observer she was a rather plain, mousey brown late-teen with glasses, which thankfully fit in with the way her eyes flickered nervously, and she twitched whenever movement hit her peripheral vision. It wasn't yet rush hour and the street was not yet crowded, but she kept her wings and tail pulled in as close to her body as she could - they may not have been visible, but somebody accidentally walking into them could take explaining. She was carrying several large plastic shopping bags. Mort had given her the locations of a few well-stocked Thrift Shops, and she had been busy. Her allowance had taken a beating, but all the bags were packed full of blankets, sweaters, cardigans and fleecy jackets. Winter was coming, the Morlocks were on the move, and no warm clothes or bedding were going to go astray. The bags chafed at her hands. Almost there, she reminded herself. The streets looked rather different in the open daylight, but there was the alleyway just ahead. She slipped into its shadows and set the bags down, sighing with relief. Flexing her fingers, she switched off the inducer and gathered up the bags, thankful to now be able to use her tail. She carried them quickly through the urban twilight to a drain entrance, knocking lightly on the neglected steel grating. Bright eyes appeared underneath, and a whispered voice; "What's the password?!" "Open the fucking grill, Drugger!" "Not quite!" The Morlock who went by the name DrugDog slipped the latch that held the grill in place. "But since you asked so nicely ... " Sharon helped him lift the grill open, holding it with one hand, passing the bags down into the hole. "News?" "Nothing further." DrugDog took the bags, sending them back into other waiting hands behind him. "We're still shifting, all the same. You?" "Pending." Sharon glanced back along the alley. "I have to get back." Dog nodded. "Stay safe, Grem." "You too." She caught the hand he raised toward her, squeezing, then with his help lowered the grill back into place. The sound of the latch scraping back made her feel cold. Straightening up, Sharon moved quickly back toward the main street, switching on the image inducer pn the way. Time to get ... home. | ||
| Sep. 16th, 2004 @ 12:23 pm Looking for a teacher (but open anyway ;}) | |||
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Current Mood:
Sharon slipped over the back fence and into the grounds. It wasn't really necessary - with the image-inducer she was able to come and go through the main gates - but it was a familiar habit, and anyway, across-the-grounds-and-over-the-wall was a much shorter route from the storm-drain, something she was glad of right now. worriedShe turned off the inducer, which she'd set to simply change her colouring and hide her ... extras, and set off in low, rapid flight toward the house. At the front steps she landed and was walking forward in the same movement, seeing little and caring less of anyone she passed by on the way. Walking quickly, she hurried through the halls toward the medilabs, looking out for Dr McCoy or anyone else of the Faculty that might be on her way. | ||
| Aug. 26th, 2004 @ 11:56 am Chorus of thanks | |||
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Current Mood:
It was early afternoon when Sharon scampered down the hall toward the medilabs. She'd shaken off the effects of 'breakfast' around mid-morning, which was a shame because it meant there was no excuse for what she was about to do ... ditzy | ||
| Aug. 18th, 2004 @ 06:47 pm (no subject) | |||
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Current Mood:
Sharon picks up one of the house phones and dials the medilab extension ... anxious | ||
| Aug. 15th, 2004 @ 07:41 pm (no subject) | |||
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Current Mood:
Breathing. nauseatedIn. Out. In. Out. White shock, red anger. Lotte ... and Grace. Why them? Smallest, gentlest ... Breathe. They're alive. They're OK. Rest doesn't matter. Always the smallest ... Anger doesn't help. Seen it before. Know the drill. Can't help. Won't help. Never does. Tears. | ||
| Aug. 8th, 2004 @ 05:57 pm Late night (open) | |||
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Current Mood:
It was late. Sharon slipped out of the storm drain, moving cautiously. A peek over the edge of the concrete showed nothing - not even the faint orange lights of the teen pot-smokers who sometimes gathered in the shelter of the retaining wall. She slithered over the top and along the ground, wings pulled in tight against her back, keeping low and on all fours. Better any random observer thought they'd seen a mountain lion or a bear than a slender blue mutant. restlessThe road that wound outside the perimeter fence of the school grounds was empty. Sharon checked both ways, looking for headlights, listening for any engine sound. One instant she was still, the next a blur of shadow across the bitumen and into the shadows by the high fence. Another cautious look around before she scaled the brickwork, peeking over and scanning the other side before another burst of movement took her over and into the grounds. She kept low and amongst the trees until she got closer to the mansion, then quick-smart across the lawn and up the comforting branches of the big oak tree to the window of her room. | ||
| Jul. 1st, 2004 @ 06:37 pm Go Fish (Open) | |||
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Current Mood:
Peace. Quiet. They were supposed to go together, or so modern vernacular would have it. Modern vernacular, though, had a tendency to be glib and superficial, with only a passing nod to the reality of life and emotions. Peace could be found in the swell of music, the laughter of friends or the chatter of conversation, while quiet often gave sway to thoughts that disturbed the mood and troubled the mind. relaxedMust write that down, thought Sharon to herself. It'd do for either English or Psychology. She stretched, feeling the muscles pop, and rolled into a sitting position. No bites yet. A fishing pole stood by the water's edge, its end dug into the soft ground so that it remained upright. Sharon had spent several hours now stretched out beside it, alternately reading, dozing or just letting her mind wander. Hence the peace and quiet thing. Out on the lake a small orange float bobbed innocently at the end of the line. It wasn't the most sophisticated fisherman's rig by anyone's eye, and in fact she wasn't at all sure that there was anything actually in the lake to fish for, but ... it was nice here. It was relaxing. Sharon wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees. It was peace and quiet. | ||
| Jun. 21st, 2004 @ 11:11 am Flight training (Open for RP - just interrupt her ;}) | |||
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Current Mood: working
Some bales of straw from the stables. Old hessian bags. Tape. Cardboard, garden stakes. A bunch of little plastic flags on long cane sticks. Quite a strange collection unless you knew what you were doing, and Sharon, quite frankly, hoped like hell she did.The straw bales were set up on-end at intervals across an open area of the grounds. They had hessian bags wrapped around them and taped, with the flags sticking out on alternate sides all down the line. Garden stakes were in the ground at the approaches to that part of the grounds, with cardboard signs reading "Careful! Flight training in progress!" She backed up, hands on hips, looking over her impromptu obstacle course. She was going to practice until she could fly this course, at speed, without knocking over a bale, and then without knocking over a bale and picking up all the flags as she went by. And then .... well, she'd see about 'then' when it arrived. She crouched, shook out her wings, set herself at the course and took off. | ||
| Jun. 16th, 2004 @ 05:02 pm (no subject) | |||
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Current Mood:
Sharon was sitting on her bed. She wasn't huddling, or so she told herself. The way her knees were drawn up, her arms and tail wrapped around them, and her wings pulled in tight against her back was just ... just ... well, she wasn't huddling. scaredProfessor Summers had had some sort of fit, or so the story was. She hadn't seen it, just heard the noise and confusion, and had been running toward the source when Mort caught her on the stairs. He was standing by the half-open door now, looking down the hall and listening for any further news. Sharon didn't know how the hell he could be so patient. She herself was ready to run down anyone who could tell her just what had happened, and more importantly what was going on now. "You can't 'elp, Princess." Mort had told her firmly, holding a finger in front of her nose in a 'you mind me' gesture. "The X-Men know better about it than us. If they need us, we'll be sent for. Best we can do now is keep our 'eads together and stay out of the way." So they were holed up in her room, waiting to hear. Voices floated up to them, confused, scared. Sharon not-huddled a little tighter. What about Grace? What about Helen? What about Becca and Theo and Nick and ... everybody? She hated feeling helpless, feeling useless ... but there was nothing she could do about it for now. | ||
| Jun. 12th, 2004 @ 01:22 pm Problem (Open) | |||
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Current Mood:
::Email to all (except Theo, as he would probably freak):: amusedOK. I have a problem, and I'm sure you're all going to laugh. BUT - Is there anyone here who has any experience with clippers? Like, the beard/hair/fur kind? And NO, Mort, it has nothing to do with Brazil in any way, shape or form, thank you. ~ Thx, Sharon. | ||
| Jun. 12th, 2004 @ 08:25 am (no subject) | |||
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Current Mood:
[Private] thoughtfulHoo boy. It seems to be hitting the fan around here. Bobby and Loahn had some sort of fight - not sure what about. I've never really spoken to her (must remedy that) and he was ... well ... I don't think he really knows what about either. Christine seems cross about something, too. Again, not sure what or why. Reminds me, must catch up with her and do that introduction thing with Cade. Theo apparently had another 'incident' the other day, with Ian, I think the guy's name is. Another one I haven't ... I really must be more sociable. Speaking of sociable, Grass-Stain got a B+ on math. I think the mansion may be flattened if he ever gets an A. Must catch up with Prof Summers about the D-Room. And Doc McCoy about the other stuff. [End Private] | ||
| Jun. 9th, 2004 @ 09:16 pm Medilabs (looking for Hank, but anyone welcome) | |||
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Current Mood:
She was down. Shouldn't be, trying not to be, but going to have to face, sooner or later, that she was. It was late, and she had classes the next day, but sleep was out of the question until she managed to shuck this mood. discontentBlue mood for a blue meanie. Stop that. It wasn't often it got the better of her like this, but when it did, going to sleep only led to nightmares and feeling crappier in the morning than if she stayed awake. So ... do something constructive instead. Go down to Medilab and, if by some chance Doctor McCoy is still awake, give over that venom sample Logan told her to give him over a week ago. And if he wasn't there ... well, walking was good. Somewhere to walk to was better, but if not just walking usually worked. Endorphins or something, maybe ... ? Whatever. Hands in pockets, she trudged down the corridor to the Medilab. | ||