Gremlyn (Sharon)

Tue, 25 Jan 2005 08:52:28 GMT

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.

Crouching 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.

Thu, 13 Jan 2005 00:36:37 GMT

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.

Email;

Sun, 03 Oct 2004 08:23:47 GMT

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.

"By now, most of you have probably heard some version or other of the story. In a nutshell, a group of Morlocks on their way out of the city were ambushed by a group of Saviours. I recognised the place it was happening from the TV and a went to the rescue. I managed that, and we got away. One of the Morlocks had been shot, but thanks to Dr McCoy and Grace Waverly nobody died.

However, I would like to use this letter to communicate to you all that I did not handle the situation well. When I saw what was happening on the television, I panicked. I didn't think for an instant, I just knew I had to reach them and I took off. That was completely the wrong way to go about things; not so much the going, but the screaming off without thinking to even let someone know where I was going, much less gather help, which, let's face it, is abundant here at the School.

I do, as it happens, stand by the way I handled the situation once I was on the scene, but my initial reaction of panic and taking off with no notice was completely inappropriate and could very well have gotten me killed.

Thinking about it more closely, Morlocks - and I include myself in their number - are used to doing for ourselves, and for our own. At the risk of sounding martyred, in our experience no-one else will do things for us. Therefore, when I was reacting rather than thinking, my first instinct was that only I could or would do anything for the ambushed Morlocks. In that, I was once again completely wrong.

The Faculty of this School are here to help us. Us, as in mutants in general and we students in particular. Dr McCoy actually stated to me that the X-men would be ready to assist the Morlocks, and it embarrasses me now to recall that I told him I regarded the X-Men as a potential line of defense. Yet I went racing off without even a word. That was stupid.

Given, God forbid, the same situation again, would I go? Yes. I can't lie to anyone and say I wouldn't. I also can't lie and say I'm not proud of what I accomplished once I was there. But another time I would go to one of the Faculty first, and at least inform them of what was happening and where it was happening. Whatever else I did that was right, I was wrong in not doing that. I was fortunate this time. We were fortunate, the Morlocks involved and I. Nobody can ever, ever tell what is going to happen in a situation like what happened today. No matter how good you are or how good you believe you are, things can go wrong. I lucked out today, but it could have been very different. It could have been a lot worse, and so could any similar situation that comes along in the future.

Don't just rush off like I did. Ever. Even if you can handle it, you can still handle it after you've told one of the Professors. No matter what - go to them FIRST."

Sat, 02 Oct 2004 07:49:47 GMT

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.

Fri, 24 Sep 2004 08:17:33 GMT

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.

Looking for a teacher (but open anyway ;})

Thu, 16 Sep 2004 02:18:50 GMT

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.

She 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.

Chorus of thanks

Thu, 26 Aug 2004 01:59:28 GMT

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 ...

Wed, 18 Aug 2004 08:43:43 GMT

Sharon picks up one of the house phones and dials the medilab extension ...

Sun, 15 Aug 2004 09:57:40 GMT

Breathing.

In. 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.

Late night (open)

Sun, 08 Aug 2004 08:15:07 GMT

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.

The 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.

Go Fish (Open)

Thu, 01 Jul 2004 08:49:20 GMT

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.

Must 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.

Flight training (Open for RP - just interrupt her ;})

Mon, 21 Jun 2004 01:51:28 GMT

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.

Wed, 16 Jun 2004 07:24:03 GMT

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.

Professor 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.

Problem (Open)

Sat, 12 Jun 2004 03:22:52 GMT

::Email to all (except Theo, as he would probably freak)::

OK. 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.

Fri, 11 Jun 2004 22:34:10 GMT

[Private]
Hoo 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]

Medilabs (looking for Hank, but anyone welcome)

Wed, 09 Jun 2004 11:34:43 GMT

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.

Blue 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.

Email to Theo

Wed, 09 Jun 2004 04:58:18 GMT

Hi Theo, it's Sharon - you know, blue with wings?

Listen ... Remember how I said I got where you were coming from? Well, I do, and because of that I've kinda been keeping a lookout for you so we don't run into and scare each other. But ... it's starting to get old.

So - this is seriously gonna sound like I'm kidding, but I'm not - I'm going to wear a wrist band or something with a bell on it, so you can hear me coming. I figure you'll be pretty OK as long as I don't surprise you - right?

~ Sharon.

More time out (but open for any night-owls)

Mon, 07 Jun 2004 08:38:21 GMT

Sharon was on the roof again; it was the only place she could go that had enough room to dance without the risk of a waving wing tip demolishing something.

She's got the look.
She's got the look.
What in the world can make a brown-eyed girl turn blue.
When everything I'll ever do I'll do for you
and I go: la la la la la la
she's got the look ...

Time out

Sat, 05 Jun 2004 09:49:28 GMT

She was at the window again, this time by herself - a bag containing tapes and snacks and the elderly tape player clutched in her tail.

Sharon leaned out, checking only half-seriously for lurking amphibians, then slipped quickly out, climbing the wall the few feet to the roof. Once there she set out the player and searched through her tapes.

Clunk ... click ... whirrr ... and the strains of Roxette drifted across the roof.

Tried to make it little by little,
tried to make it bit by bit - on my own.
Quit the job, the grey believers,
another town where I get close to the bone ...

She started to dance.

(Dressed for Success by Roxette)

Essay for English

Fri, 04 Jun 2004 08:51:58 GMT

I'm not sure why people are so pissed off about these 'Saviour' people. Well, that is, I am, being it's a violent group of anti-mutent folks, but if you look at it in the bigger picture, cavorting about out there has probably done them more harm than good.

To Mr and Mrs Joe Average on the street, mutants are an abstract thing. Like drug addicts or Ethiopians or police. They know they exist, but for most people they're just pictures on the news.

By barricading the shopping center, the Saviours are the people Mr and Mrs Average are going to focus on. They're the psychos keeping Mr and Mrs A from going about their business. They're the ones frightening the 2.5 children. They're the ones inconveniencing the A family when all they really give two hoots about is doing the shopping and being home in time for Passions. And they're the ones Mr A is going to describe as a pack of fucking assholes when he goes to work tomorrow.

Sure, the Saviours may get some support through all their ranting and raving. But by inconveniencing and disrupting the lifestyle of Mr and Mrs A's around the country, they're going to turn far, far more people directly against them.

Email to Scott -

Fri, 04 Jun 2004 08:18:07 GMT

Dear Prof. Summers -

Shopping list, as suggested;

Johnson's Baby Shampoo
Choc-o-lait drinking chocolate
Stitches dressmaking magazine
AA size batteries (5 packs)
Coffee
Codeine

Many thanks,

~ S.

Thu, 03 Jun 2004 06:11:57 GMT

Someone had pinned it to the notice board - the newspaper clipping about the 'Saviours'. Sharon stood looking at it, undecided. She knew what it said - hell, she'd kept a copy of it herself - but she wasn't sure if it was better that it stay on the board where everyone would be aware of it, or be removed so as not to keep the problem on everyone's minds.

Finally, she sighed and turned away. Forget it, Sharon. You're not getting involved anymore, remember? If there's a problem around here, it isn't yours.

Tue, 01 Jun 2004 10:00:31 GMT

Sharon threw her pillow against the wall.

Not even an 'explain yourself' or 'what the fuck happened?' ... just a flat out 'you fucked up'. So nice to know the person you're supposed to trust and relate to thinks so highly of you, even when he has no fucking idea what actually went down.

Well. Fuck 'em. My hands are off. Next fight, next explosion, I walk away. They can barbecue each other and the whole damn house.

I don't need this place. I can always go back underground.

Tue, 01 Jun 2004 05:48:09 GMT

[Private entry]

Now, this is what I don't get. 'Everybody' means ... well ... everybody. So why do some people seem to think they deserve special treatment?

We'll all hit the bricks in self-defense class because everybody has to take it. What makes a few of us so great that we can't wait for the class and do it by the numbers just like everybody else?

[End Private]

Hmmm ... cookies ...

Email to Logan

Mon, 31 May 2004 07:28:55 GMT

Hey,

What's the rules regarding unsupervised flight around the grounds? Altitude restrictions, that kind of thing? I don't expect I should be seen up there from outside the school.

Thanks,

Sharon.