Cary had it down to a system. Go to class as Miracle, slink off at lunch or ditch the last few periods to recuperate in his (thankfully private) room as himself, go to training, pass out. It was a tenuous system at best, but it had ensured that only a handful of people in the school were aware he didn't always look like a giant, chiseled hunk. The counselor, that Cal guy, Shatterstar and the handful of other students in his training group--who were all too tight-lipped about themselves to go blabbing about him to everyone. He was friendly on the journals but avoided people otherwise, too nervous they'd ask why he stayed in powered form just to go to class, and frankly, he wasn't even sure why. It wasn't as if looking like he'd been in one too many fist-fights was the strangest physical deformity a person could have at Xavier's. There was that green guy, and the silver winged girl. And the lion. Whatever the reason, the thought of losing half a foot and a nose that didn't look broken nearly gave him panic attacks, so he was going to stick to his terrible system for as long as he could.
But terrible systems being what they were, it was destined to fail. He was staving it off as long as he could with late-late night runs to the kitchen, avoiding people in the halls and making sure the place was cleared before skulking in, all 5'8" of him. He kept one ear trained on the doorway, listening for footfalls to warn him to change back as quick as he could. Although he was still in his regular non-Miracle clothes, he realized. Shit. And that energy thing Monica had given him was making him a little jittery. And he was tired; running around as Miracle all day wore him out. Was someone coming down the hall? Shit fuck, this was the worst system. He froze with his hand on the fridge door, the milk carton still in one hand, tensed to change but taring at the kitchen doorway.
Please just let him be hearing things.
[GEORGIE]
But terrible systems being what they were, it was destined to fail. He was staving it off as long as he could with late-late night runs to the kitchen, avoiding people in the halls and making sure the place was cleared before skulking in, all 5'8" of him. He kept one ear trained on the doorway, listening for footfalls to warn him to change back as quick as he could. Although he was still in his regular non-Miracle clothes, he realized. Shit. And that energy thing Monica had given him was making him a little jittery. And he was tired; running around as Miracle all day wore him out. Was someone coming down the hall? Shit fuck, this was the worst system. He froze with his hand on the fridge door, the milk carton still in one hand, tensed to change but taring at the kitchen doorway.
Please just let him be hearing things.