Beyond Evolution

Lucille had been staring at the wall for at least half an hour.

Slouched slightly as she was, a scarf wrapped around her neck and her hands buried in the pockets of her coat she stared blankly at the mural that Cherry had painted -- along with the help of several art classes though that was -- with a glazed expression, her dark eyes were blurry and red rimmed and she bit down on her bottom lip periodically. It was the middle of the night and she’d slunk out of bed to come down here on her own, she didn’t want to wake Adrien, or worry anyone, she just wanted to be alone for a little while for some reason. Something inside of her had compelled her to seek out this space alone and now that she was down there it felt really wrong to leave and go back to bed, as if leaving the mural that arced and splayed across the walls would be like leaving Cherry behind. That thought was painful right in that moment and she actually winced. She didn’t care how much of a soft touch that made her, she didn’t care if it made people think she was taking things too much to heart again, or that she was blowing this out of proportion. They could say ‘people die’ until they were blue in the face but it didn’t make it okay, because people weren’t supposed to die at seventeen, run down by cars at random. It was really fucking awful and tragic and unfair. They could tell her it was painless or quick as much as they liked but it didn’t change anything. It hurt her, didn’t it? It hurt Molly and King and anyone who had called Cherry a friend, and that mattered and no one had a right to say that it didn’t or shouldn’t or that they’d just get over it. Lucille didn’t want to just get over it.

( Last time she'd been down there, after they’d found out, she’d sat down in front of the mural, forgoing a chair, her elbows hooked over her raised knees and her fingers knitted together between her legs )

[narrative :: closed]

EUDORA REALLY WAS not half as crazy as she had led the likes of many to believe. Truly, it had all been a facade. An act, of sorts, to lead the masses into believing that she was but an incredibly distant girl with powerful telepathy. Although, some of her personality did hold some truth as she thought everyone should never be trusted. After being turned to a mental institution by her own parents, she knew no friends anymore. The truth of the matter was, she was neither unhinged nor really that nice - rather the opposite in both regards. She was very well aware of nearly everything that she was doing, and she hardly thought herself nice; especially in comparison to the likes of those lesser than herself ( which means EVERYBODY, FYI ). Even so, the mental minx had much thinking to do about where her current status at Xavier's would lead her. Though she had intended to use her peers for amusement for a day or so upon her arrival and set them aside, it had appeared that such a thing would not be possible - a truth that she hardly regretted - it was funny to be the cause of all that was drama -- the complete definition of a queen bee. Her status here was to be known, and well... who can really say she hasn't succeeded, hm? No one. Still, she thought, the boys and girls that she had come to know were not without their beneficial presences. She was still granted a level of unspoken protection where her safety was concerned, because really, she could get all up in your mind and do some fucked up shit to it - ask Mr. and Mrs. Ross - but more seriously, getting close to someone would allow them to possibly find out about her institutionalization. Would Eudora ever see herself friends with these people? In her own mind, she certainly thought not; and they were foolish to trust her for so much as an instant. She, after all, gave no person any privacy whatsoever if she felt like being unlady-like for a moment and was perhaps one of the most unethical telepaths ever to walk the Xavier halls. It was all too possible that she had even psychically plunged into the minds of her peers and suggested that they believe her every word, though whether or not she truly had would go unsaid, for it mattered not, now.

( A faint and beautiful glow of gray sparkled lightly forth from the telepath's eyes as she sat poised upon the stool of the school's kitchen, her mind blowing wildly about the venue like a sand storm. )
[ madeleine izaaks ]