|Mystique (_blue_bitch_) wrote in no_good_deed,|
@ 2010-12-19 13:19:00
|Entry tags:||complete, old pc: mystique|
What: Shift happens.
When: 12/19, mid-afternoon.
Where: Her apartment, NYC
She had been sitting on the bed for hours, legs crossed, back straight, and eyes closed. The night before, the last of the pale skin had fallen off of her face, completing a process that had been, for the most of the day, a grotesque patchwork of immovable splotches of two different skin tones. She’d woken up and immediately, for the first time in seven years, felt it. Her awareness of her body had returned. The weight of the fleshy prison she’d been trapped in for seven years had been lifted, and she was back to being herself. She hadn’t moved much since she’d woken. She remained fairly still, sitting on the bed while she checked to make sure that she was fully functional. Everything seemed to be working just as well, if not better than it had before she was “cured,” and she smiled at her reflection in the mirror. When she shifted, the tell-tale sounds of the transformation were absent. It was a smooth and silent shift, and she watched intently as she transitioned from her own shape to a number of familiar ones. After seven agonizing years of humanity, Mystique was back.
Laying back, she let her eyes slip shut again as she shifted slowly, scale by scale, savoring every second of it. She had always tried not to take her powers for granted, but they had become such an intrinsic part of her existence that she had. Never again. She raised a hand and opened her eyes, smirking as she morphed a set of what appeared to be adamantium claws. They glinted in the light streaming through her window, bouncing sunlight onto the walls. She sat up, retracting the claws with a pitch-perfect snikt noise.
It dawned on her, as she studied her own scruffy face in the mirror, that humans were even more incredibly stupid than she’d thought. They created a weapon to suppress what they perceived as a threat but didn’t even do adequate research to ensure that the threat would remain neutralized. Not even a decade had passed since the weapon had been utilized, and there she was, smiling at herself through dark eyes that were not her own. The smile turned into something much less friendly, and she shifted again, taking on the forms of first Professor Xavier and then Magneto. She stood, examining herself in the mirror. Still perfect. After glowering at the reflection for a moment, she shifted back into her natural form. It was obvious that the threat was still very real and, despite recent events, the threat was still very pissed.