What Would Etta Candy Do? (commiesharefest) wrote in pup_prompts, @ 2008-09-17 01:05:00 |
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Entry tags: | prompt 7 |
Who. Young!Emma Frost
From. Not UtR
By. Krys
Note: OMG IT'S NOT REALLY THAT EMO. FOR ONCE!
It was hard to avoid all of the tension in the city, but Emma managed it admirably. With nothing to do and not enough homework to keep her mind free of heavy thoughts, Emma went out. She was grateful to live in New York. There was always something open, always drinks flowing and music playing. Emma knew how to find such spots. She hada sixth sense about where they'd be before the festivities even began. From time to time she even managed to step off her pedestal and slum it with the best of them.
It was a concert that had her in the not-so-good part of town past midnight. The band played electronica, the sort that had Emma on her feet, dancing with strangers all night. By the end of it, she was exhausted and satisfied. And she hadn't even touched a drink since leaving home.
Unlike most pretty girls with lots of money in their pockets, Emma wasn't particularly frightened of the concept of walking home. She hadn't been afraid of that since she'd discovered her powers. And the longer she had her powers, the more she found she could do. It was more than just reading or projecting thoughts. Emma could control people if she put her mind to it.
So after the concert, Emma walked up dark streets. She wrapped her arms around herself to ward against cold and used her powers of projection to make the people she passed not really see her. Just because she wasn't scared didn't mean she was looking for trouble or unnecessary attention.
It was when she turned a corner that Emma heard it. It wasn't a voice, but thoughts. Loud, frightened thoughts. The voice in her head sounded young and terrified. Emma debated for only a half second. She then started to walk toward the psychic energy. Probably a stupid move, yes, but Emma was quite tired of hearing about innocent mutants being attacked by brutish idiots.
"What seems to be the problem here?" Emma's voice was prim. She scanned the surroundings for anyone who might be listening in or watching. The street was empty, thankfully.
There were two thugs bent over a boy that couldn't have even been a sophomore in high school. The problem, of course, was that the boy had some colorful feathers sprouting out of his face. "Fuck off, bitch," said thug 1.
Thug 2 had something long and blunt in his hands. It might have been a lead pipe. Emma couldn't quite be sure from where she stood.
"Oh how droll." Emma rolled her eyes. Her voice dripped with venom. "Are you alright?" She looked between the two thugs and at the feathered boy on the ground, who only whimpered in response. There was blood on the ground and pain that echoed in Emma's brain.
"Bitch wants some attention, huh?" Thug two turned. "And this bitch don't look so bad. Want to play, kitty?"
"Oh yes," Emma smirked suddenly. "I'd love to play with a pair of big, burly men such as yourselves." A pause. "Come here, boys." The two became stiff suddenly and started to march toward Emma as though being moved by invisible string. "Very good. Now. Manners. Let's work on those, hm?"
Thug 1's eyes started to widen in panic. He couldn't move and he didn't like this. Thug 2 was fighting. His brain was weak enough that Emma barely felt it.
"I am a lady. You are to address all ladies with respect from now on. Understood?" Emma's voice was firm. She worked her powers on them seamlessly. Practice certainly did seem to make perfect.
"Yes, ma'am," both thugs bowed.
"Good."
"You hurt that poor boy. What do you have to say for yourselves?"
"We're sorry," said thug 1.
"Yeah. I mean, how lame is it that we need to reassert our own masculinity and normalcy by ganging up on a kid like five years younger than us?"
"Good point," Emma nodded.
"We are truly pathetic wastes of space."
"Shame on the face of humanity."
"Yup. Us and the whole church of humanity. Disgusting."
"I'm glad you've seen the light, boys," Emma sounded quite pleased. "Now. I've bad news. I'm afraid that's not enough penance for me. So. I think that the next time someone utters the words: delicious, rain, and bitch, you will feel sick to your stomachs for twenty minutes. If the urge to attack someone who has done nothing at all to you takes hold, you will feel the sudden, inexplicable need to urinate. You will, in fact, wet your pants in front of anyone you're with." Emma was so polite and calm in her tone that it sounded like she was reading off a list. "Finally, you will march yourselves to a police station and confess to any crime you've committed in the past... two months. You will forget everything about me. Especially my face and voice. Do we have an understanding, gentlemen?"
"Yes, ma'am," the said in unison.
"Good. The nearest police precinct is that way. Be off, won't you?"
And with that, the two thugs were off.
That only left Emma and the feathered boy. "They're gone," she reassured him, slowly approaching. "No one's going to hurt you now." Eventually, she reached him. She laid a hand on his cheek. He had some gashes, but nothing too serious. Emma was glad she'd interrupted when she had.
"You're a mutant," the boy said, blue feathers around his mouth tinted red with his blood. "You're one of them telepaths."
"Yes, darling. And no, I'm not going to do anything to your brain. Well. Except erase my face and voice from your memory. I can't have anyone knowing about me. Then I wouldn't be able to come to the rescue like this. I'd lose the element of surprise." A pause. She brushed her fingertips along his jawline. "And I'm going to help a little with the pain."
The boy almost smiled.
Emma sighed and helped him to his feet. "You, my dear boy, owe me a new shirt. I think you're bleeding on me a bit."
"Can't really help it."
"It's an expensive shirt, I'll have you know."
"I'll write you a check or something."
"And it was new, too."
He shuffled on his feet. "You saved me. Thanks."
"Oh please. I was just passing by." There was an awkward pause. "Where do you live?"
"Up on 191st Street." The boy coughed and held his side. He'd be sporting some wicked bruises in the morning.
"Alright then. Stay here." Emma let him go, leaving him by a parked car. She waved down a taxi (mostly using her powers to steer the driver toward her) and then fetched the feathered boy. "Here," she gave the driver a clean one hundred dollar bill. "Take him home. You didn't see anything. You won't remember me or him. After this, you'll go home to your wife and sleep. And keep the change." He nodded.
"Hey." The feathered boy was seated, the door was closed, and he glanced at her through the open window. "I don't even know your name. And... really... thanks. You didn't have to do that."
"My name doesn't matter," Emma said. "Just go home. Rest. And be more careful. Don't go out alone this late." She gave him a smile. "And you're welcome." The car started to drive off. Emma watched the yellow cab go, taking care to take her face and her voice away from the driver and the boy. But she left a bit of herself in the feathered boy's brain, if just to remind him that not everyone hated him because he was different.
Job done, Emma was suddenly tired. The strain of using her powers didn't come without a price. But, for some reason, she felt oddly light. She walked home with a smile on her face.