Ian Cuckoo used empathy [...] IT'S SUPER EFFECTIVE (lamepowerheart) wrote in superbabies, @ 2013-07-21 18:07:00 |
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Entry tags: | ian cuckoo |
Narrative; Ace of Hearts
Who: Ian Cuckoo
When: Sunday July 21st, first thing in the morning.
Where: Ian’s room, then the halls of Xavier’s School.
What: Part of the routine.
Song: “Going Through The Motions” from Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Once More With Feeling
Ian’s eyes opened, and he stared at the ceiling. It’d become his daily routine, since the fear gas, since the heart attack, since the point when he stopped being Ian and became this. From time to time, Yoko might lay next to him, but they both knew that only hurt her more, to be so close to what she wanted without being able to reach it, to take it. Most days, Ian woke up alone, stared at the ceiling for ten minutes, and then finally got up. Today wasn’t any different. At least not in that regard. He was vaguely aware of the music building as he slipped into the shower, writing it off as someone in the next suite over, a radio alarm clock or a morning musical pick-me-up. The walls were too thin, the floors too poorly insulated against sound bleed. He’d learned to hear it all, over the past few weeks, using that noise to fill the silence in his own mind. “Every single day, the same arrangement, I go out and fight the fight,” he mumbled to the tune, only half-aware of what he was doing as he turned the shower off, dried off, and possibly did a series of turns as he moved back into his room. “Still I always feel the strange estrangement -- nothing here is real, nothing here is right.” The music next door had swelled to the point where Ian had to frown over his shoulder. It sounded as if it was in his suite, now. That was illogical. He hadn’t listened to music since this started. Music was an art of passion, of feeling. He didn’t have the right to pretend he still understood it -- and the awkward attempt at dancing with Yoko had all but proven that. Enjoyable, as any physical activity, but hollow. Empty. Like him. “I've been making shows of trading blows, just hoping no one knows...” He sighed, pulling on his pants in front of the mirror. “That i've been going through the motions, walking through the part...” He looked himself in the eye, looked for any sign of life, or feeling of him, as his hand moved to rest on the reflection’s chest, feeling cold glass, over the image he knew hid something colder still. “Nothing seems to penetrate my heart...” Ian shook his head, told himself he was still groggy from sleep, even if he knew that made no more sense than the music getting louder as he finished dressing, and stepped into the hallway. He didn’t have to be up this early. He didn’t have work, not anymore, didn’t have to meet anyone on a Sunday, regardless, but he knew that if he gave in to the temptation to stay in his room and do nothing, he wouldn’t be able to stop -- and that would never change things, and he needed to change. Had to change. Emmett wouldn’t last much longer without him, and Yoko, Henry, all of them... “I was always brave and kind of righteous -- Now I find I'm wavering,” he sang as he walked toward the library, hands shoved into his pockets as he pushed past students, faculty, staff. Most seemed to ignore it, seemed to ignore the music that, now, he suspected was following him. Some, however, seemed to be stepping in time to his rhythm, watching and reacting in some orchestrated response. “Crawl out of your grave you'll find this fight just doesn't mean a thing--” “You still got that swing!” one girl -- Aquilla, if he recalled correctly -- commented, with a whistle and an appreciative look at his ass. “...Thanks for noticing?” Ian swallowed as he turned a corner. At least he could tell some things were still inappropriate. “He looks pretty well having gone through hell, but lately we can tell...” he heard them whispering, two columns of students along either side of the hallway as he cut down the middle. “That he's been going through the motions, faking it somehow.” One student stepped forward, watching with a look of pity as he walked beside Ian and sang: “He's not even half the man he--” Ian ignored the ‘thud’ of the boy walking into the doorframe, ignored the muffled “Ow...” as he stepped through to the foyer, and up the stairs. “Will I stay this way forever? Sleepwalk through my life’s endeavor?” He sang as he climbed, stopping at the top to help a young woman who’d dropped her books-- too old to be a student, probably a resident, beautiful and stunning and smiling at him. “How can I repay--” “Whatever.” He mumbled, continuing on his way up. “I don’t want to be going through the motions, losing all my drive...” Ian stopped at the top of the stairs, leaning on the railing overlooking the foyer, “I can’t even see, if this is really me!” The music swelled again, and he felt something in his chest tighten. “And I just want to be... Alive!” The music faded, and Ian shook his head, stepping back from the railing. The students returned to what they’d been doing, wandering off to spend the rest of their summer Sunday however they saw fit. He was sure he’d imagined it all, and forced it out of his mind, as he slipped back into his routine. |