face the lash; hades (![]() ![]() @ 2009-06-09 20:54:00 |
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Entry tags: | pyro, tarot |
fire is the devil's only friend (marie-ange!)
St. John Allerdyce was not having a good day.
He had been knocked out in a Brotherhood brawl one minute, and then next he was on a plane. 10 years later, a wallet full of cash, and a ticket to Sydney. This was not on.
He used his considerable charm, but mostly the wallet full of cash, to change his flight during the layover in Hawaii. He was on stand-by for a flight to DC.
That flight left him a lot of time to read all the latest papers. He could piece together vaguely what had happened since the attack on the Academy. Mutant rights, hooray yay, some sort of Department of Mutant Affairs. Bloody people had to have an organization for everything. The Brotherhood was probably living it up. Without him. It didn't really cross his mind that some of his friends might be dead until he chatted with a nice old lady in the seat next to him. She thought he lived under a rock for the past ten years. He said he was in the Peace Corps.
She told him there hadn't been any sign of the Brotherhood in years.
That was bad.
Perhaps heading back to the states had been impulsive. But if there was one word to describe John, impulsive was good. Impulsive is what made him get in a cab and take it to the Academy. If that was the last place he remembered, it might be a good place to start. But when the taxi stopped, and John saw the building standing there, rebuilt, new and improved, he couldn't put together the strength of will to go towards it. Maybe John was weak, but the attack had been a day ago to him. It was too much.
So he gave the driver a new address.
It cost the rest of his wallet full of cash, but eventually the car stopped in front of a normal little house. He could feel eyes on him as he paid the driver, got out, and headed to the door. He briefly worried that the Brotherhood didn't own this house anymore, but the door was unlocked, and the night watch literally stared as he entered. This was definitely the Brotherhood. "Hullo, hullo." But no one stopped him as he headed downstairs to the meeting room, the real heart of the Brotherhood.
"Oy, what's a man got to do to get a drink 'round here?"
Because nothing was out of the ordinary as long as he acted the same.