Kitty Pryde-Barton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
throughaphase) wrote2012-10-10 04:05 pm
throughaphase) wrote2012-10-10 04:05 pm
Somewhere in Chicago- late Wednesday night
Kitty was having a really bad vacation. One might even downgrade it from "bad" to "suck ass."
It'd started off normal enough. She spent time with her mom, visited Shan at work, got to find out all about Dylan's date tonight before offering to fill in for him at her old job so he could go at a decent time. And then while she was closing up the bar, ...someone had found her. She never got to see who. She'd been shot with something, she didn't know what, but woke up unharmed in a cell.
She considered phasing clear, decided against it. If her captors didn't know who she truly was, why blow her cover? If they did, chances were they had some nasty surprises waiting if she used her powers. Either way, the fact that she was alive meant they want something. Sensible play then was to wait for them to tell her what it was, and to take things from there.
That was the plan. Too bad her captors seemed to have a better one, because just when Kitty was feeling comfortable, she realized there were bubbles in the air... bubbles that seemed to be coming off of her skin. Then the bubbles began to form figures, which after a moment Kitty recognized as herself.
Specifically, there was an angry-looking thirteen-year-old Kitty, surrounded by older versions of herself as all the things she wanted to be when she grew up. One was a dancer, one a scientist, a teacher, a mom... all what she'd considered normal things. Things she thought she'd at least be on the track to doing right now when she was that age.
"This isn't what I wanted!" the thirteen-year-old yelled, all balled fists and anger. For a moment Kitty thought this must have been what it felt like to be Professor Xavier when she was that age.
"I know," Kitty told her. "I remember. I'm sorry."
"You had no right to take all that away!"
"Things don't always turn out the way we hope." She was practically an expert in that by now. She'd never imagined she'd be a bartender who hadn't managed to even complete a full year of college now. And when she looked at it that way, it really did feel like she was wasting herself.
"Don't you say that!" her younger self yelled back, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "Don't you dare! This is your fault!"
"You chose the life you live," one of her other selves chimed in.
"You never gave us a chance!" said another.
"Mom and Dad split up because of you!" said another.
"Dad's dead because of you!" said another.
Those last two hit a nerve, because at least a small part of Kitty had always believed that herself. Which would be why she yelled back, "That's not true!" Because that somehow made it real.
"You can't handle the truth?" one of the Kitties asked.
"Are you proud of who you are? Of what you've done?"
Kitty curled up on the floor, burying her head in her arms, trying to block out the sounds of being screamed at by, well, herself. She could take criticism, but it was something else when it was coming from you. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!"
"Do you have any friends?"
"Any family? Any future?"
The next voice that spoke was a man's, quoting of all things, Scripture. "'Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands. Serve the Lord with gladness: come before His presence with singing. Know ye that the Lord He is God... be thankful unto Him and bless His name, for the Lord is good: His mercy is everlasting and His truth endureth to all generations.'"
Kitty looked up, wondering when exactly this somehow got weirder, and got her answer when she saw a man standing with his hands on the shoulders of her thirteen-year-old self. A bright light shone around him like a halo, the backlighting obscuring his face. There was something familiar there...
"'I am the resurrection and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live, and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Bring forth the best robe and put it on her, for this my daughter was dead and is alive again: she was lost and is found.'"
"...Daddy?" She couldn't say she wasn't hopeful that this was even some imagined version of her father, and when the man held out a hand for her, she automatically reached up to take it-
"Give me a break!" said another voice, this time a younger girl's, complete with Russian accent. And standing there was Illyana Rasputin, thirteen years old, all freckles and bangs and looking really unimpressed with this whole thing. "Hel-lo! Best friend talking here! Cannot believe her eyes!"
Somehow this was even stranger than getting yelled at by a bunch of herselves. "Illyana?"
"Don't look away, child!" the man said, and when Kitty glanced back at him, she realized how not her father he was. That was William Stryker preaching at her. Of course it was. Her subconscious must be having a field day, if that was what was really going on here. "Pay attention to me. I am your salvation."
"Yeah, right," Illyana scoffed. "How quickly some forget. This man tried to kill you, Kitty. Now he wants you for his puppet."
"My sister and I will not allow that," said another accented voice.
Kitty looked up- way, way up- at Peter, all giant and shiny in organic armor, who was glaring at Stryker rather than looking at her. Her subconscious was not only having a field day, it was potentially being mean. "You too?" Kitty said. "But you're both dead."
"So? We're memories," Illyana told her. "But think about what we represent."
"Child, the more you and your fellow X-Men try to change the world, the worse our world becomes," Stryker insisted. And suddenly Kitty didn't think this was all in her head anymore, because someone apparently hadn't gotten the memo about her current status.
Illyana totally ignored him. "I know, being a mutant screwed up all those hopes and dreams. But at least you're alive. You can try again."
"I offer a better way," Stryker said, holding his hand out for her again.
"Katya, whose were dreams of childhood," said Peter.
"Ditch 'em, kiddo," Illyana agreed. "Replace 'em with some grown-up dreams instead."
Kitty still wasn't sure what was going on, but when faced with a choice between her dead friends and the supposedly-dead mutant-hater who may or may not be trying to control her... there wasn't really a choice there, actually. She pulled herself to her feet, starting forward to phase through him-
-and as it turned out, her captors did have some nasty tricks in store if she used her power, as the electric shock that knocked her out proved.
Oops.
[NFB, NFI, OOC okay. Taken from X-Treme X-Men #26, and get ready for the preachiest canon catchup ever.]
It'd started off normal enough. She spent time with her mom, visited Shan at work, got to find out all about Dylan's date tonight before offering to fill in for him at her old job so he could go at a decent time. And then while she was closing up the bar, ...someone had found her. She never got to see who. She'd been shot with something, she didn't know what, but woke up unharmed in a cell.
She considered phasing clear, decided against it. If her captors didn't know who she truly was, why blow her cover? If they did, chances were they had some nasty surprises waiting if she used her powers. Either way, the fact that she was alive meant they want something. Sensible play then was to wait for them to tell her what it was, and to take things from there.
That was the plan. Too bad her captors seemed to have a better one, because just when Kitty was feeling comfortable, she realized there were bubbles in the air... bubbles that seemed to be coming off of her skin. Then the bubbles began to form figures, which after a moment Kitty recognized as herself.
Specifically, there was an angry-looking thirteen-year-old Kitty, surrounded by older versions of herself as all the things she wanted to be when she grew up. One was a dancer, one a scientist, a teacher, a mom... all what she'd considered normal things. Things she thought she'd at least be on the track to doing right now when she was that age.
"This isn't what I wanted!" the thirteen-year-old yelled, all balled fists and anger. For a moment Kitty thought this must have been what it felt like to be Professor Xavier when she was that age.
"I know," Kitty told her. "I remember. I'm sorry."
"You had no right to take all that away!"
"Things don't always turn out the way we hope." She was practically an expert in that by now. She'd never imagined she'd be a bartender who hadn't managed to even complete a full year of college now. And when she looked at it that way, it really did feel like she was wasting herself.
"Don't you say that!" her younger self yelled back, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "Don't you dare! This is your fault!"
"You chose the life you live," one of her other selves chimed in.
"You never gave us a chance!" said another.
"Mom and Dad split up because of you!" said another.
"Dad's dead because of you!" said another.
Those last two hit a nerve, because at least a small part of Kitty had always believed that herself. Which would be why she yelled back, "That's not true!" Because that somehow made it real.
"You can't handle the truth?" one of the Kitties asked.
"Are you proud of who you are? Of what you've done?"
Kitty curled up on the floor, burying her head in her arms, trying to block out the sounds of being screamed at by, well, herself. She could take criticism, but it was something else when it was coming from you. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!"
"Do you have any friends?"
"Any family? Any future?"
The next voice that spoke was a man's, quoting of all things, Scripture. "'Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands. Serve the Lord with gladness: come before His presence with singing. Know ye that the Lord He is God... be thankful unto Him and bless His name, for the Lord is good: His mercy is everlasting and His truth endureth to all generations.'"
Kitty looked up, wondering when exactly this somehow got weirder, and got her answer when she saw a man standing with his hands on the shoulders of her thirteen-year-old self. A bright light shone around him like a halo, the backlighting obscuring his face. There was something familiar there...
"'I am the resurrection and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live, and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Bring forth the best robe and put it on her, for this my daughter was dead and is alive again: she was lost and is found.'"
"...Daddy?" She couldn't say she wasn't hopeful that this was even some imagined version of her father, and when the man held out a hand for her, she automatically reached up to take it-
"Give me a break!" said another voice, this time a younger girl's, complete with Russian accent. And standing there was Illyana Rasputin, thirteen years old, all freckles and bangs and looking really unimpressed with this whole thing. "Hel-lo! Best friend talking here! Cannot believe her eyes!"
Somehow this was even stranger than getting yelled at by a bunch of herselves. "Illyana?"
"Don't look away, child!" the man said, and when Kitty glanced back at him, she realized how not her father he was. That was William Stryker preaching at her. Of course it was. Her subconscious must be having a field day, if that was what was really going on here. "Pay attention to me. I am your salvation."
"Yeah, right," Illyana scoffed. "How quickly some forget. This man tried to kill you, Kitty. Now he wants you for his puppet."
"My sister and I will not allow that," said another accented voice.
Kitty looked up- way, way up- at Peter, all giant and shiny in organic armor, who was glaring at Stryker rather than looking at her. Her subconscious was not only having a field day, it was potentially being mean. "You too?" Kitty said. "But you're both dead."
"So? We're memories," Illyana told her. "But think about what we represent."
"Child, the more you and your fellow X-Men try to change the world, the worse our world becomes," Stryker insisted. And suddenly Kitty didn't think this was all in her head anymore, because someone apparently hadn't gotten the memo about her current status.
Illyana totally ignored him. "I know, being a mutant screwed up all those hopes and dreams. But at least you're alive. You can try again."
"I offer a better way," Stryker said, holding his hand out for her again.
"Katya, whose were dreams of childhood," said Peter.
"Ditch 'em, kiddo," Illyana agreed. "Replace 'em with some grown-up dreams instead."
Kitty still wasn't sure what was going on, but when faced with a choice between her dead friends and the supposedly-dead mutant-hater who may or may not be trying to control her... there wasn't really a choice there, actually. She pulled herself to her feet, starting forward to phase through him-
-and as it turned out, her captors did have some nasty tricks in store if she used her power, as the electric shock that knocked her out proved.
Oops.
[NFB, NFI, OOC okay. Taken from X-Treme X-Men #26, and get ready for the preachiest canon catchup ever.]