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In the depths of his mind, he can hear his mother’s voice as though given to him by the heavens above. He can feel the brushes of Charles’ interference, but the memory is brought up from the depths of a truly cold sea of rage and reminds him of the boy he used to be before he’d fallen prey to men and their so-called better race.
How is it that nothing has changed? How have they suffered so many atrocities and yet still proclaim to be the ‘better race’.
There is a striking similarity in his feelings towards the government as he had once felt about his oppressors. They fear them. They fear them because they do not understand and eventually that fear boils into something darker and deeper. Eventually, it is hate. Erik is well-aware that his own hate is fuelled of something far more righteous and based in love, not fear. He feels that rage dying away, his hands agrip with power as he focuses upon a satellite too big for any man to move on his own.
In the place of rage and with great slowness, the memory begins to remind him of the boy he once was. He thinks of candles and the joy of family around him. He thinks of finding a light in the dark and of his mother’s loving smile. She would have done anything for him.
This revenge, this plot that Charles knows about -- what do you know about me? everything -- and yet allows him to continue training as though one day he will simply change his mind. This revenge is for her. He will do anything for her, as well.
His fingers tremble and he focuses his attention harder as the memory surfaces happy emotions that he’d once thought long-lost. He focuses on this recollection that he had thought abandoned and watches as the satellite begins to turn towards them slowly. Slowly, slowly, but eventually, it gives and Erik feels a sudden burst of pride and hope and determination. If he can do this, then Shaw will no longer stand in his way. The sheer fury coupled with Erik’s abilities will permit him to be better than any mutant has ever been let to be. He will be better and he will take Shaw’s life.
Of these two things, he is sure.
Dimly, he is aware of Charles’ voice.
Thank you for sharing that with me.
He can’t be sure whether Charles has spoken those words or merely murmured them in Erik’s mind. When he closes his eyes momentarily to focus on the fleeting echo of the happy memory (before it fades away in the face of cool determination, as it is bound), he thinks he can almost smell the wax of the candles and the burn of the flame.
He opens his eyes in order to stem out the memory of the candles, but what he finds is that he’s gone from the intangible to the literal. He’s staring at an array of candles as dishes collide and cause a cacophony of noise. Charles is not there (certainly not in his head) and Erik looks around him warily to find people dining with their cutlery, their plates heavy on the table.
He searches out a source of metal, the nearest he can find, and with tears still staining his cheeks, he tries his damnedest to move it. Nothing happens. He uncovers a great well of anger and tries again, teeth gritted together in sheer stubborn determination. He’s just moved a mountain and now cannot even affect a molehill.
Erik heeds little of the attention around him, cursing under his breath in his native tongue, before trying just once more. “Move!” he snaps, his patience growing short. Nothing responds to him and, worse than that, he feels as though he is disconnected from the abilities that have been with him through everything. He fights to strangle back the choked feeling in his throat as an overwhelming feeling of powerlessness overtakes him.
The ink on his arm seems to burn and he feels, once more, trapped – helpless. Surrounded. He will not simply sit back this time. If he must fight without his powers, he will find a way. History will not repeat itself, not here in this strange place. He storms forward to the burning candles and snuffs one out with nothing more than a lick of his fingertips, searching around him for an answer.
“Tell me,” he demands of a passing young man, grasping at the fabric of his shirt to fully gain his attention. “What’s happened? Where am I?”
How is it that nothing has changed? How have they suffered so many atrocities and yet still proclaim to be the ‘better race’.
There is a striking similarity in his feelings towards the government as he had once felt about his oppressors. They fear them. They fear them because they do not understand and eventually that fear boils into something darker and deeper. Eventually, it is hate. Erik is well-aware that his own hate is fuelled of something far more righteous and based in love, not fear. He feels that rage dying away, his hands agrip with power as he focuses upon a satellite too big for any man to move on his own.
In the place of rage and with great slowness, the memory begins to remind him of the boy he once was. He thinks of candles and the joy of family around him. He thinks of finding a light in the dark and of his mother’s loving smile. She would have done anything for him.
This revenge, this plot that Charles knows about -- what do you know about me? everything -- and yet allows him to continue training as though one day he will simply change his mind. This revenge is for her. He will do anything for her, as well.
His fingers tremble and he focuses his attention harder as the memory surfaces happy emotions that he’d once thought long-lost. He focuses on this recollection that he had thought abandoned and watches as the satellite begins to turn towards them slowly. Slowly, slowly, but eventually, it gives and Erik feels a sudden burst of pride and hope and determination. If he can do this, then Shaw will no longer stand in his way. The sheer fury coupled with Erik’s abilities will permit him to be better than any mutant has ever been let to be. He will be better and he will take Shaw’s life.
Of these two things, he is sure.
Dimly, he is aware of Charles’ voice.
Thank you for sharing that with me.
He can’t be sure whether Charles has spoken those words or merely murmured them in Erik’s mind. When he closes his eyes momentarily to focus on the fleeting echo of the happy memory (before it fades away in the face of cool determination, as it is bound), he thinks he can almost smell the wax of the candles and the burn of the flame.
He opens his eyes in order to stem out the memory of the candles, but what he finds is that he’s gone from the intangible to the literal. He’s staring at an array of candles as dishes collide and cause a cacophony of noise. Charles is not there (certainly not in his head) and Erik looks around him warily to find people dining with their cutlery, their plates heavy on the table.
He searches out a source of metal, the nearest he can find, and with tears still staining his cheeks, he tries his damnedest to move it. Nothing happens. He uncovers a great well of anger and tries again, teeth gritted together in sheer stubborn determination. He’s just moved a mountain and now cannot even affect a molehill.
Erik heeds little of the attention around him, cursing under his breath in his native tongue, before trying just once more. “Move!” he snaps, his patience growing short. Nothing responds to him and, worse than that, he feels as though he is disconnected from the abilities that have been with him through everything. He fights to strangle back the choked feeling in his throat as an overwhelming feeling of powerlessness overtakes him.
The ink on his arm seems to burn and he feels, once more, trapped – helpless. Surrounded. He will not simply sit back this time. If he must fight without his powers, he will find a way. History will not repeat itself, not here in this strange place. He storms forward to the burning candles and snuffs one out with nothing more than a lick of his fingertips, searching around him for an answer.
“Tell me,” he demands of a passing young man, grasping at the fabric of his shirt to fully gain his attention. “What’s happened? Where am I?”
