![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scubatankfilledwithfartsThe mansion is never truly quiet. Someone’s always moving through the halls, always breathing or laughing or hushing raised voices on the tail end of giggles. The creak of floorboards is normal, the slight rush of air of someone flying by or climbing by.
It’s the presence of all this noise that makes it difficult when you don’t sleep. You’re not alone but you’re isolated, stuck in this nothingness. Like your feet are stuck to the floorboards with long chewed gum and everyone’s already left the theater.
[and wow, lighten up a little, kids, Jono can practically hear Banshee’s voice in his head. Except with the accent.]
When he feels like he’s about to be swallowed whole somehow she knows. Maybe it’s the shared pyrotechnics.
Maybe it’s something in the air or just some California Valley Girl senses. He will not admit now, not until much later, that every time she opens his door the beam of light that encroaches in on his darkness isn’t just from the dim lights in the hallway.
[it isn’t anything as mushy as salvation. The x-people throw that around way too much, there are probably at least 5 mutants using that title.
No, it’s a hand that reaches out—one he can’t help but reach back for]
Her face is scrubbed of make-up and the usual bright grin forming bubble-gum pink lips. Somber, but hopeful, Jubilee stands in his doorway.
“I brought reinforcements.”
Jono lifts his head from his makeshift pillow (a pile of shirts) on the floor, brow raised with mild interest. Everett pokes his head in, to his credit looking sheepish.
“This is yer reinforcement? Reinforcements would be booze, or Angelo, or—” or Paige, but that’s another story he refuses to own up to, one he chalks the ache in his chest up to the gaping hole licked by flames.
“No offense, mate,” he adds. Everett just shrugs, his mouth curling slightly. Jubilee isn’t deterred by much. Torrential downpours are the girl’s friends and firefights are her playground. So when she trudges in and lays some bedding down beside him, Jono isn’t surprised.
“Tough titty, Sparky. Synch is great at moral support—especially when some of us are lacking in morals,” a raised brow right back.
Their teammate, to his further credit, just smiles to himself and settles on Jono’s other side. Not too close, just close enough to feel his warmth radiate close by. Close, but not overwhelming, just like him.
Jono proceeds to tune out the soft conversation between the two, sinking deeper, but anchored.
Before he knows it Artie and Leech burrow beneath Synch’s arms. Jono must be getting rusty if he didn’t notice the little boy’s entrance. “What’s wrong?” Synch asks quietly, concern lacing his tone.
A giant carrot pops up in full-color thanks to Artie’s powers, complete with tiny Artie and Leech running for their lives.
“Bad dream about carrots,” Jono deadpans. “They might never sleep again.”
And despite the small, tiny world problems in the sea of horrors they’ve seen, Everett smooths his hands over the backs of the boy’s heads anyway, soothing, soft. There’s something comforting in their small fears, too. Life goes on.
Sooner or later Paige and even Monet join them, each of them lying in a circle head to head like a star. A particularly dismal one.
[Paige shuffles in after peering in from the doorway for what feels like ten minutes of those eyes on him.
When she settles above him, Jono greets her with a brilliant:
“Yer new haircut looks nice.”
“I didn’t get one. My appointment was canceled.”
“…Yer hair always looks nice.”
“Shut up, Jono.”]
“I’m in a bad place right now,” Monet sniffs, the crowns of their heads touching just so. Everett turns to her, once again concerned, and even Jubilee looks stricken for her nemesis.
“Not mentally, I’m just next to Jubilee,” the aristocrat continues. Which prompts a lumpy pillow to the face.
“How dare you—it stinks!”
“You’re not even good enough to smell my socks, survive on Jono’s rank pillow! Go to hell!”
“Eat B.O, knife elbows!”
If Jono had feelings that could be hurt [he does Not], they would be bruised, but relieved when Angelo chooses that moment to also sense something amiss, dive into the dog pile in progress, screaming,
“FOOD FIGHT!” With lukewarm pizza.
They’re all grounded and dripping, sticky cheese sticks to the carpet for weeks. Sure, Jono’s still rather depressed—if their lives, there are no happy, storybook endings. But this is about as close as it gets.
It’s the presence of all this noise that makes it difficult when you don’t sleep. You’re not alone but you’re isolated, stuck in this nothingness. Like your feet are stuck to the floorboards with long chewed gum and everyone’s already left the theater.
[and wow, lighten up a little, kids, Jono can practically hear Banshee’s voice in his head. Except with the accent.]
When he feels like he’s about to be swallowed whole somehow she knows. Maybe it’s the shared pyrotechnics.
Maybe it’s something in the air or just some California Valley Girl senses. He will not admit now, not until much later, that every time she opens his door the beam of light that encroaches in on his darkness isn’t just from the dim lights in the hallway.
[it isn’t anything as mushy as salvation. The x-people throw that around way too much, there are probably at least 5 mutants using that title.
No, it’s a hand that reaches out—one he can’t help but reach back for]
Her face is scrubbed of make-up and the usual bright grin forming bubble-gum pink lips. Somber, but hopeful, Jubilee stands in his doorway.
“I brought reinforcements.”
Jono lifts his head from his makeshift pillow (a pile of shirts) on the floor, brow raised with mild interest. Everett pokes his head in, to his credit looking sheepish.
“This is yer reinforcement? Reinforcements would be booze, or Angelo, or—” or Paige, but that’s another story he refuses to own up to, one he chalks the ache in his chest up to the gaping hole licked by flames.
“No offense, mate,” he adds. Everett just shrugs, his mouth curling slightly. Jubilee isn’t deterred by much. Torrential downpours are the girl’s friends and firefights are her playground. So when she trudges in and lays some bedding down beside him, Jono isn’t surprised.
“Tough titty, Sparky. Synch is great at moral support—especially when some of us are lacking in morals,” a raised brow right back.
Their teammate, to his further credit, just smiles to himself and settles on Jono’s other side. Not too close, just close enough to feel his warmth radiate close by. Close, but not overwhelming, just like him.
Jono proceeds to tune out the soft conversation between the two, sinking deeper, but anchored.
Before he knows it Artie and Leech burrow beneath Synch’s arms. Jono must be getting rusty if he didn’t notice the little boy’s entrance. “What’s wrong?” Synch asks quietly, concern lacing his tone.
A giant carrot pops up in full-color thanks to Artie’s powers, complete with tiny Artie and Leech running for their lives.
“Bad dream about carrots,” Jono deadpans. “They might never sleep again.”
And despite the small, tiny world problems in the sea of horrors they’ve seen, Everett smooths his hands over the backs of the boy’s heads anyway, soothing, soft. There’s something comforting in their small fears, too. Life goes on.
Sooner or later Paige and even Monet join them, each of them lying in a circle head to head like a star. A particularly dismal one.
[Paige shuffles in after peering in from the doorway for what feels like ten minutes of those eyes on him.
When she settles above him, Jono greets her with a brilliant:
“Yer new haircut looks nice.”
“I didn’t get one. My appointment was canceled.”
“…Yer hair always looks nice.”
“Shut up, Jono.”]
“I’m in a bad place right now,” Monet sniffs, the crowns of their heads touching just so. Everett turns to her, once again concerned, and even Jubilee looks stricken for her nemesis.
“Not mentally, I’m just next to Jubilee,” the aristocrat continues. Which prompts a lumpy pillow to the face.
“How dare you—it stinks!”
“You’re not even good enough to smell my socks, survive on Jono’s rank pillow! Go to hell!”
“Eat B.O, knife elbows!”
If Jono had feelings that could be hurt [he does Not], they would be bruised, but relieved when Angelo chooses that moment to also sense something amiss, dive into the dog pile in progress, screaming,
“FOOD FIGHT!” With lukewarm pizza.
They’re all grounded and dripping, sticky cheese sticks to the carpet for weeks. Sure, Jono’s still rather depressed—if their lives, there are no happy, storybook endings. But this is about as close as it gets.
Tags: