[ open ] the house was awake with shadows and monsters...

[theycalledmeacurse]

CHARACTERS: Rogue & Anyone
WHERE: Hyrypia - The Red Coast - The Barracks
WHEN: Day :028 - :033
SUMMARY: Rogue has nightmares, including of her time during the war. Anyone in the Nest and especially Avior is welcome to experience them in any fashion and/or be present for the aftermath and/or approach her about them during the day.
WARNINGS: Torture, death, imprisonment. Likely concentration camps and suicidal thoughts.


[ She doesn't mean to, and she'll feel terrible each and every time it happens. The nightmares have been near nightly companions for years now, ebbing and flowing through her sleep like oxygen through her lungs. A sound sleep is nothing more than a ephemeral dream for her now, and hard as she tries to shore up her shields each day, there are still too many cracks in the walls of that old plantation house to keep those dark thoughts contained. The memories of the war, the twisted hallways of her mind, the echoes of screams. She tries so hard, and still every night she wakes with a quiet gasp, shaking on the small bed and clutching the blanket she's been provided, trying with all her might not to wake the others.

Some nights she stays there in the little house, finding what comfort she can in the presence of her Nestmates, and other nights she pulls on her costume and flees, needing fresh air and open skies to remind her that she isn't a prisoner any longer. Sleep isn't something that will come to her easily again, and so she'll be awake for hours to come, even staying up to see the sun rise in the sky. It's a sight she's sorely missed, and even now it doesn't feel quite real. There are times when nothing feels real at all. ]



{ NIGHTMARE : the forest }

[ She doesn't feel the branches that tug at her uniform and scratch at her face, tearing strands of hair as she runs, every ounce of energy focused on staying upright, keeping moving, fleeing for her life. The others are up ahead, she'd stayed behind to give them more time, even seconds too precious to waste now. There are footsteps thundering close behind her, and the searchlights of the Sentinels pan nearby as they work to pinpoint the mutant gene within her.

It's a stone that is her downfall, quite literally. A simple rock the size of her hand, enough of a deterrent to cause her to stumble, balance tipping just long enough, and then there's a body ramming into hers and she fights. Like a wild animal, she kicks and punches with every ounce of strength she has left, scrambling for purchase among those layers of fabric to find even an inch of skin. Just one touch, that's all she needs, but the soldier's snapping a collar around her neck before she can manage it. A collar for the animal they believe she is. And still she fights. ]

{ NIGHTMARE : the lab }

[ Cerebro. The mansion. These monsters had gutted the place she'd called home and turned it into— Hell. She'd seen the gates around the perimeter, heard the screams as she was dragged down to the basement levels. The metal plating that had once been warm is now icy to the touch, barren of familiarity and stained with the souls of every mutant brought inside. Because she knows none of them leave, that isn't what this place is for. They're making the Sentinels stronger by studying mutants, and to do that—

Strapped to a metal table, they stand over her, scientists covered in sterile garb, practically every inch of them hidden from view. They might as well be alien, for all their resemblance to human beings. And as they cut into her, again and again, she sees that cruel humanity in them again. It's for science, the way they slice away a strip of skin from her forearm, right above the string of characters tattooed into her skin. M4827. They're doing their duty as the burn her other arm, searing the skin until it bubbles and blackens. They're saving the world by wheeling in another mutant, restrained and wearing an inhibitor collar, and forcing her bare hand to press against his skin. His scream echoes in her mind as she absorbs him against her will, and she begs them to stop, the words a jumbled mess as his healing factor becomes her own, the wounds vanishing as the skin regenerates, but they don't stop until the light leaves his eyes and there's no one staring back at her anymore.

I'm so sorry. Long seconds pass as they record their findings, and then it begins again. ]

{ NIGHTMARE : the mind }

[ The only home she has left is the one within her mind, the great plantation house Charles had helped her erect nearly two decades ago. Painted white and nestled within a sea of green life, sometimes she sits on that sprawling porch and enjoys a moment of peace and quiet, this being the only place she can retreat where none of the psyches will venture. Her sole source of solitude, a few dozen square feet of space within her own head.

But then she ventures within, passing the tall windows and rising staircases leading to the upper levels where her friends reside, the psyches imprinted over the years who have helped her survive. She moves past all that streaming light, further into the house where things darken and the echoes of those she hadn't been able to save are hidden away. And then down, stairs that creak and moan, into the catacombs where the darkest minds reside, the ones who call to her when she slips, who would rather see her fall and suffer than ever live a free life. The locks are methodically checked on each door, even as they rattle and the shouts within increase in intensity, the insults falling with the same sharpness as always.

Monster. Murderer. Abomination. Maybe they aren't wrong. ]

Comments

[raw]

[ Elliot's not great at shielding, and he's pretty good at "accidentally" collecting up any stray thoughts he can get his hands on, but at this hour of the morning, with this the topic of conversation between them? He holds back, does his best to give her mental space. ]

( Years. )

[ Of that. Of being experimented on or whatever shit they were doing to her. As much as he's impressed by her open honesty, he immediately decides he doesn't want to know the details unless he has to. But it sounds like it was torture. ]

( Sorry. )

[ Inadequate. Also not his responsibility, to apologize, but it slips out of his mouth anyway. He sighs, reaches a hand up to run a hand over the buzz at the back of his neck, encounters the hood getting in the way of that old habit. After a moment, he pushes it off. It's dark, it's quiet, they're alone. Maybe it's okay to just be human together for a bit. ]

( What else? Not — that. What else did you, before. Or after. )

[ Who are you beyond your trauma, is what he wants to know. The same thing he seems to want to know from each broodmate in turn. )

[theycalledmeacurse]

[ Torture is exactly what it was. And while Rogue will gladly answer any questions he does have about that time in her life, she'd rather not impart even more of those horrors to someone who doesn't deserve their burden. No one here deserves that.

The apology is appreciated, a brush of gratitude reaching across their connection, and then a moment of alarm and worry as he removes his hood. It's instinctive, but then - well, it is quite dark, and there aren't any others nearby. She hesitates for a few seconds, then follows his example, revealing a pale, tired face and those white streaks in brown hair. ]

( I was a teacher before the war. And... a superhero, I guess. )

[ They'd tried to be, anyway. Tried to save the world and make it a better place. How terribly they'd failed in the end. ]

[raw]

[ Elliot glances at her through the dim light. Rogue looks like maybe she's his age, which is kind of nice (considering how many conversational partners he's discovered belatedly are teenagers thanks to the concealing robes.)

At the word superhero, though, his eyebrows raise, and the pulse of disbelieving skepticism probably says more than his actual words could. ]

( What. )

[theycalledmeacurse]

[ There are so many teenagers around that it is quite nice to see someone who's lived beyond those adolescent years. It's less of a reminder of the students she lost during the war.

That what is enough to make her smile, but it's the skepticism that brings out the quiet laugh. ]

( It sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? Though in retrospect, my whole life was kinda ridiculous. )

[ The easiest thing is to show him, of course, so she pulls up a memory of a Danger Room session, her little team of junior X-Men fighting against the seasoned members. Colossus covering himself in metal, Kitty phasing through a boulder to grab a fuzzy blue Beast, Bobby and his slide of ice... ]

[raw]

( Holy shit. )

[ Her memory is more like watching some movie than even Hadrian's handful of shared memories of Mars and other space colonies. ]

( You were a superhero. )

[ Like, of course he believes her. What else could these people be? But it's still crazy to a guy who scoffs at even the idea despite his own long nights enacting a kind of vigilante justice. To him heroism is rare enough that he struggles more with that concept than the superpowers, but the capes and the action make him feel like maybe in her world heroes were more than just pacifying inventions, heroes were real. ]