A Kind Word Goes A Long Way (Mattie and Fran-Past)

[Matthew Williams]

if i only could

make a deal with God

It had been so long since Matthew had seen light. His dulled eyes were drawn to orange light that illuminated this new room even as the guards dragged his unresponsive body into it. He hadn’t thought to ask where he was going. What difference did it make? One torture or another… those were the only options that awaited him anymore.

But the light. After nearly a month of solitude, of darkness, of a regimen of light food and a steady stream of drugs that burned through his veins and left nothing but nightmares in their wake, there was very little that Matthew noticed outside of himself. But the light… it was beautiful. Matthew never glanced away, determined to memorize the dust dancing in the feeble beams of light so that he could replay the memory again and again in his head when he is inevitably thrown back to that dark hell.

The guards dropped him and his body collapsed, hitting the roughly hewn floor with enough force to force a whimper from his lips. The guards just chuckled and tossed a blanket at his feet. Matt heard the heavy clank of the iron gates close behind him and looked up with difficulty.

This didn’t make sense. There’s no tables, no chains, no scientists with needles or tools. What kind of new game is this? He shivered and looked around, violet eyes narrowed, straining. It was then that he caught the figure standing in the corner of the cell. Matthew sprung to his feet, wobbling and pressing against the wall, his hands raised up protectively.

“I won’t do it again.” He gritted out, his voice hoarse from screaming, his lips cracking, allowing little rivulets of blood to escape. He looked like a feral animal at that moment, all bruises and blood and matted hair and wild eyes. “I won’t let you hurt me. You hear me. I’ll hurt you first.”

He slid a bit, every part of his body aching, protesting against being upright. His stomach rolled and his breathing was jagged, teetering on the verge of consciousness. Al’s voice was little more than a whisper in the back of his mind, and Matthew couldn’t make out his words. And it made him feel so… alone… so vulnerable. Without that voice, Matthew’s defiance crumbled away like a castle of sand against a tsunami. “Please…” He all but whimpered. “Please don’t hurt me again. I’ll obey… whatever you want, just name it. I’ll obey.” He collapsed, curling into himself, whimpering again.

“Al? Al? What do I do? I’m scared… Al… please… what do I do?”

word count: 479

tags:Francis L. Bonnefoy

notes: 

by worldie on iof

[Francis L. Bonnefoy]

Everyday started off the same for Francis when he was in the underground. Each morning when it was time to wake, he was aroused from bed and he did his stretches. For some, this would seem an absurd thing to do when one sat all day in the cells and did nothing, but for Francis, it was an activity to keep him busy. As long as he was in the underground, he couldn't feel the sunlight, nor could he truely get his emotions to let him feel beyond apathy on most days. As long as he could start his day with stretches to help get the blood flowing through his always chilled limbs, he could keep up hope that he would soon be bought and have the light on his skin and be able to inhale the clean air that always smelled sweet as it did after a fresh rain.

Keeping his feet flat to the ground, he curled his back forward while contracting his abdomen while reaching for his toes. A light breath left his lips and he closed his eyes, counting internally in his head before letting the position go and returning to normal. A nice back stretch was his last exercise of the day, and it was time for that before he was given something for breakfast -if they even remembered to feed him- before he was startled into the corner of the room by the doors suddenly opening before its usual time. A look of surprise and slight fear and dread passed over his face as the only times they ever came to get him were for fights or rentals... or room changes but those usually happened after everyone was awake and moving for the day.

"I won't let you hurt me. You hear me. I'll hurt you first."

Or there were always the experiments he had heard about but had never had the so-called privilege of being a part of himself. It appeared that this fellow mutant, whatever his powers were, fell into the lucky category. Carefully moving farther into the corner, he could only watched as his cell bars were slammed and locked shut. As the guards retreated, Francis found himself wondering if he was safe from whatever they had just done to this mutant. Would he be attacked as the scientists watched to gather their data for the greater good? This worry quickly turned to pity and a hit of sorrow as the man who had sat up and fall over to curl himself into a protective ball, muttering words that tore at Francis' heart. He couldn't stand to see someone hurt, especially for the sick pleasures of others.

"Please... Please don't hurt me again. I'll obey... whatever you want, just name it. I'll obey. Al? Al? What do I do? I’m scared... Al... Please... what do I do?"

Francis didn't quite know who the other blond in the room was talking about, deep down he knew that he had to care for this man. He looked younger than Francis, much younger, but Francis knew that was probably because of how innocent his face looked. He didn't know how that current pain filled face had stayed so innocent or how much longer it would stay that way, but he knew he had to help. Slowly shifting over to his bed to grab his only blanket, he slowly walked towards the man.

"Please don't attack me.... I'm just going to lay a blanket over you, oui?"

He lowered the thread-bare blanket to cover the man, knowing it wouldn't do much help against the constant cold that saturated the underground, but at least, as Francis had thought about it, it was a presence to know that he had one base comfort in his life that he could use to cover himself to pretend, for just a little bit, that the world couldn't hurt him. It was faux shelter his mind had made to protect him and itself from the horrors of his reality. With this one escape, Francis knew that he would have lost more of himself a long time ago. He could only hope that the blond in his room... their room... could find the same comfort in a tattered blanket that he had.

[Matthew Williams]

if i only could

make a deal with God

Matthew barely heard the soft voice, the words seeped from his brain like water through cupped finger, their meaning slipping past his notice. He did catch the accent though. He certainly wasn’t a local, the words sounded so soft with none of the harsh syllables that marked eastern European dialects. French maybe? He looked up, startled when he felt the blanket drop over his shoulders. The man standing over him had a curtain of blonde hair (which shined in direct defiance of the feeble lighting in the cell) and bright blue eyes. For a moment, Matthew was lost in those eyes, they were so kind and concerned that he couldn’t help but see Al. How he wished his brother was here, to spirit him away from this hell, to bring him back to a world that made sense. To a world that didn’t hurt.

But no matter how much he wished it, those eyes didn’t belong to his brother. There was no rescue, no escape. There was only this cell, and this stranger, who may or may not be another trick, another source of pain. Was he a test? And if so, what was right reaction? What was he supposed to do, what outcome would prevent the white coated scientists from dragging him back to the lab, to that darkened room, to that gurney?

“A-are you one of them?” He asked, trying to focus his eyes as they squinted against the meager light of the cells. After months of darkness, darkness of his cell, of the blindfolds, of the drugs, even what little light permeated the room felt like staring into a blazing sun. He ducked back down, closing his eyes again and holding his head.

“I… I don’t know what you want me to do. But I’ll do it. Just… don’t send me back to the labs. Please. Please don’t make do those tests again, they hurt! They really hurt, and I… I promised I’d be good! I’d be loyal. I promised! Didn’t I promise, Al?” He looked up, his violet eyes filling with tears as he squinted into the light. “I don’t know why I’m here, I…” His words failed him then and he looked back down at the floor, clutching the blanket just a bit tighter to his chest, humming to drown out the buzzing that was filling his ears, drowning out all thought. He couldn’t look up at the stranger, was afraid to find out just what he wanted, what motives lay behind his seeming act of kindness. So he simply stayed where he was, shivering despite the blanket and humming to in a vain attempt to keep the madness in his mind at bay.

He finally looked back up again, clutching the blanket to himself. If this was a test, he was going to make sure he passed. “T-thank you.” The words felt foreign as they left his tongue, but the words that followed were as second nature as breathing to him now. “I’m EI1423. I live to serve the loyal citizens of Archadia. Please let me know if I can help you in any manner I can.” The scientists would be so proud of him, he hoped. Perhaps with enough correct responses, Matthew might escape the hell that had become his life, at least temporarily.

word count: 551

tags:Francis L. Bonnefoy

notes: Fran's probably wishing they'd tossed him into another cell...

by worldie on iof

[Francis L. Bonnefoy]

Francis had learned long ago that there was only a handful of people, human and mutant alike, that he could trust, and they were far in between. His old friends for some, Arthur and Hamish for more; and finally himself. Himself most of all. This person that was dumped in his cell by the guards though looked like he didn't have any clue as to who was trustworthy and who wasn't. Except for whoever AL was to the man cowering before him. He didn't think he could use that to his advantage, but he knew it wouldn't be good to try.

”A-are you one of them?”

"Who? The scientists? Non. I'm just another mutant. I hope the blanket is enough, it's all I have."

“I… I don’t know what you want me to do. But I’ll do it. Just… don’t send me back to the labs. Please. Please don’t make do those tests again, they hurt! They really hurt, and I… I promised I’d be good! I’d be loyal. I promised! Didn’t I promise, Al?”

Now Francis was confused; what did these scientists expect of him? Though Francis really didn't want to know the answer to that. If this was the result of the experiments, he wanted to stay as far away as possible from those who did these experiments for the so-called 'greater good'. Carefully kneeling down by him, he proceeded to take a seat, trying to get as close to his level as he could to show there was no threat, that Francis wouldn't hurt him. They were the same in the aspect that they were used and abused, even if the other blond was more so. Moreover it was to try to show trust with body language. Carefully brushing his own hair out of his face, he sighed as the man recited his number, the special identifier that was given to them all. He hated that number.

"I do not care about your number; you are not a number to me. Tell me your name, who you are. You are more than just a number, even if we must maintain that way of thinking to keep our owners happy. Here, you can call me Francis. I am happy to make your acquaintance. .. Though I wish the circumstances were better. And I will not hurt you, I want to help. Please?”

He carefully held out his hand, palm up to show that there was nothing in it, that it was all fine and well and that he indeed did want to help.