Sunday, March Eighteenth - Just Like Old Times
Warmth radiated from the mug in her hands, warm and soothing. For a brief moment she remembered the mugs she brought Spike in the night, stale with the scent of refrigerated blood. But her tea smelled of spices and herbs as she held it to her cheek, and brought a sense of comfort.
Her cerulean form was sprawled out in the morning dew, on her stomach in the grass. The buildings stood silent in the distance, the day too young for any real activity. The good doctor had convinced her to spend the morning outside of the dormitories, and she knew it was just another step he was urging to reintroduce her to the other students. That big fluff ball, he was the same sweetie he had always been..
Her books lay open before her, page after page of anatomy. Bones, muscles, nerves, she needed to know it all if she wanted a successful shift. It was always something new she was working on, and it was all trial and error. Mystique had worked with her to evaluate which transformations would be the best combination of usefulness and simplicity. Of course there was no such thing as a simple shift, just possible shifts. The most common shifts were just slight adaptations, some for their usefulness and some for their beauty, but all were practice.
Jagged black designs, not unlike a beautifully done tribal tattoo, arched around her hidden torso; like dark wisps of smoke they arched up her hipbones, around the small of her back and curves of her waist and chest, each curvature as delicate and intricate as the last. The more intricate, the more challenging it would be to both create and hold, and subtle transformations like that were practice. Any practice was good, especially if it was lovely.
But the best part of her little shift was that when she formed them, she had used the mirror.
She had looked in a mirror, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she was not afraid of her reflection. She had looked back at herself, and seen nothing but a pair of big, green eyes. No wraith. No vampire. No nothing. She owed Jean for that. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of asking the Psychic before, but it had never felt like it was an issue any mortal being could help with, it would only make sense for her to have sought protection form the immortal, from Spike.
But with his upcoming blood transfusion, and her blood to never again touch his lips, she doubted the supernatural bond created by their feeding practices would maintain its strength. He fed from her far more often, but Willow was more powerful. Every day he went without feeding she grew more and more worried that Willow would pull something again, something terrible. Despite what seemed to be popular belief, Spike wasn’t the only one to benefit from the feedings. It was one of her few securities, knowing that their minds were connected in such a powerful way, that he needed her just like she needed him, that he would always keep her close. Before she had been afraid of Willow for her own safety, not as much for Spike’s as he was, for the most part, immortal, and was not a pushover. But this, this was not the same. These people were not immortal. These people could die.
But she had no choice, not only did Spike need her here, but now that she had returned everyone was not willing to see her walk out the door again. How could she explain why she wasn’t safe around other people? Life was weird at the institute, but not that weird. The things that had happened to her were not things people wanted to hear about. They did not want to know, and she had no desire to tell them.
But because of Jean, she no longer needed to. She was safe company again…comparatively speaking.
As she laid stretched out in grass, a persistent smile curved her lips. Her tail swayed leisurely over her as she experienced the quiet sort of happiness that couldn’t be brushed off.
Re: Sunday, March Eighteenth - Just Like Old Times
Some people don't realize how important others are until they leave, some over look the significance of their important and some never even realize how much that person ment to them at all. Some suffered all that, but not Porter, not when it came to his Arisa. His Arisa. If only for a moment in time that were true.
It wasn't like Porter dreamed of a white wedding and a little house with the pitter-patter of multi-coloured feet. But he did dream of her, it was like a poison in his mind, an instant intoxication just to think of her. A lust that was long lied, one that seemed unquenchable until he got a taste... maybe then... after her indego hue pressed into him him like waves of water slashed against him as his blood caught fire in her presence.
Another page turned, gently pulled aside with those delicate fingers of hers... the way she laid there so open and inviting was almost sinful to let go to waste such a moment. But those who knew Arisa also knew however that nothing was so simple, Arisa would hear anyone who came too close, she'd smell them. It was hard to catch her off guard, god knows Porter had tried, both in humor and discreet frustration. If she were anyone else that he was as close with, anyone else that had shared what he and Arisa had shared, there would be no fear in him to walk up there and lie atop her.
Chest to chest, his legs asude hers, his arms both holding her and supporting his own weight, their bodies pressed and their lips just as passionate. He could do it... if it had been anyone but Arisa. She wasn't easy to get close to... Logans youngest was damn near impossible. It wasn't fair he had to feel like this, her brother glared at him whenever Porter stepped within a foot of Arisa. The wreakless youth that tried to put hands over Connor's baby sister, and her father? Porter wondered what might happen if one day that of so discrete sniff in Porters direction might reveal Logans suspicions that Porter finally managed to get his hands on his daughter and rip away the innocence of youth she had possessed. But Darren didn't care, well he did... he grew up with the family just as much, if not more, then the foster parents he had, but Connor could throw him through a wall and Logan could make classes a living hell, it'd be worth it in the end.
To be Arisa's first, to give her the care and passion she deserved. Not some sloppy twit that would be in and out before she managed more then a discomforted groan. the though just made him angry! ...Or.. jealous.. to be honest Porter wasn't sure which was more accurate. What if he was too late? Ok so that was both a desperate and selfish thought, he really didn't care.. at least he was pretty sure he didn't care, it was her choice and as long as she was happy with it he'd live. But no one knew her like he did.. and if anyone thought otherwise they were as dumb as they were unlucky.
This was stupid, how could he approach her like this? Even the inter-dimensional teleporter could pick up on the aura of teenage ormones wafting around him, it was nothing short of a miracle that Connor hadn't materalized here by now. Ok, maybe Porter was being a touch paranoid as well.. but considering the family, he had every reason to be! Another casual turn of the page, and a short while later another followed, and with that Porter took in a deep breath, making his first ffew brave steps towards her side.
Although his holo-emitter was on, giving Porterthe normalcy nature had deprived him of, as the youth dropped onto his stomach beside Arisa, a quick flick of his fingers turned it off. A blue girl, that was one thing.. but a pink boy? The shame of it aside, Porter had been the target of constant bully, while it still continued the violence had at least subsided. Was it embarrassing relying on a hightech toy to fit in... yes. But compared to the once daily onslaught of violent taunts.. it was the lesser evil.
"Ok, so I was thinking... what with you wanting to make it up to me for vanishing, I figured I should ask you what you intend to wear to the mid-year dance." Porter sometimes talked as if there was a pre-made agreement over something, but only if it was important or if he was joking. And sometimes it was hard to tell them apart. Though the offer of joining him at a school event would be just as natural as Arlen offering to eat a baby bird crying for its mother. It didn't seem natural and yet Porter was asking, it seemed like one of the only ways right now to get time with Arisa. "I'll need to buy something so figured it might as well not clash." And there was that smile, the one he gave where his chin either lowered or his head ever so slightly tilted. The one filled with sweetness and charm, and as far as his sister cared it was the most infuriating when he did ut, as usually it was him asking something he figured someone would rather say no to. But he made it hard to do and sometimes it worked, Porter never asked ofr a lot of things and if it looked like it might cheer him up even for a moment... oh there had been times Elisa could have killed her brother for giving her that look. All sweetness and charms and fill of manipulation!
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