Recollections of the future [Stepford's, closed]

[Adrian Phoenix]

Dreams. Was there anything more dangerous, anything quite so driven, so passionate, so unstoppable in their conviction like somebody with a dream and the determination to make it real? Dreams could build cities, shatter walls, destroy hate, save lives and pluck even the most wretched soul from depths of darkness and give it hope of redemptions. He had seen dreams, and the belief they instilled, change the world. Seen shattered men stand tall against untold legions, seen the hate of eons healed by the love of those barely more then children, seen the words of a single man set mankind upon the road to unity. What but dreams could possibly save this world? They were humanity's greatest strength, it's single most vital quality. Without dreams, men withered away, their strength chipped away by the unrelenting, merciless tides of time.

Yet, just as their ability to dream was their mightiest strength, so to was it their most terrifying flaw. For just as he had seen the dreams of many bring light to the darkness, he had seen their shadows smother that light and countless others. Dreams brought Rome to it's knees. Dreams set Troy to the torch and drove men to cut a bloody swath through the ages. Dreams had started wars too terrible to imagine and caused atrocities too horrible to remember. Just as dreams could redeem all the horrors of man, so to could it add to them a hundredfold.

Charles Xavier had had a dream. A dream of peace, prosperity, unity. A dream that had laid the stones of this place, this school. Had it not been for Charles, countless of children would still suffer silently in the night, hundred would lay bleeding in broken alleys, shattered by the hatred of their fellow man. How many lives had not been saved by the dreams of a single, albeit exceptional, man? But as Adrian sat there, looking out the window at the slowly rising sun, he couldn't help but wonder... how many had it killed? How many had to lay down their lives, willingly or otherwise, to see the realization of that dream? Was the blood that had been shed counteracted by that which had been saved? Did it matter? Did the good which had been done in any way lessen the horrors of what might have passed? Did the light brought by their deaths lessen the screams of the dead? Was "the greater good" any good at all?

He knew he should not think ill of the dead, and such wanton speculation was hardly proof enough to condemn a man that had brought so much good into the world, but even so Adrian's cynical mind could not help but wonder. He had lived too long, seen too much, to not know the lengths men would go to see their dreams come true. All too well did he know that even the purest of intentions could be corrupted by the horrors of the world. And so, he wondered, what skeletons lay buried beneath Xavier's dream? On what corpses had he built this place, and who had to give their life so other may have theirs?

Adrian rarely dreamed. And when he did, it was always the same, always the hope of one day remembering who and what he truly was, of finally, for perhaps the first time, discovering the truth that had eluded him time and time again. Yet, more recently, he had come to think that perhaps the ghosts of his past were best left buried. Ever since he had first faced the man he had been hunting for months, Adrian had learned more of himself in a few hours then he had in years. It had... awoken things. Memories and believes, knowledges that scared even him. Things, horrible things, done in the name of good. And even now, looking back at those faded thoughts, he still could not tell truth from lie, fantasy from reality.

He'd had a dream last night. First one in months, almost a year. Yet this was different, different from the heavenly visions and nightmarish insights that sometimes plagued his sleep. There was a woman, yet she was more and less at the same time. Above humanity, yet so far below, captured in a cage of obsidian ice, caged forever. As he touched it, the heat of his hand seemed to shatter her prison, creating cracks that could never be repaired. She had opened her eyes then, and he had looked into a blue so cold it turned his blood to ice within his veins, a look so chilling that his heart froze into silence. As he looked into those eyes of beautiful demise, he could feel his body grow cold, forming a prison for his soul as impregnable as hers. As he feel into her arms, his body growing limp as life fled his form, her lips brought fierce fire to his soul. A fire that burned hotter then any star, a flame so strong it would never die. And he knew, as he watched her fade, that he was cursed.

Something within him told him that that had been his crime, that that vision held the key to unlocking the truth behind his existence, that there was more then just genetics to it. And that woman, who's face had seemed so clear in his dream yet was now as elusive and intangible as the mists of Avalon. Yet there was a haunting familiarity to her, a horrible reminder that her beauty had led him to perform some terrible crime, one for which he still suffered.

Even now, he could feel the guilt of that unknown crime weigh on his heart, and it tormented him so that he knew not even why. So he tried to ignore it, focus on other things. Like the killer. Like the woman, Adrian knew not who he was. He had searched every database he could access, yet came up empty time and time again. So he had come here, hoping that the X-men had some kind of record, database of mutants. It was a long shot, he knew that, but Adrian was running out of options. Silly, really, how hard it was to track down a seven foot tall, green dinosaur.

Unfortunately, he was early, which was quite unusual for a man who measured time in centuries. As he sat outside the headmistress's office, watching as the sun slowly rose across the tree littered horizon, he couldn't help but smile inwardly a little. He's seen a million sunrises, yet there was nothing quite like it. The world was such a beautiful place, so full of small wonders that seemed to go unnoticed by the creatures within it. A shame, really, that such splendor would be missed in favor of wars and petty disputes.

Reaching into the pink box next to him on the sofa, Adrian pulled out one of the many donuts littered within it and took a bite. God, he was such a cliché. Then again, he had probably originated half of them, so he supposed he was allowed to indulge in stereotypes a little. Plus, he had brought them as a 'peace offering' of sorts. How was he supposed to know they already had enough donuts in that food court of theirs to last a hundred years and then some?

Savoring another slow bite, he leaned back, letting the first rays of the day fall against his skin. Life... there was nothing quite like it.

[Stepford Cuckoos]

They used to say that dreams were a tool our minds used to work through our everyday trials and tribulations, that they had no more meaning in them than a 1980’s pop song. They used to say a lot of things that were no longer true.

Dawn was a little ways off and in one of the mansions many darkened rooms dedicated to students, three girls slept soundly as they dreamed a single dream. It was a quite winter night at the mansion that filled their blonde little heads, snow falling gently in a flurry outside the buildings ancient walls. A cozy kind of warmth had filled the rooms and hallways and brought with it a sense of peace and serenity. It was Christmas or New Year’s Eve, some really important day that the girls couldn’t quite place. Everyone was gathered in the Common Room, sitting in a centric pattern around the fire place. Students taking up spots on the sofa’s and individual arm chairs as the teaching staff coupled or stood in groups along the edges of the semi-circle of student bodies. Dressed in the casual formal wear, the entire population of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters seemed to be genuinely enjoying themselves – and consequently completely oblivious to the dread sense of foreboding the three girls felt. It was as if a chill had risen through that warm room, robbing the girls of the calm the others seemed to be partaking in. The chill bore into their spines and filled their bodies till all they could feel was the shiver of the outside snow storm. They moved closer to the crackling fire contained within the stone mantle, hoping that the flame’s heat would spare them from their chattering and prickling skin. As they closed the gap, the fire seemed to come to life, like a bird hatching from its egg and demanding sustenance. It screamed at them to come and feed it the life nourishment it so eagerly demanded, but they denied it, believing they would be burned for stepping too close the fire. So they suffered the cold that no one else could feel and turned their backs on the flame. In doing so, they had angered the elemental creature and as suddenly as the chill had set upon them, the room exploded in a bath of orange light. In fear and trepidation did the girl’s look back upon the fireplace. No sooner had they done so did they find Xavier’s aflame and burning to the ground. Their fellow classmates and teachers charred remains of their former selves. Above the mantle, the esteemed Charles Xavier curled in from the corners of the canvas where he was immortally enthroned. The flames licked its lips, hungry for more, but died when all that could be burned away died and became ash floating helplessly in the wind. The three were left unscathed, but shivering in the dead of the winter night. As the ash fell softly all around them, a single intact photograph soared down from somewhere high above. It glowed as little embers nipped away at it. It burned away the rectangular shape and left three separate pieces to finish its decent. As they landed before the feet of the trio, a collective frown furrowed their waxy pale faces. It had been a group photo of the Three-in-One, split evenly into three individual body frames.

The three young women awoke suddenly from the shared dream with an eerie collective gasp. They laboriously breathed in the cold night air that seeped in from an open window. Despite being the middle of winter, the coldest time of the year, the girls loved the icy touch of the wind upon their cheeks as they snuggled down together in the same bed and slept. Frost had crept in and covered their mirrors with its icy glaze and brought little snowflakes to dance merrily on their windowsill. Celeste, Mindee and Phoebe Stepford used to love the cold…until just that moment. Without a single word passing between them, Mindee quickly jumped from the warm covers and rushed to the window, anxiety and fear passing through the triplet’s shared mind. As students of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, the Stepford Three were mutants; telepaths-of-the-highest-caliber-in-training if one really wanted to be precise. The trick with the three was that, unlike other telepaths, the three were permanently linked telepathically to one another. One thought was shared by all and there was no escaping the plurality of the Stepford Cuckoos. You simply couldn’t have one without the other two.

What was that? Phoebe asked as she too rose from the tussled comforter and snowy white sheets. She took a small hand towel from a drawer and began wiping away the crystal frost that had gathered on their mirror. Already the heat from the vent was pumping in warm air into the enclosed room. A slight shiver passed through all three bodies as skin prickled with goosebumps.

It was a dream, Phoebe. Nothing more, nothing less. Celeste was the last to leave the comfort of the bed, stretching and yawning as she did so. She stood and adjusted the hem of thin, purple sweatshirt which barely covered the line of skin that divided her shirt and boxers.

I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Celeste. She stared blankly out into the snow covered lawns of Xavier’s, neither thinking about the dream or determinedly not thinking of it. She merely listened to her sisters while at the same time, opened her mind to the forces that governed their telepathic hive. Psionic energy was a tricky thing to manipulate, but the middle Stepford sister was sure she was the closest of any on campus to unlocking the multitude of mental abilities.

What would it be, Mindee? A vision? When she had finished, Phoebe too adjusted her attire. She retied the cord that held her lounge pants snug around her thin waist and put a bra on underneath the white wifebeater she had worn to bed. An image of scrambled eggs, toast and orange juice sprang from her mind and waves of approval and gratification came gushing into her mind in reply.

Don’t be ridiculous, Phoebe. We’re telepaths, not psychics. Celeste thought as she watched Mindee mimic her sister. Wearing a pale maroon version of Phoebe’s wifebeater, Mindee tugged uselessly at her striped boxer shorts.

Who’s to say we’re not a little bit of both. Our powers are mental. Maybe they’re just growing. Mindee thought back as she left her placed beside the window and led her sisters out into the hall.

Floorboards creaked as they walked imperiously down the hall and passed the girls bathroom. It was just shy of six-thirty in the morning and their first class was still two hours away. A shower could wait as the only really remedy for heavy thoughts was full stomachs. Stepping with no great care as to how much sound their light footfalls would make, the Three-in-One walked down the grand staircase and stepped lightly out into the main foyer. Their thoughts were intertwined and no need for verbalizing their thoughts was necessary. Only one thing was on their mind: Breakfast. One thing, that is, until a slight movement caught a corner of three eyes. Heads whipped up quickly, eyes flashing white and minds rushing out to surround their surprise companion of the early hour.

It was standing still as a tidal wave crashed down upon you. The torrent of images that assaulted the gestalt was staggering even for the infamous Three-in-One. The girls struggled mentally to grab a foothold in the images and memories that sped by. One after the other a man whose skin seemed to whiten ever so quickly was centered in each grainy, photograph. People and places changed in a never ending game of Musical Chairs for the Mind.

“Ngnh”[/b] The girls struggled to gain control of that steady stream of information to no avail, tiny droplets of blood dripping from each nose. Just when it seemed their heads would erupt with the information spurting out of their broken skulls, the Stepford Cuckoos were slammed back into their own heads with such force, it sent them sprawling to the floor. A single image was left to burn in their heads: a hauntingly familiar set of cold blue eyes.

[Adrian Phoenix]

Winter. Adrian loved winter, and the chilling comfort it brought with it, the cold caress of the winds, the suppressing silence of snow. At first, he had thought nothing of it, brushed it off like he had so many other things he only later learned meant so much more then he'd ever thought. And now, as he watched the creeping frost of the windows slowly retreating in the face of the sun's glaring assault, he wondered, in light of his uneasy dreams, if this was not another case of his elusive past trying to tell him something with vagaries and distorted views.

For once, he wished his quest for truth would yield a straight answer. No cryptic clue, no vague riddle or confusing conundrum of obscure philosophy. Just a simple truth. It didn't need to be much, just something small, something real. Like his name, or birthday. The name of his first wife or the truth behind his dream. He just wanted, needed, something, anything, to hold on to. Something he could relate to in this world of alien people so unlike him in every way. He tried to relate to them, tried desperately to make his assimilation more then a mere illusion. The truth was that he felt removed from the world every minute of every hour of every day. He watched them, these people with complete knowledge of who and what they were, scuttling about like ants, so ruled by time and death, so incapable of just stopping for an hour to let the world pass them by. And every time he saw them, he remembered how different he was, how utterly inhuman he was.

He didn't know who he was, or why he was whatever it was that he was. He couldn't remember his name, his birthday, how many children he had. His entire body was a chronicle he couldn't read, each and every one of his countless scars telling a story he didn't know. All he had was fragments, shattered images and distant smells. And a life, built on a lie, as much a mirage, a carefully constructed illusion that could just as well be truth or lie. Nothing was real to him. How could he possibly know if his memories weren't just another construct of his shattered mind? Was he even immortal, or was he really lying in some insane asylum, muttering nonsense while he painted himself a pretty make-believe world of mutants and immortality inside his insane mind?

All he had was faith. He had to believe it was real, or he had nothing to live for, nothing to drive him to do anything but sit down and wait for the death that would never come. God, the fear of the unsightly mess they would discover almost made Adrian thankful for the fact that no telepath could ever hope to penetrate the garbled walls of madness that shielded his mind. But even that was a lie. Truth was, he so desperately wished they could, so that they could use their mastery over the human mind and finally coax the truth out of his reluctant psyche.

Suddenly, a sharp, white pain burned through his eyes, white hot fire piercing his corneas like spears of heat. Shying away, he grunted at the pain, quickly realising the source as his burned eyes quickly began repairing themselves. The sun. He'd must have stared into it for ten minutes by now. Blinking to shake the light from his eyes, he suddenly became aware of three identical groans coming from three different places. Turning to face the sources, the immortal's eyes came to rest upon three identical, save for clothing, figures collapsing quickly to the ground.

Raising from his seat, the chivalrous instincts of a man who might have been a knight kicked in as Adrian rushed to help the three girls. Unfortunately, trying to save three girls at the same time proved a little too much for him to handle, and he managed only to seize one before her lithe frame hit the floor. Though, in his defence, he did manage to cushion the second one's impact with a a well placed hand, even if he doubted his callused hand was much of an improvement to the hardwood floor.

And now, he found himself in quite the conundrum. What, exactly, had caused these three identical girls to fall to the floor in the same way at the same time? First, his thoughts jumped to the conclusion of some sort of attack, for the second it took him to notice the nosebleeds. He's seen it before, every time somebody tried to enter his mind. They were telepaths, and if he understood the explanation of what his mind did correctly, had just seen the clipshow from hell.

"Hey." he said softly, gently shaking the girl who he'd managed to save from a head-on collision with the floor. "You okay? I've heard that show is quite the experience." he finished with a hopefully friendly smile, though he wouldn't begrudge the girls for nursing one hell of a dislike for against man who's psyche had pretty much attacked them. Using the sleeve of his 100 dollar Armani shirt to wipe away the small trickle of blood that was doing a very good job of ruining the girl's very pretty face. The three girls reminded him of a daughter he vaguely remembered, though he'd unfortunately only been blessed with one. He remembered she'd loved peaches, and sitting up at night telling her stories of a brave king he suspected might have once been him.

Slowly pulling the girl to an upright position, he smiled a little wider and the pleasant recollection of memories. "Now, how bout we get you up and running and see if we can't get your sisters to do the same? It's a lovely day, hate to see you waste it lying around on a dirty floor."

[Stepford Cuckoos]

Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. She could hear the blood pumping her ears. Was she dying? No. Impossible. Simply a psychic attack. Was the mansion under attack? She didn’t think so. There were no explosions, no yelling. She remembered the sentinel attack, remembered the destruction and the yelling and blood pumping through her body. No, it was a beautiful winter morning and she was slowly losing consciousness.

“Hey. You okay? I've heard that show is quite the experience.”

Celeste looked blankly into the man’s eyes. He had nice eyes. A nice jaw and good strong looks. His rough hands caught her by the arm, she felt them but only vaguely. Her glowing white eyes wavered in their focus a little more, but thankfully she could still feel her sisters. That unbreakable cord of understanding that passed through all three minds. Only it was smaller, less thick than it usually was when they were so very close together. Were they still together? What if they were under attack? Her sisters! Where were they? Her eyes closed for a second.

* * *

She stood alone in a thick bank of fog, shivering again though not from the cold. She was alone. She was never alone, she always had her sisters. Maybe not physically, but mentally the girls were inseparable. As far as she knew.

“Celeste? Mindee?” She shivered again, wrapping her arms around her and ventured forth in search of her lost sisters. The fog eddied and swirled, pulsated and weakly retreated. It moved with distinction, almost sinister in its floating, as if it followed a predetermined path; as if it lurked in the back of the girl’s mind. As her eyes drifted listlessly, trying to permeate the fog and make out a shape of any kind, the girl’s ears pricked at muffled sounds. They were hard to make out, but she could tell they were there. She occasionally changed course, heading toward one of those sounds, hoping to come across someone in the dense fog, but as her feet traveled the dirt path – Dirt. She stopped and looked down. The floor beneath her was indeed a much used country road, little tufts of grass sprouting at the edge. Where…? she thought.

CLANG! Frightened from her discovery, the sound of metal hitting metal filled the gloom. The girl stared out into the fog with horror. Whatever could that sound have been? It sounded….no, impossible….it sounded like two swords…. The whinny of a horse and yelling sprouted from no where upon her own thoughts’ incredulousness. Her heart raced with fear. How had she ended up here? Where was here? Where were her sisters?

* * *

She’d been traveling in the dense fog for what seemed like ages. Her bare feet ached and the exposed regions of her body were tinged with light blue from the cold that wasn’t there. She shivered against that suppressing, non-existent cold and wrapped her arms around herself. She’d run across a man some time ago. Not a man. The memory of one. He had been paled, black and white and speaking to someone she couldn’t see in the fog. She had run up to him, reached out to grab him by the shoulder and demand her location, but had missed him altogether. Like the fog, he simply wisped out of her hands and disappeared into the bank. Frustrated and angry, the girl cried out for her sisters, for anybody to come and rescue her. No one came. So she walked. The pavement – yes, she had realized it was pavement hours ago – was beginning to wear on her feet. Ever step was a tender pounding that caused the girl to grimace. When at last all hope seemed to be lost upon the lonely girl, she heard a sound she least expected. A gunshot. Three gunshots in rapid succession. Worried and intrigued at the same time, Mindee hoped that wherever those shots had come from, a person would be able – or coerced mentally – into helping her.

She raced in the direction that the gunshots had emanated, but there was nothing. She kept running. Still nothing. Just before she felt the desire to give up, catch her breath and return to wandering, a scene bloomed before. The pavement became part of a larger whole, a dark alleyway in what the blonde young woman would hazard to be New York. There were three of them. A man, maybe in his thirties or forties. And couple. Both fairly young in age, late twenties perhaps. The girl was on the floor, shaken and frightened. The younger man was reeling, as if punched by his elder, but before the scene could take the expected route: a fist fight between two normal men, the younger man erupted within himself and changed in horrifyingly unexpected ways. His skin became mottled and green, taking on the appearance of a lizard. His jaw grew outward and became a hard beak of terrifying proportion. His arms grew leathery flaps of wings. He had become a monster. The gunshots again, but they had done nothing. A gory fight ensued and Mindee was awestruck by the sheer brutality of it all.

“Mindee?” The girl whipped around, eyes forgetting almost instantly the scene that played out before her. Standing, shivering, her sister Phoebe stood with her back to a scene of medieval carnage. Boulders flew through the air as men in armor, atop mounts equally decked in metal casing, fought with swords and maces and lances. It was the very picture of surreal.

“Girls?” Another surprise, their final sister Celeste too stood to their side, a calm scene of father and daughter sharing a late night tale. They were no longer alone. Each sister held out their hands and when the three touched, they no longer shivered against the cold. They glimmered for a moment, in that dense bank of fog and suddenly it all became clear. They left the man’s mind, their own minds slowly forgetting what they had witnessed – as if it had all been a dream.

* * *

"Now, how bout we get you up and running and see if we can't get your sisters to do the same? It's a lovely day, hate to see you waste it lying around on a dirty floor."[/color] She had only closed her eyes for a second.

Celeste’s eyes refocused, more clear now what had happened. She looked upon into the dashing man’s chocolate brown eyes, she struggled to free herself of the man’s assistance. She huffed as he helped her up and stepped away from his careful ministrations to dust of her nightwear. Slowly and blinking at the residual pain Phoebe and Mindee too found their way into a more comfortable and dignified position. Both girls blinked and looked at Celeste with surprise.

Celeste, we thought boys brought nothing but trouble?[/i][/color] they asked with mental snickers. To which, Celeste sent a scathing look in their direction. The Stepford three fixed themselves in eerie silence and when finished turned as a unit to face this unknown man they had seen in their fleeting dreams.

Wiping the remaining blood from their noses, the girls replied graciously, “Thank you for your help, but we are quite fine now. Is there something we could help you with, Mr…?”[/b]

[Adrian Phoenix]

The world was a cold, uncaring, brutal place. And as he watched the girl in his arms close her eyes, Adrian felt the sudden flash of fear that it might be her last. It was an irrational fear, a silly little thought almost vanquished as fast as it came, but when was fear ever logical? Too many people had died because of him, and he'd hate to add these young girls to their numbers. The mere thought made the breaths he did not need take hitch in his throat, his smile growing sorrowful as he brushed away a stray lock of hair before his hand found her neck, finding her vein with an all too practiced ease. To his relief, he could feel the pulsing warmth beneath the girl's skin, the heartbeat of a strong, health young woman. Of course, heartbeat was an easy thing to find, but Adrian was not so skilled when it came to intricacies of the telepathic mind. For all he knew, the three girls could be comatose or worse, trapped in their own minds in some sort of nightmarish prison of his design. He'd never seen it happen before, but the only telepaths to ever try and enter his mind were experienced, powerful. These girls were mere children by standards of even the non-eternal. Who knew how inexperienced or unprotected their minds were against his unintended attack?

But just then, three pairs of ice blue eyes flashed open, turning the temporarily sorrowful smile warm once more, only to gain a somewhat confounded edge as the girl seemed to almost resist his attempts to pull her to her feet, quickly extraditing herself from his grip. Glancing to his sides, he found that her sisters too had managed to get themselves somewhat more comfortable, though he noticed with curious amusement that their body language pointed more towards a desire to be dignified then comfortable. It was somewhat odd to see such behavior in those so young, especially what appeared to be teenagers, who were in general rather indifferent to the opinions of anyone not of their age group. A group he had no doubt stopped being counted a part of long before these girls grandparents had ever been conceived.

Adrian was not a telepath, but you didn't need to read minds to read people, not when they said it all with looks and glances. So when he caught the young girl throw a scolding look to her siblings, he needed not hear the mental words to realize that something rather unwanted had been said, albeit without any true words of any kind. Telepathy was truly a fascinating thing, though he often wondered if it was not as much a curse as his supposed 'gift'. To hear everyone's thoughts to such a degree that there were no secrets, that you could not be surprised by their feelings or suffer the pleasurable pain of wondering if somebody returned your feelings. The mystery of others were an important part of life, and being robbed of it would most likely be somewhat akin to being robbed of death like he had been.

The immortal said nothing as the girls apparently exchanged their mental words. He could wait, seeing as how he wasn't really running out of time now was he? So he simply stood there, carefully adjusting his sleeve as the girls began moving very much as one, wiping the blood from their noses and even speaking in seemingly perfect harmony. It was all very impressive a show, and no doubt more then one had been fooled into thinking the three were as one. But to somebody who had studied humanity from a hundred different eyes, their differences were all too noticeable. The way they held themselves, the emotions and thoughts that flashed behind their eyes, the minute details that no true human could ever hide. It was all there, obvious to anybody who knew where to look.

“Thank you for your help, but we are quite fine now. Is there something we could help you with, Mr…?”[/color]

"Phoenix." The immortal said, giving a courteous nod of his head to the three triplets. "And I think it should be me asking that, considering I'm the one who just sent the three of you girls sprawling to the floor. Unintentionally, of course. I would never harm three such lovely ladies if I had a choice in the matter." He finished, giving a warm, friendly smile that he couldn't remember wearing since he'd last had children. There was just something about the girls that awoke his paternal instincts. He discretely studied them for a few seconds in trying to discern what, when it hit him. Their eyes. There was something in their eyes that stirred his memory, though the details were far too murky to discern, but it was enough to draw his attention to the quiet fire that seemed to roar behind their icy facade of control, like a caged beast waiting to be unleashed, the fires of Hades burning for release.

"Are you sure you're alright? All of you?" he asked with a slowly receding smile as he sat down on the bench once more, absentmindedly rolling his head around his shoulders and reaching for the paper box beside him, deftly slipping open the top with one hand before stretching it out to the three young ones before him.

"Donut?"