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Starting Over
Magus is walking through the park. His white hair is in a shoulder length hair is done in a pony tail. His eyes are gold. He has two mutant powers. The visible one is his white angel wings. The not visible one is his gift of knowing who is mutant and who is human. He stands about six feet tall and is slender. All of a sudden he is set upon by a gang of mutant hating humans. They soon leave him in a bloody mess. He groans knowing that this could be the end of him.
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Parker had climbed off the bus, backpack slung over his shoulder, with a look of deep distain on his face. He had been held in class for over an hour, being lectured by his infuriating teacher, for his state of dress—his overall appearance, actually. Instead of the clean-cut, tight-lace uniform that his university insisted that all the attendees wear, Parker had opted for a pair of worn jeans, and a dirty Rolling Stones t-shirt. His unkempt, chin-length, greenish-blonde hair was tangled, greasy, and uncombed; his fringe falling into his face with every cool, Mid-Autumn squall. His skin prickled with Goosebumps, and he rubbed his arms instinctively; trying to warm up.
Off the bus and down the path towards home, Parker decided to take the scenic route through the park. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he held his head up high and, before he knew it, he was strolling down the cement walkway in the park. Counting the cracks in the pavement, and stopping only once to scrape gum off his shoe, the blonde was perfectly content—that is, until he heard the raucous noise that accompanied the brutal walloping the homegrown criminals thrust upon a not so local-seeming mutant. A small part of Parker told him not to get involved—told him that he was opening himself up for recurring abuse from the cowardly gang of humans; abuse that worsen over time, if they didn’t outright kill him. He shouldn’t defend the mutant. He shouldn’t… “Leave him alone!” The words flew out of the blonde’s mouth before he could stop them, and he was rushing towards the violent scene, like a rushing tempest of fury. “Get away; go—before I call the police!” He spat curses and swears at the fleeing gang, as a heated, overpowering aura wafted off of him like a dangerous perfume. Panting hard, as he watched the gang members’ backs, Parker tried to find his center—tried to find his harmony—but, when he tore his eyes from the humans and looked down to the horribly beaten silverette, his resolve snapped. He wouldn’t let them get away; not without a fight. Years of learning to hold back his abilities—hold his temper at bay—were promptly wasted, when the blonde sent an immense gust of scorching hot air at the fleeing attackers. Their cries of agony filled the air along with the smell of burnt cloth and flesh, but Parker wasn’t satisfied—he would end them… he would tear them apart with his bare hands. He would… Parker was pulled out of his bloodlust, when he heard the shocked gasps of bystanders and the like. Crap. Crap. Crap…! How could he forget… they were in a public park! Shaking off the remnants of his wrath, the blonde went to kneel at the bloodied mutant’s side. He looked horrible—blood and bruises marring his otherwise attractive features. His wings twitching and the ivory-white feathers were stained with crimson flecks… he looked a fallen angel. Or what Parker had imagined a fallen angel to look. Gathering his ravenous thoughts, the blonde shyly reached out and traced his fingers along those wings. He hoped they weren’t as broken as they looked. Taking deep breaths to calm the rapid pace of his heart, Parker grabbed the wounded ‘angel’ by the crease of his underarm and hoisted him upright and against his side. He hoped those wings worked. He hoped they worked. Closing his emerald-green eyes, he focused on stirring the winds up. His powers worked best when he used them offensively; and that only worked when he was angry—but, right then, and that very moment; he couldn’t find it in his heart to be mad. He had this beautiful, wounded angel; a victim of unwarranted mutant-hate, hanging from his arm. Helpless and hanging on the razors edge that stood between life and death—he was in great need of medical attention; that should have made him what to kill—kill everyone in sight…but, for some reason, he wasn’t furious anymore. The flames of rage had burned out—or atleast died down too much to be tapped into. Right then, he felt sad—sad and nurturing. He wanted to help this mutant—this angel. His wish to help and heal the silverette was overwhelming—and it seemed to be all he needed to get the wind going. The gathering crowd gasped, as the air around them spun so hard, that it picked up grass and other light to medium-sized debris. And, their sounds of surprise grow even louder, when Parker situated the wounded mutant against his back, and used his damaged wings as a means to catch the fast swirling wind, and, they took off in a blur of colors and trailing blood. Emerald-green eyes watered at the wind rushing against them, and Parker had to close his eyes, as they glided through the air. He didn’t know how long they flew, but by time he opened his eyes, Parker and the mutant were standing in the driveway of his off-campus flat. Seeing the silhouette of his roommate in the window, and feeling the mutant’s blood seep through his shirt, Parker felt his heart race faster. There was no time to waste. He rushed up the stairs with the taller man in tow. He had to save him. He had to save him. (I hope you don't mind my silliness--I just got into it. xD) |
Magus is aware of shouts and heat. He wonders where that his coming from. He could feel a light touch on his broken wings. He can't form words. There is too much pain. He winces a bit when he is moved but soon feels himself being lifted into the air. He has no idea how this is happening. He groans as they land. He wanted to just give up. To let himself move on but something was keeping him here.
Parker's roommate comes rushing out of the flat. His blue hair is in a loose braid down his back. "Dude what the hell happened? Who is that?" He puts one of the strangers arms over his shoulder and helps Parker get the man into the flat. |
Parker’s body quakes with fatigue from using his abilities, and renewed anger at his flat-mate and long-time friend; Keaton’s, question—he had forgotten why he had this wounded stranger hanging off his arm, until now; but now that the memory of the beating was brought to the forefront of his mind, the blond was livid. The wind swirled dangerously around them, and Keaton knew it was high time get inside.
They rushed up the stairs as fast as they could, without causing any unnecessary pain to the man they were aiding. When they got to their slightly ajar door, Keaton let go of the man’s side, and hastily through the door open all the way. The neighbors, by now, were watching from their own doorways, but they didn’t dare say anything about the mutant threesome that was piling into the tiny apartment room. Because the silverette was so tall, taller than Parker’s diminutive 5’4 and taller than Keaton’s 5’9; the blond could barely manage to drag him along the floor, by the crease of his underarms, towards the bathroom, without his azure-haired friend’s assistance. “Easy… Easy…” Keaton whispered cautiously, more to himself than Parker, as he grabbed the wounded man gently by the back of his knees and hoisted his lower body up in the air. They carried the heavy man with the care and technique of someone moving a large sofa—but, even with all the precautions they took, they still ended up bumping into walls and doorways; stumbling over random soda cans; or just hurting themselves in any way possible on their way from the front door to the tub. Once they got there, Keaton dumped the bleeding silverette in the bathtub, on his side to prevent from damaging his already injured wings, and turned to Parker with expectant eyes. “As I asked before, what the hell happened?” The blue-haired man was already turning on the shower, when he heard Parker grunt hotly in reply. The blond still wasn’t able to form coherent thought—let alone do something as complicated as talking—and Keaton knew it was best not to push him, until he was ready to talk. So many times before, they’ve rescued mutants from the streets—from the harm of the local anti-mutant mob—from themselves and their like kind. And like so many times before, Parker had a hard time compartmentalizing. Everything was personal—it was his personal mission to save everyone. No matter how small; no matter how strong… It was noble of him, yes—but, one day, the blonde was going to bite off more than he could chew, and Keaton didn’t think he could help, if something happened. The bathroom fell into a spell of silence; the only sound that could be heard was the shower. It poured sheets of lukewarm water down unto the stranger; washing away the blood on the man’s superficial wounds. Parker busied himself by riffling through the medicine cabinet above the sink, to find the first aid kit. He found it soon enough and took things out. Lining them up on the counter, he made sure he had everything: gauze, needle and thread, iodine, and alcohol—the alcohol was for him, though, not the patient. At some point, when he was prepping the needle with a small blue flame that danced just a scant inch above his fingertip, Keaton reentered the bathroom with a splint. Parker didn’t even notice that he left; but, he didn’t jump when the blue-haired man put his hand on his shoulder. “It’s going to be alright. He’s going to be alright. Now, help me get him undressed.” Parker sighed. He hoped Keaton was right. The silver-haired mutant was cleaned up and properly bandaged, when Parker and Keaton dragged him to the sofa in their living room. He seemed heavier now, but the duo didn’t bother to notice, as they laid him down on the couch, and the latter went to retrieve some of the bed linens for him. Parker fidgeted with his hands, as he sat in the armchair beside the couch. He was scared—scared out of his mind. This fallen angel—even after having been attended to—still looked like he was barely alive…like his soul just barely clinging to his physical body. Wringing his hands, the blond stood up and paced around the room, before sitting down in the same armchair and twiddling restlessly. “Wake up. Roll over. Do something!” He howled exasperatedly, when the silverette did none of those things. Keaton returned with an armful of bed sheets, to the sight of Parker looming over the injured man, and let out his own sound of agitation. “Get away from him, Parks. He’s not going to get better, if you breathe on him like that.” “Bite me.” Parker growled in response, before returning to his chair and bouncing his leg irritably. Either it was from the acclimated weeks of not sleeping right; or from the stress of the situation; but, Keaton could see dark, angry circles under the blonde’s eyes and it worried him to no end. Sighing, the blue-haired man dropped the covers into Parker’s arms, “Do me a favor, will ya’, Parks? Tuck him in—I need to call G.G; so, she can come see about his wings.” With that, Keaton swept out with their home-phone; leaving Parker to crossly wring the fluffy duvets in his grasp. How could the other mutant act so casual, when they have someone on their couch dying? Cursing the blue-haired man under his breath, Parker prudently spread the cover out over the bandaged silverette, before plopping back in his preferred armchair. “Don’t die...” |
Magnus was barely aware that he was being tended too. The pain had proven to much for him and he had retreated into himself. This had always been his coping mechanism. He hears the main holler at him and he starts to make his way back. He just needed to let this man know he was alright. He winced as the pain hit him. "Shit." He mumbles to himself. He tries to sit up.
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Parker had sat for what felt like forever waiting for Keaton to return; waiting for the stranger to awaken; and in that time, he drifted into a reverie. Dreams of yesteryear; visions of the future; thoughts of the injured stranger coming to, and saying something—anything…
A slave to his daydreams, when he heard the silverette speak—and saw him struggle to sit up on the coach—the blonde jumped all out of his skin and gasped. “Don’t move!” He said impulsively, jumping up from his armchair and racing to the silverette’s side. His hands found the man’s bandaged shoulders, as he made to laid him back down. “You’re going to overexert yourself. Reopen your stitches.” Parker explained quietly, when he was sure the man was lying back down. His gaze soft and comforting, as his hands danced gently across the silverette’s damp forehead; smoothing away the silky, stringy, wisps of hair there. As he gently smoothed the silver tresses out of the stranger’s face, Parker heard the front door opening; signaling that Keaton had returned. “He’s awake.” The blonde immediately announced, jumping up from his spot by the man’s side, so that he could meet his best friend’s gaze when he entered the room. Keaton nodded, “Gloria’s on her way here.” Waving the phone for emphasis, the blue-haired man sank into Parker’s favorite chair, and toed his shoes off. Looking over to the stranger on the couch—whose golden eyes were barely open, and whose face was twisted in pain—Keaton shot him a forced, but otherwise friendly, smile. “I reckon you’ll be just fine, when our friend Gloria Garland is done with you.” Parker picked his fingernails, before shuffling on his feet. He felt obligated to talk to the stranger—and, more importantly; he felt his skin prickle with jealousy, at the realization that Keaton had an easier time talking to the man he had rescued. Shaking off the ill feeling; he pressed on where Keaton had left off, “She’s a mutant, like us… she’s got regenerative abilities.” Parker explained. “We’ve known her for years, so she’s alright.” “We’re Keaton Caffrey and Shannon Parker.” The blue-haired man quickly added, motioning between himself and Parker. Crossing his legs at the knee, as he leaned back in the chair, he smiled wider. “We’ve known each other since grade school.” “He doesn’t need to know everything about us, Keaton. He’s probably just going to pass through after he’s been fixed up.” Parker snapped hastily, before inwardly cringing. Why did I say that? Turning a few shades of red, the blonde hopped that the stranger didn’t mind his poor bedside manner. |
"Magus..." He manages to grit out. "Need to sit up." He mutters trying to sit up again. It hurt to lay on his wings, even in the best of times. These weren't the best of times. These were so not the best of times. He heard them talking and took it in. They were both mutants. Keaton and Parker, their friend Gloria was coming. Also a mutant. He would do his best to remember all of this. He groans getting up right, but he feels much better for it.
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Both Parker and Keaton rushed to the silverette’s side, as he tried to sit up. They laid gentle hands on the mutant’s shoulders, and propped him up against the couch—the entire time they moved him, the blonde was warning Magus that he could potentially reopen his stitches, in the upright position.
Parker’s concerns were finally silenced when Keaton grabbed both of the blonde’s hands—to get his attention—and motioned to Magus’ wings with his eyes. “The last place we should have put him, was on his back.” The azure-haired man joked, letting go of his friend’s hands and heading out of the room. Parker let his arms drop to his sides, and ends up standing awkwardly by the couch Magus is on. “M-Magus, huh… Like a magician?” He tried to sound conversational and casual, but he ended up sounding just the opposite; his voice cracking with each and every sound he made. Good lord, he really was quite terrible at hiding his emotions. Not looking at Magus, but a seemingly interesting piece of lint on his shoe, Parker wished that the floor would swallow him up and take him out of the fallen angel’s—he had a name—Magus’ presence. The floor needn’t take him away, though, because the doorbell was ringing and that was his cue to leg it out of the room. “I’ll be right back.” Parker called over his shoulder, before he hustled out of the room. Light on his feet as usual, the blonde was able to make it from the living room to the foyer seconds before Keaton did—and, when the blue-haired man did finally arrive; Parker was already opening the door. Standing on their doormat like a disgruntled cat was Gloria Garland. Gloria was short, about 4’9 in her tall heels; with alarming red hair, owl-shaped sapphire eyes and an angular face. She was dressed in a fancy blue dress, with heavy looking fur-coat on top of it; and to highlight her whole get-up, she had tons of makeup and jewelry on—by the looks of it; she was at a ritzy party before she was reached. “Sorry to call you on such short notice, Gloria.” Parker apologized, as the redhead glared at him with her arms folded across her chest. “He’s in the other room… the man Keaton told you about—Magus.” Keaton held his hands up in a defensive gesture—as if to say, ‘Please… don’t kill me! I didn’t know you were partying!’—before taking Gloria’s coat… when she threw it at him. Sputtering as faux fur and perfume invaded his senses; the blue-haired man scowled, before he disappeared to the guest bedroom. Parker and Gloria returned to the living room, and when the redhead caught sight of Magus on the couch, all of her anger washed away. “He has wings.” She said, sounding downright delighted, as she kicked off her heels, and made her way over to him. “I haven’t seen one like him in a while.” Standing over the silverette now, the redhead smiled. “I’m Gloria… but, somehow I think you already know that.” |
Magus watches Parker. There was something strangely familiar about him, though he couldn't put his finger on it. Though he found the young boy to be rather charming, and was grateful for his worry.
"Yes like a magician," He says. Just then the doorbell rang. He took in the sight of the petite woman. "Yes I know." He says with a smile. He wonders if he'll be able to tell Patrick the truth about himself, though he doubted it. It even sounded crazy to him and he was living it. |
Gloria smiled flirtatiously at Magus, as she sat on the edge of the couch cushion and grabbed the silverette’s hand. Her sapphire eyes tickled with mischief, as she regarded the mutant’s current state of health, “Not to sound too forward, but I’m going to need you to undress; so, I can assess your wounds.”
A statement hung in the air only for a few seconds, before Keaton was hustling out of the room, coughing and mumbling something about having the oven on. Parker didn’t share either of his friends’ emotions—he wasn’t embarrassed, nor was he humorously sultry—he was absolutely pissed off. Yeah, usually, Gloria asked the person she was going to heal to strip, but for some reason—it made the blonde furious… jealous even. Parker balled his hands into tight fists, and closed his eyes. He needed to calm down, before he hurt Gloria. He didn’t want to—of course, she was his friend—but, if his temper, and these strange feelings got ahold of him; he would, and there would be no stopping him, when he unleashed hellfire on the redhead. “Shannon, do you mind helping him?” Gloria asked, pulling the blonde from his thoughts. Jealousy gave way to embarrassment. “Do I mind… helping him u-undress?” Parker asked shakily, his posture going from tense and angry, to wobbly and nervous. Gloria raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Do you not want to do it? I don’t mind getting him out of his clothes.” A knowing smile etched into her pretty face, when Parker started toward them with obvious protectiveness of Magus apparent in his eyes. |
Magus stands hearing the request. He is a little light headed but he could deal with it. He starts to undress but then sways as the world starts to tilt. He starts to fall but Parker catches him and helps him back on to the couch. Soon Parker has him undressed. He knows he should be embarrassed, but strangely he isn't.
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Parker was blushing to the roots of his hair, the entire duration of the disrobing process, and it didn’t help that Magus was standing so close to him, and when the silverette was out of his clothing, the blonde pushed the older mutant gently on the shoulder so that he would sit down, once more.
The blind rage and jealous that seized him early, when Gloria touched him, was completely nonexistent, in the wake of the bare silverette. Scrunching his nose up, when the red-haired mutant began unraveling and examining Magus’ wounds, Parker trudged uncomfortably out of the room. In the kitchen, he found Keaton rifling through the cupboard. Their kitchen was cramped—the walls were so close together, that there was only enough space for one man to stand; and even with just him, he was almost shoulder-to-shoulder with both walls. Now, add an old-timey, electric stove, a mini fridge, a few countertops, and… yes, that cupboard, and there was almost no space to breathe without feeling confined. Somehow, the childhood friends found a way to make things work. Standing in the doorway that separated the breakfast nook from the living room, Parker regarded Keaton’s back with uninterested eyes. “She’s doing her inspection.” He said flippantly, leaning on the curved arch. The blue-haired man moved from inside the pantry, with an armful of canned foods and a plaintive express on his face, “One day, someone’s going to file a sexual harassment claim against her.” He said plainly, dumping the preserves on the well-worn counter, before opening the drawer beneath it and finding a can-opener. “Us… she works with us. So, we’d get the suit, and she’d make us pay.” Parker yawned into the crook of his elbow; trying to feign nonchalance, even though he could feel gold and sapphire eyes on his back. “I can hear you two.” Gloria called in a sing-song, from the living room. Her voice was like a bell; light, pretty and echoing. |
Magus just sits there as the red head examines him. "Will I survive?" He asks her. He over hears the two young men talking. "Where am I?" He means the city, state and such. He just knows he's a very long way from home. He stands feeling better. His own body starting to help him heal.
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Gloria paused her examination, to give Magus a charming smile. "Yes, yes... of course you'll survive." She said, reassuringly, before continuing the task at hand. Gently lifting the silverette's heavily-bandaged arm, the redhead began whistling the song Daryl Hanna made famous in Kill Bill. Her tanned skin took on a light blue glimmer, as the smell of strong mint—and other scents typical with medicine—began wafting off of her.
Parker scrunched his nose up at the smell—it reminded him of his stay at a Government hospital, before he met Keaton—before leaning on the door-frame, and regarded Magus with the same friendliness that Gloria was. Poor thing didn't even know where he was. "You're in Seattle, Washington." The blonde revealed, "And, until I deem you well enough to leave, you'll be living with Keaton and I—in our off-campus apartment." Just behind him, Parker could hear Keaton choking on the bite he stole, from the food he was preparing. The sounds of pots and pans clacking followed shortly after, and next thing they new, Keaton had appeared at the blonde's side. "I could have sworn you said he was staying with us?" The blue-haired man looked nonplussed... and slightly hurt? Parker ignored him, "You understand, Mister? You're not going anywhere; even if Gloria gives you a good bill of health." Gloria paused, once again, to look at Parker with angry, glowing azure eyes. "Oh, so completely under-mind my authority; because you've got a inkling to handcuff this guy to you?" When Parker wouldn't meet her gaze, the redhead scowled. "Well, fine. Just don't turn this into another Alex situation, if you're going to get overprotective." "Don't talk about that, GG." Keaton warned, pointing wooden spoon he held in his hand—which was dripping with something that looked like spaghetti sauce and cheese—at the female mutant threateningly. Parker went tense, and the room grew degrees hotter—but, before he could make anything catch alight, he calmed down. Taking a deep breath, the blonde said: "I don't care if she does; Alex is long gone—but, let's not do this in front of him, 'kay? We should respect each other enough not to go dragging our dirty laundry out for all to see." |
"Thank you for your hospitality." He says with a smile. He can sense much good in Parker. Was Parker the one he was sent to fine. The smells coming off Gloria reminded him of his mother and he smiles a bit sadly. He missed her very much, but he would hold out hope in seeing her again. Though if Parker were the one, and he refused to come, Magus was stuck on this planet forever. This planet, Earth. His mind works through the information. If he was in Seattle Washington, that meant he was in the United States of America. He could work with this. Eve if Parker weren't the one. When Gloria was done healing him he stood flexing his, now healed, wings. He would have to figure out a way to hide them. He didn't want to get beaten up again. It was still odd to him that these people all didn't have wings. Since on his own planet everyone had wings. The length and color varied depending on the station of the person.
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When Magus rose to full height; both Parker and Gloria looked at him with appreciative stares—the blonde was more-or-less pleased to see that the mutant was well enough to stand without swaying, and was no longer bleeding all other the place. Yeah, because Parker wasn’t steadily leering ‘cause he thought the silverette was attractive, or anything.
Keaton glowered at the both of his friends, but didn’t interrupt their intent looking session. Instead, he folded his arms across his broad chest, before nodding coolly at Magus. “There’s no need to thanks us, yet.” He said evenly, unfolding his arms and handing the spoon in his hand to Parker; to avoid getting spaghetti sauce on his shirt. “Ya’ see, Magus, getting patched up is the easy part. It’s the mental and emotional therapy that’s hell.” Gloria yawned obnoxiously, “Really, Keats—you’re going to bore him with that played-out psychology stuff?” Getting to her high-heeled feet, the redhead appraised Magus from her peripheral vision, before glaring at Keaton. “He’s not just patched up; he’s got not even a trace of a scratch on him—isn’t that enough for you?” Crossing her arms hotly, she starting tapping her foot, “Besides, if you start blabbing on about ‘acceptance and forgiveness and yadda-yadda’, I’m never coming back here—other than the holidays.” Parker shook his head, as Gloria and Keaton began arguing. Therapy was never a favorite subject with Gloria—especially, since she had attended sessions in the hundreds, after the murder of her parents; and the therapist had been quick to prescribe psychosis medication to her, instead of actually helping her along with the grieving process—and, it didn’t help that Keaton had become a certified Psychologist; despite the redhead’s distain for it. The blonde sighed, before rolling his head restlessly on his shoulders. “While they argue, let’s finish dinner?” He suggested softly, gesturing for Magus to come into the hampered kitchen with him. |
Magus listens to the two argue. He is aware that there will be emotional stuff to deal with, and that didn't even come from being beaten. He just wasn't sure yet if he could totally trust these people. He wonders why Gloria is so upset about therapy but he knows it's not his place to ask. He nods when Parker suggests they finish dinner. He follows the blonde into the small kitchen. "What would you like me to do."
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Parker regarded Magus with a friendly smile—well, the friendliest smile he could manage, in the wake of his two best friends fighting like two petulant toddlers—before depositing the wooden spoon in his hand into the sink. Washing off the sauce that dripped onto his hand, the blonde let his eyes rove over the counter: there were a handful of random ingredients laying around, and he was sure that, if not for him bringing Magus around, Keaton would've cooked some artery-clogging concoction. Shaking his head amusedly, Parker looked over at Magus. "It's kinda gross in here." He motioned to the clutter that rested upon almost every surface in the kitchen. "But, if you can stand to be in here, I need you to open this." As he said that, the blonde handed the silverette a half-opened can of mixed vegetables. "If you're going to live with us, you're going to have to pull your own weight." |
Magus takes in the small kitchen, it is cramped with both of them in here. He does his best to keep his wings tight to his body. He takes the can and finishes opening it. He truly didn't mind helping out. He didn't get to do much of that at home. "Thank you for your hospitality." He says with a genuine smile. He hadn't had one of those for a very long time, it was nice to have a reason to smile again. "You have a nice place here." He says, trying to make small talk. Though that wasn't his forte.
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Parker felt utterly relaxed with Magus in the kitchen, helping him prepare dinner. It wasn't odd that the blonde was comfortable around the larger mutant—the silverette wasn't the only perfect stranger to be let into his home, after all—what was weird was that he couldn't keep his emotions under control around the man.
Hearing Magus open the can without complaint had Parker grinning impishly, and hearing the mutant's deep voice lulled a state of calm—the words of gratitude that were carried along with that smooth voice that rumbled from the silverette, had hundreds of nervous butterflies fluttering in the pit of Parker's stomach. He cleared his throat to keep from fidgeting. There was something oddly alluring about Magus—could it be a hidden power; the power to charm someone…? Perhaps, it was just animal magnetism. Parker didn't feel like it was his place to ask, and felt silly for even thinking he could be attracted to Magus—or the other way around. The silverette could get any woman, or man, he wanted. Parker, he was sure, would be low on Magus’ priority list. "It's no problem...letting you stay here. We have to stick together. We gifted people.” He murmured softly, before busying himself with finishing dinner. He had no idea what he was supposed be cooking—Keaton was trying to prepare everything but the kitchen sink, apparently—so, after he washed his hands, Parker meant to brush passed Magus and take the can from his hands—but, with the little space that he had to maneuver in, he ended up pressed against the silverette. Coughing nervously, as he flushed several shades of crimson, the blonde extended his hand to accept the preserve from the taller mutant. Standing so close to Magus, Parker was able to register that the silverette was only half-dressed. His pectoral and abdominal muscles were firm and taut from years of exercise, no doubt. When had Magus put his tattered trousers back on? The young man had no idea, but he was glad that they were there, or else, he might’ve fainted. Clearing his throat more obnoxiously, Parker tried to find his voice. Instead of locating his ‘grown-up Parker’ voice—which, while it was a higher pitch than what was consistent with men his age, it was still rather masculine—he found his ‘prepubescent Parker’ voice. It was needless to say that his voice was high, pitchy and sounded like his was perpetually whining. “O-on second thought… I think I can handle this by myself.” He croaked, taking the can from Magus’ hand, before started shooing the silverette out of the kitchenette. “I think you might want to get properly dressed. There are some spare clothes in the guestroom. Try’em on for size.” |
Magus was instantly turned on when Parker was pushed against him. He was hyper aware of Parker, of his eyes, his hair and even his scent. He reaches out with his free hand to touch him but hears himself being shooed out of the tiny kitchen. Had he done something wrong? He knows he had been the reason Parker had blushed. He was a bit confused, he was getting the sense that this young man had feelings for him, but he wasn't showing them. Maybe he was just desperate, maybe there was nothing there at all. He nods when Parker tells him that there are clothes in the guest room. He leaves the tiny kitchen only to realize he doesn't know where the guest room is. He spots Keaton and goes over to him. "Could you tell me where the guest room is? Parker told me there are clothes in there that I might try on."
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Parker gripped the counter until his knuckles went white, as he felt the atmosphere around him change. The blonde was good a picking up the fluctuations in the air—it was his element. His ability was control over the winds—and, so, he had to be in-tune with it.
He never hated his link with the atmosphere, as much as he did right now. Pain settled into the joints in his fingers, and his wrist throbbed in protest, as his body began to tremble under the weight of the tension thick—and seemingly electrically-charged—air. Feeling that he was growing more lightheaded by the moment, Parker took a many deep breaths from his mouth. One, two, three, four deep inhalations—in rapid succession; almost like he was hyperventilating—the blonde dragged in as much air as possible, as he tried to calm himself—he had to stop the blood pounding in his ears deafening loud; had to slow the painful acceleration of his heartbeat. After a few more excruciatingly difficult gasps; Parkers lungs felt like they were about to burst. His face felt numb and cold; the pain in his hands lessened until he wasn’t even sure he would be able to feel his fingertips for a while; the feeling of dizziness amplified to full-blown, out-of-body vertigo—and yet, he couldn’t exhale. Not yet. Not with Magus standing so close to him, for fear that he would lose control over himself and do something crazy. Crazy like kiss the silverette. Stars were spotting in his line of vision, and Parker was sure he would lose consciousness… faint in his kitchen, while he was preparing dinner, just because another man was shirtless and close to him. What a virgin thing to do. Relief hit Parker in large, cool waves—like controlled swells of water crashing against the pillars of a pier—when Magus finally left him alone in the kitchen. Parker let out a steady stream of shaky breathes, as he listened carefully to the silverette’s retreating footfall; before he picked up the forgotten can of vegetables and went on to finish cooking. Gloria and Keaton had abruptly ended their heated argument, when they heard Parker kick Magus out of the kitchenette. The blonde was usually so good at chatting up the rescued mutants. Most of the time; they would have to invade his personal space, before he told them off—why was the silverette any different? Gloria, not wanting to look like a deer caught in headlights, fled from the living room; muttering something about fixing her makeup in the loo—leaving Keaton to stand awkwardly and red -faced from shouting. “Huh? Oh, the guest room? Follow me.” Keaton stumbled on his words, as he motioned for the silverette to shadow him down the hall. At first glance, the living room looked cramped; like the kitchen, but upon further inspection, it turned out that the area was a lot larger than it appeared. Stylishly decorated with a traditional contemporary theme that looked to be straight out of a home magazine; the lounge was large enough to house two dark, brown leather armchairs, a modestly-sized entertainment-center, a large bookshelf and several end-tables. Between the chairs and end-tables, was the sofa Magus was laying on earlier; and without him on it, the pretty pillows that decorated it was put back in their place. There were only four of them, but they were white with green and brown speckled on them, and for being owned by two young males, they were very clean-looking pillows. It was obvious from their good condition, though, that they were obviously for fashion, instead of function. Keaton almost tripped over the area rug, as he passed the sofa and towards the hallway that was to the right of the bookshelf. He mentally swore, as his foot throbbed from being stubbed on the floor, but recovered from his stumble with relative ease. Hopefully, Magus wouldn’t comment on it. Clearing his throat, the blue-haired man smoothed his hands over his pants legs. “Gloria had one of her sugar-daddies—erm—boyfriends buy us this stuff last semester.” He informed the silverette; hoping the taller mutant would deduce that he was tripping over the furniture; not because he was clumsy, but because it was still new. “I hate it. Only a girl would have a divan, in the bedroom, that wasn’t meant to be slept on.” Throwing his hands up in comical exasperation, Keaton looked over his shoulder at Magus, to make sure he was still following. “Parker seems to be into that sort of thing; because, he keeps shooing me off the furniture like I’m some flea-ridden mutt.” |
Magus chuckled hearing Keaton talk. He truly was glad these two found him. He hates to think what would happen if he hadn't been found by Parker and brought here. "It's alright." He says with a smile. He was envious of the easy relationship these three had. It made his life easier. He starts looking through the clothes when they get to the guest bedroom and just listens to Keaton talk. He finds clothes he feels will fit and tries them on while the other is talking. They had already seen him naked and even if they hadn't it didn't bother him at al.
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