Fic: How to escape from prison in 210 days (1/5)
Title: How to escape from prison in 210 days ( part 1/5)
Author:
ms_jvh_shuh
Pairing: Bobby/St John
Rating: PG15 for mention of death(s). Mention only.
Summary: A few years after X3, Pyro has been imprisoned by the X-Men. He is not a happy prisoner.
Notes: Inspired by, though by no means fulfilling every requirement of, the post-X3 challenge
nightshade24 posted waaaay back.
How to escape from prison in 210 Days
Ring out your bells, let mourning shows be spread;
For Love is dead.
All Love is dead, infected;
With plague of deep disdain;
Worth, as nought worth, rejected,
And Faith fair scorn does gain.
(from "A Litany" by Sir Philip Sidney)
Day 191
Pyro doesn't admit it, but he's watching the door.
It's always the same.
A sullen little girl who has long since stopped eyeing him curiously comes by with his breakfast and his evening meal.
His lunch is accompanied by Bobby.
He's been here for six months now.
The cell measures eight by seven and has a tiny shelf on one of the walls. The bed is not too uncomfortable, and under it is a small plastic thing that can be used as a desk.
After his capture, it took four days for Pyro to resign himself to the fact that while it could well be possible to melt the bars to get out into the main cellar room, they have no other weakness, not even the lock at the door. As long as and since no-one will let so much as a spark near him, he is stuck.
Bobby is like clockwork. Every day, he shows up at 2 pm.
Leaned up against one of the bars he can´t melt, there is an untouched blank college block and a pencil. St John hasn't written a word for five years; he isn't going to start now.
It took Pyro a day to stop raging at the X-Men who couldn´t even muster up enough resolve to turn him over to the government, and two days to devise a decent training programme.
Every day, he spends an hour trying to pick open the lock at the narrow door disrupting the steel bar pattern. He knows it won't open. He´s been told it's designed to need a key with a certain temperature, and ice is another thing they aren't giving him.
He has no means here to listen to music, or watch TV. No potential sparks from over-heated electricity.
His tiny shelf holds some quite extraordinary pieces of literature, shoved at him by Bobby. Pyro cannot believe how much he has come to like ancient English poetry.
He refuses to give up on escape entirely. Without fire, he has to rely on his wits and physical strength.
The thickest volumes on the shelf comprise Elizabethan screenplays. Shakespeare is untouched. Working out, Pyro recites lines from Marlowe to himself, taking what shallow pleasure he can from spiting Xavier beyond the grave.
Bobby never has a key on him.
Beast came to visit him once, to perform a medical check. That's when he found out that two weeks after his capture, Storm and Magneto killed each other dead.
During the first 25 lunch sessions, Pyro ignored every attempt the Iceman made to talk to him. After four weeks of the X-Men's only prisoner staring through him, Bobby stopped talking.
It's nearly two o'clock. There's the door. Pyro´s not watching.
Without Erik, whoever the X-Men are fighting frequently these days won´t be coming for him.
There's never never never anything on the plates that Pyro refuses to eat. The Iceman's not supposed to remember the list of things St John deemed inedible.
He knows Bobby´s an all-powerful teacher now, although what Robert Drake could possibly have to teach innocent mutant children, Pyro has no clue.
The door leading out of the cellar is thick and heavy and has to be opened by a code.
Yesterday, Pyro was so caught up with Sir Thomas Wyatt that only a quick glance at the sooner than normally departing waiter alerted him to a change of protocol. His lunch had arrived by girlie-girl this time.
He caught the code reflected in the shiny medical cupboard across the room on the 113th day he was here.
Any second now -
The door slides open, and Pyro stares right past a terrine of soup on a tray and a pair of pigtails.
There are still about ten hours of the day left.
St John knows Bobby won´t be showing.
Maybe he finally got the message.
* * *
(II) Day 194
Author:
ms_jvh_shuh
Pairing: Bobby/St John
Rating: PG15 for mention of death(s). Mention only.
Summary: A few years after X3, Pyro has been imprisoned by the X-Men. He is not a happy prisoner.
Notes: Inspired by, though by no means fulfilling every requirement of, the post-X3 challenge
nightshade24 posted waaaay back.
How to escape from prison in 210 Days
Ring out your bells, let mourning shows be spread;
For Love is dead.
All Love is dead, infected;
With plague of deep disdain;
Worth, as nought worth, rejected,
And Faith fair scorn does gain.
(from "A Litany" by Sir Philip Sidney)
Day 191
Pyro doesn't admit it, but he's watching the door.
It's always the same.
A sullen little girl who has long since stopped eyeing him curiously comes by with his breakfast and his evening meal.
His lunch is accompanied by Bobby.
He's been here for six months now.
The cell measures eight by seven and has a tiny shelf on one of the walls. The bed is not too uncomfortable, and under it is a small plastic thing that can be used as a desk.
After his capture, it took four days for Pyro to resign himself to the fact that while it could well be possible to melt the bars to get out into the main cellar room, they have no other weakness, not even the lock at the door. As long as and since no-one will let so much as a spark near him, he is stuck.
Bobby is like clockwork. Every day, he shows up at 2 pm.
Leaned up against one of the bars he can´t melt, there is an untouched blank college block and a pencil. St John hasn't written a word for five years; he isn't going to start now.
It took Pyro a day to stop raging at the X-Men who couldn´t even muster up enough resolve to turn him over to the government, and two days to devise a decent training programme.
Every day, he spends an hour trying to pick open the lock at the narrow door disrupting the steel bar pattern. He knows it won't open. He´s been told it's designed to need a key with a certain temperature, and ice is another thing they aren't giving him.
He has no means here to listen to music, or watch TV. No potential sparks from over-heated electricity.
His tiny shelf holds some quite extraordinary pieces of literature, shoved at him by Bobby. Pyro cannot believe how much he has come to like ancient English poetry.
He refuses to give up on escape entirely. Without fire, he has to rely on his wits and physical strength.
The thickest volumes on the shelf comprise Elizabethan screenplays. Shakespeare is untouched. Working out, Pyro recites lines from Marlowe to himself, taking what shallow pleasure he can from spiting Xavier beyond the grave.
Bobby never has a key on him.
Beast came to visit him once, to perform a medical check. That's when he found out that two weeks after his capture, Storm and Magneto killed each other dead.
During the first 25 lunch sessions, Pyro ignored every attempt the Iceman made to talk to him. After four weeks of the X-Men's only prisoner staring through him, Bobby stopped talking.
It's nearly two o'clock. There's the door. Pyro´s not watching.
Without Erik, whoever the X-Men are fighting frequently these days won´t be coming for him.
There's never never never anything on the plates that Pyro refuses to eat. The Iceman's not supposed to remember the list of things St John deemed inedible.
He knows Bobby´s an all-powerful teacher now, although what Robert Drake could possibly have to teach innocent mutant children, Pyro has no clue.
The door leading out of the cellar is thick and heavy and has to be opened by a code.
Yesterday, Pyro was so caught up with Sir Thomas Wyatt that only a quick glance at the sooner than normally departing waiter alerted him to a change of protocol. His lunch had arrived by girlie-girl this time.
He caught the code reflected in the shiny medical cupboard across the room on the 113th day he was here.
Any second now -
The door slides open, and Pyro stares right past a terrine of soup on a tray and a pair of pigtails.
There are still about ten hours of the day left.
St John knows Bobby won´t be showing.
Maybe he finally got the message.
* * *
(II) Day 194