Emma's a cool bitch, yo.
This isn't even a story, just a drabble. A character study. Whatevs.
To put things simply, to Emma, everything was boring.
To know everyone else's thoughts, all the time, to know what they were planning, feeling, whether they were waxing poetic or just feeling ornery, their fears and expectations, excitement, worries, joys, to know all of that, it was like being able to almost read the future.
And, to Emma, the future was boring.
When she was a kid, her power first manifested. She can't pinpoint an exact date, but when she started meeting new children in school, her head started buzzing and buzzing, and it took her the better part of a year to understand that only a mere fraction of the words, images, thoughts in her head were hers.
Even longer it took for her to understand projection, and when not to use it. Four crying classmates and a hysterical teacher were her final signifiers.
Her parents took notice early, but had no idea what to do. With practice, Emma understood the concept of erasing memories, making walls, blocking thoughts and forcing ideas. She was weak with no practice, but her parents were ideal, and they soon barely remembered their daughter, Emma Frost.
High school was hell, but only because of the horny teenagers. It was easy enough to pass classes when your teachers thought the answer as they asked the question.
And then the free world.
Emma's hardest task, honestly, was separating herself from the others. Which thoughts were hers, which did she hear? When she finally mastered the ability to ignore, oh, what blessed silence that brought!
Ignorance became her number one weapon, ignoring others, ignoring their thoughts, all the time, ignoring what they were planning, feeling, disregarding whether they were waxing poetic or just feeling ornery, their fears and expectations, excitement, worries, joys, pushing it all out her mind was true bliss.
And there it was. Shaw was nice enough, a rat bastard, but filled with charm and willing to watch others as they tried to play along. Who knows how old he actually was, Emma never asked, never looked, just accepted, and he took her hand in his and promised a life of perfection.
He didn't ask for much, in light of what he would give, and he was always so overbearingly affectionate, notwithstanding his multiple, tedious requests. It wasn't really something he asked for, Emma admits, her being in a constant state of undress, but she knew to keep him happy, and he had some other people on his side, so her best bet to be number one would to be on the top of his late-night list.
Ignoring their thoughts, feelings, Emma can still hear them, and half the time, they aren't very nice. Azazeal cared little to none--she wondered sometimes how far into his mind she could get without him knowing, because she knew so little and that actually bothered her--but Riptide had a little pond of barely controlled rage in him, which everyone ignored.
The trick, Emma knows, is to ignore. Shaw knew also, but he was less proactive, a little less willing to get on your bad side.
Emma, so bored with life, so exhausted with expected outcomes, it's a surprise, happy and relieving, when Little Erik Lensherr--Magneto, he demands, and she goes along with it, because what does she care--appears and asks her to tag along.
"He left quite a bit of a gap in my life, if I'm to admit."
A fill, then, is she. Emma doesn't mind, Shaw just used her because she didn't mind skirts and invading other people's most private thoughts, so something like just a decoy, just a filler, a scanner, really, for Magneto, that wasn’t much of a stretch, was it.
Except, she notices, some flitter of emotion--that was actually hers, so rare this happened--rattling in her belly, Magneto can't even bare to take her hand, so very unlike Shaw, with his dastardly good looks and smiles, and she takes the blue girl's hand and Azazeal's and they disappear to some other place, a hideout Emma already knows the location to, because Magneto is good at hiding with that helmet, but his undoing will be the blue girl, so lost and confused.
Alas, Emma sighs, Magneto is only interesting with that helmet off, but she finds his emotions--turmoil, pain, agony, guilt, I'm sorry I'm sorry I have to keep running going but I'm sorry, she got it already--so exaggerated, so comical, that it's all she can do, just reading him. He can feel her, too, and she knows it's from practice, too used to that other telepath, and he always recoils, but Emma moves on and reads everyone else, because knowing the future is boring, but not knowing it is just too much for her to bear.
To put things simply, to Emma, everything was boring.
To know everyone else's thoughts, all the time, to know what they were planning, feeling, whether they were waxing poetic or just feeling ornery, their fears and expectations, excitement, worries, joys, to know all of that, it was like being able to almost read the future.
And, to Emma, the future was boring.
When she was a kid, her power first manifested. She can't pinpoint an exact date, but when she started meeting new children in school, her head started buzzing and buzzing, and it took her the better part of a year to understand that only a mere fraction of the words, images, thoughts in her head were hers.
Even longer it took for her to understand projection, and when not to use it. Four crying classmates and a hysterical teacher were her final signifiers.
Her parents took notice early, but had no idea what to do. With practice, Emma understood the concept of erasing memories, making walls, blocking thoughts and forcing ideas. She was weak with no practice, but her parents were ideal, and they soon barely remembered their daughter, Emma Frost.
High school was hell, but only because of the horny teenagers. It was easy enough to pass classes when your teachers thought the answer as they asked the question.
And then the free world.
Emma's hardest task, honestly, was separating herself from the others. Which thoughts were hers, which did she hear? When she finally mastered the ability to ignore, oh, what blessed silence that brought!
Ignorance became her number one weapon, ignoring others, ignoring their thoughts, all the time, ignoring what they were planning, feeling, disregarding whether they were waxing poetic or just feeling ornery, their fears and expectations, excitement, worries, joys, pushing it all out her mind was true bliss.
And there it was. Shaw was nice enough, a rat bastard, but filled with charm and willing to watch others as they tried to play along. Who knows how old he actually was, Emma never asked, never looked, just accepted, and he took her hand in his and promised a life of perfection.
He didn't ask for much, in light of what he would give, and he was always so overbearingly affectionate, notwithstanding his multiple, tedious requests. It wasn't really something he asked for, Emma admits, her being in a constant state of undress, but she knew to keep him happy, and he had some other people on his side, so her best bet to be number one would to be on the top of his late-night list.
Ignoring their thoughts, feelings, Emma can still hear them, and half the time, they aren't very nice. Azazeal cared little to none--she wondered sometimes how far into his mind she could get without him knowing, because she knew so little and that actually bothered her--but Riptide had a little pond of barely controlled rage in him, which everyone ignored.
The trick, Emma knows, is to ignore. Shaw knew also, but he was less proactive, a little less willing to get on your bad side.
Emma, so bored with life, so exhausted with expected outcomes, it's a surprise, happy and relieving, when Little Erik Lensherr--Magneto, he demands, and she goes along with it, because what does she care--appears and asks her to tag along.
"He left quite a bit of a gap in my life, if I'm to admit."
A fill, then, is she. Emma doesn't mind, Shaw just used her because she didn't mind skirts and invading other people's most private thoughts, so something like just a decoy, just a filler, a scanner, really, for Magneto, that wasn’t much of a stretch, was it.
Except, she notices, some flitter of emotion--that was actually hers, so rare this happened--rattling in her belly, Magneto can't even bare to take her hand, so very unlike Shaw, with his dastardly good looks and smiles, and she takes the blue girl's hand and Azazeal's and they disappear to some other place, a hideout Emma already knows the location to, because Magneto is good at hiding with that helmet, but his undoing will be the blue girl, so lost and confused.
Alas, Emma sighs, Magneto is only interesting with that helmet off, but she finds his emotions--turmoil, pain, agony, guilt, I'm sorry I'm sorry I have to keep running going but I'm sorry, she got it already--so exaggerated, so comical, that it's all she can do, just reading him. He can feel her, too, and she knows it's from practice, too used to that other telepath, and he always recoils, but Emma moves on and reads everyone else, because knowing the future is boring, but not knowing it is just too much for her to bear.