((WE ALL KNOW I’M A BIT OF A DRAMA QUEEN! *out* Also: This is way too long and has gone way out of hand, but I won’t apologies for my feels :D Still, if anything doesn’t fit, I’ll edit ^^ Obviously, this is Emma’s telepathic dialogue, because she can :3))
“Jean, this is clearly getting ridiculous.”
Answered the blonde, coldly, before preparing to make another witty remark and noticing that Jean tried to prevent her to speak. Her eyes stayed cool, focused, her expression as bored as she could get it – Not showing her emotions, keeping everything under control, staying focused, and if possible, kick the redheaded cow out of her mind. Out. Out.
Shielding her mind as best as she could for the psychic assault, the blonde took a deep breath. She could not let Jean, of all people, break her like an mere, overused Barbie doll she would throw away after destroying. Emma was stronger than that, had to be stronger than that, or so she thought.
Please, darling, what are you accusing me of? Stealing your boyfriend? This is really low class of you, darling. Besides, Scott came to me, not the opposite. If you are this easily forgettable, the only one to blame is yourself.
And maybe she was pushing it too far but, for now, the blonde could not seem to care, her energy and focus being only in keeping Jean out. However, Jean was strong – more than what Emma had previously known about the redheaded telepath. This new found strength, new found power, was far beyond what Emma was expecting coming from Jean Grey, and though the blonde was fairly confident she could last long enough against Jean, she was not sure it would have been any effect. Psychically attacking the Marvel Girl would have been a failed act, and one Emma was not stupid enough to risk, but as minutes passed and Jean’s assaults on her mind became more ferocious, more determined, Emma had to lean slightly against the doorframe for support, a bursting headache building at the back of her mind.
Congralutation, darling, you’re giving me the same headache pre-hormonal teens give me after the exam period.
And Emma tried a failed attempt to grin or to look smug, but her face remained expressionless. She was fighting a loosing battle; it did not take much to notice. And Scott… Scott was not helping. Maybe was he trying, but standing here and yelling orders would do very little against Jean – Supposing the redhead was even listening to a word he said. She would not let him see her fall down, she decided. It was a matter of the little pride Jean still willingly or not allowed her. Not only Scott had not yet earned the right to see her in her bad days, but the blonde would not allow him to see her weak, to think of her as needing some kind of protection. She could not afford to have anyone think that, much less Scott Summers. Because if he found out how much of a fraud she was, then everything they’d lived would loose its taste, and part of her – the selfish part – would rather him remembering them with as much passion as he would allow himself rather than a bitter aftertaste. Concentrating on Scott for a split second, she tried to project:
If she won’t calm down, make sure the students are safe, dear.
And maybe the message did not have time to reach Scott, maybe he was not able to hear her before thousands of shards of cold glass seemed to shatter her brain and mind. The moment Emma’s focused had switched from the redhead to the visored-leader, she fully knew her barriers were going down. However, she did not expect it to be that painful. She did not expect her hands shaking frantically, her body seemingly on the brink of convulsion.
The initial shock did not seem to pass, memories flooding her mind as she felt the wood of the door frame sink a little bit deeper in her soft skin, trying to keep her standing. Her father. Christian being taken away. The way she had needed to repress her need to run behind the van of the mental institution that took her brother away. Her first night alone on the streets of Seattle. Her father stating she was dead to his eyes. A gunshot killing Troy. Ian, abandoning her again. The Hellions, dying. The fiasco that was Generation X. The bomb destroying the Academy. A classroom on an island, where she taught you mutants, destroyed overnight. The hours she spent buried under the ruins of the school, the dead bodies of the seven telepathic students that had been in her class surrounding her. This awful girl who dressed like a Goth and always smelled of soup, looking at her with her last breath. Everything. Over and over again.
You are turning into a monster yourself, Jean darling.
She managed, the tip of her long and manicured nails leaving marks into the palm of her hands, as she strangely felt tears coming to her eyes.
She would not beg for mercy, she decided. Not when Jean knew. Jean knew. This simple thought terrified the blonde. Jean knew what a fraud she was, seeing right through her as if she had been given some divine force enabling her to judge Emma. And it did not have to change everything, of course, but Jean knew and Emma could not control it. However, she would not give the redhead the satisfaction of seeing her cry – or of making her cry, for what it mattered -. And maybe it was cowardly, a sign of defeat, but the price was too high for Emma to bargain with it all. She needed the images out of her head, the feelings out of her head. And so, simple as this, the blonde swapped into her diamond form, a form impervious to any telepathic attack. Unbreakable, unreachable. Hard, cold and perfect as diamond.
