#m'starter

[james-ackers-blog]

It wasn’t that James hated Christmas: he had never been that annoying kid who told everyone what they’d been wondering in the back of their minds: Santa isn’t real. In fact he liked the decorations and the cheesy commercials and Christmas specials airing on TV.... He just didn’t like them before it even hit December yet. Was it too much to ask that the calendar changed months before Mariah Carey’s signature high notes were stuck in his head for 25 days straight? The holiday cheer seemed to be infectious for everyone except James who had sulked off to the art room the only place in the place in the entire school that didn’t seem to be overflowing with Christmas cheer yet (it was only a matter of time, though, the decorations were waiting in a box in the corner of the room), once again proving itself as the one of the only places James felt really comfortable in. 

His solitude was interrupted with the creaking of the door and the sound of 'All I Want For Christmas Is You’ finding him once again, “You mind closing the door?” James glanced at the person in the doorway, “I don’t know how much more Christmas music I can take.”

[zeldaniles-blog]

“Leave me alone, man. I don’t want anything to do with you.” Zelda put a hand out to stop Jed from getting any closer, cursing when she was suddenly pulled back. “Jed!” She raised her voice, turning around to face him just as he walked off in the opposite direction. She was left standing in the middle of the corridor, exasperated and a little helpless.

[liviasxmmers-blog]

Livia’s Christmas Eve had been going as well as could be expected, which wasn’t saying much. As a child she’d have a special dinner with her mother, reserved for her and no one else- it was the one night they had alone without whomever her mother’s toy at the time was, which, said out loud made her mother sound unaffectionate; however, she was very affectionate. She just tended to spread her affections fairly thin. Later, Livia would spend her Christmases in bed with her girlfriend, a copious amount of hot chocolate, and one carefully-thought-out gift each. But that... was no longer possible. Instead, she’d participated in the staff’s secret santa exchange this morning. She’d hung a generic Christmas ornament from the rear view mirror of Nathan Hunter’s car earlier in the week, simply for the satisfaction of his difficulty naming her as his secret santa. Even more satisfying was the news from Ollie Bushell that he still hadn’t taken it down. But now came the hard part, trying to stay in the spirit despite the lack of family; it was quite difficult, to say the least, trying to keep a smile on your face when the only two people you really want to see are nowhere to be found. 

Livia found herself in the kitchen, craving the comfort of hot chocolate. Maybe it wasn’t in bed and maybe it wasn’t with Cassia, but she’d still try her hardest to enjoy it. Hearing the wind rush through the doorway, she glanced up, a routine friendly smile flashing toward her new companion. “Would you like one as well?” she asked, lifting up an empty mug with one hand and dropping a peppermint stick into her own with the other.

[airheadamelia-blog]

Lia stood back, glancing up at the garland that adorned the wall with a frown before shaking her head. “Actually, no, I was right before -- it looks better over the doorway.” She decided, earning a grumble from Peter Pedro who, despite his aggravations, still climbed up the ladder to take down the garland for the third time in the past fifteen minutes. “Or maybe it’s just the colors...” She trailed off, examining the decorations that filled the box before jumping at a clap of lightning and slapping a hand over her heart, “Scared the devil outta me.” She murmured, glancing out at the snowstorm raging outside. It was Christmas Eve and she was she stuck at school -- how messed up was that? Not that she minded Morgana or its inhabitants but she would much rather be at home, in Georgia weather where winter meant you threw on some thicker socks not below freezing temperatures and a storm that was downright suicidal to go out in. The decorating helped keep her mind off it. With another clap of lightning came an instinctive reach for tree more tree ornaments and turning to the next person who happened to be in her sights, “You mind helpin’ me with this?” She asked with a nervous smile as the biting winds outside began to overpower the sound of Mariah Carey’s Christmas anthem.

[bxckgallagher-blog]

So, a human walks into a school for mutants. Sounds like the start of a bad joke. Beck had arrived at Morgana Academy in the middle of the night, after deciding that stopping and staying in any of the dingy motels along the highway wasn’t really worth it, especially when she was so close to her destination. The decision to go to Morgana had been a spur-of-the-moment one that stemmed from a post card she’d received from Alix, and if Beck was honest, her reasons were mostly selfish. For a while she’d felt like she was stagnating. Working the same bar every night, meeting the same kinds of people, going home to the same apartment and doing little with herself until it was time to go to work again. Nothing was fun anymore, and after getting the postcard from her friend, she’d decided a change of scenery was exactly what she needed. 

Her biggest problem had come with figuring out exactly what she’d be able to contribute to the academy. Teaching was off the table, unless learning how to make extra strong cocktails was part of the curriculum, and she was hardly suited for security. In the end she’d put down secretarial work, which thankfully they accepted. She suspected most of her time would be spent sat behind a desk typing things into a computer, or organizing files, or something equally as boring -- but how boring could it really be when mutants were involved?

For the first time in a while Beck had woken up early that morning, oddly eager to see the school and all its inhabitants in daylight. Part of her was even excited to start working, but upon arriving again at the front desk she found there was nothing to be done. It was sports day at Morgana Academy and most people were outside taking part in or watching the activities. The woman behind the desk told her to take the day off and familiarize herself with the academy and get settled in, and return to start work properly the next day. Beck needed no encouragement where taking the day off was concerned, and made her way outside, deciding to watch the day’s events in hopes of seeing something extraordinary. 

Her eyes locked on the field in the distance as she descended the steps from the front door of the academy, and they widened as she spotted someone jump a good forty feet in the air and perform a back flip, to a chorus of loud cheers. She was so busy trying to catch a glimpse of something else happening that she didn’t watch where she was putting her feet, and more or less walked right into the back of someone else. “Jesus -- sorry, sorry, totally wasn’t watching where I was going. Are you okay?”

[scxrlettniles]

Scarlett had been given extended detention for the last two days (something about how throwing encyclopedias at people in the library was dangerous – though in her defense, she said, they were being loud and annoying) and she could have sworn the librarian holding the detentions hated her. Probably had something to do with Scarlett throwing her precious first edition books around, but she didn’t think that gave the woman any right to have her stacking shelves whilst everyone else got to sit in mindless silence. She also could have sworn that the librarian filled the book cart with the heaviest books possible, just to put her through more pain and suffering. But it’d been made clear to Scarlett that if she skipped out on these detentions she’d be sent to isolation instead, and if anything that was even worse.

So she pushed the cart along the library aisles, grumbling to herself and shoving books into the place closest to where she thought they’d go. They should have gone in alphabetical order or something like that, but frankly she hadn’t been listening when the librarian had explained and she didn’t really care. Most of the time she stared at the large clock above the library doors, willing the hands to turn faster so she could leave. The library had always been her least favourite place in the school (perhaps only second to the pool) and having to spend time in there unwillingly definitely didn’t put her in a good mood.

About five minutes before she was supposed to be able to leave, the librarian came along and dumped another load of books on the cart, the same lot she’d just put away, and said she couldn’t leave until they were all in the correct place and not thrown around wherever she felt like putting them. Scarlett had the sudden urge to push her over and send all the shelves toppling like dominoes. But then she’d probably only have to clean it up, so she jerked the cart around as the librarian walked away, pushing it forward and glaring at the old woman over her shoulder. And she was so busy glaring at the reptilian bitch that she didn’t see anyone come around the corner of the bookshelf, and so she ran the cart right into them, effectively overturning it and sending the books flying everywhere with an incredibly loud crash.

“Oh for f– can you watch where you’re going?!”

[darlenesadler-blog]

For the past two months, Darlene Sadler, daughter of John Sadler, had been isolated from the rest of the inhabitants at Morgana Academy. Nobody knew of her, except for several of the adults that periodically came to check on her, to talk to her, to teach her about this life. She remembered their names. Grace Walker was Darlene’s most frequent visitor. Vera Keneally her least. The latter had come once or twice. The first time was to inspect her health, but when asked to remove her clothing so that her body could be examined for any irregularities, Darlene had vehemently refused. You will do no such thing, she’d said, and had been prepared to fight. But the small woman had only looked at her, then calmly nodded her demission. Darlene knew that her body would be marked with old wounds from beatings, both from others and from herself. She didn’t want anyone seeing those; not out of any shame, but because the markings would raise only more questions of which she was not willing to answer. Not yet, at least. She needed to make up a believable story.

For two months, Darlene had been kept a secret. Today was the day they were integrating her in with the rest of the people, and as she moved down the corridor with neatly folded linens for her new bed, a lot of heads turned to stare at her. Darlene’s lips thinned at the edges, and her mouth grew dry. Several people she passed eyed the dress she wore, and the cardigan, and one or two them, clearly judging, giggled. Her fingers curled around the edges of the bedsheets, but she made no inclination of retaliating. She was good at keeping her temper, and she wanted them to believe her a nervous sort. Meek. Thus she tucked her chin into her chest and continued walking, slowing only as she got to the door of her bedroom, where someone was apparently waiting. Darlene squinted once at them, then at the number on her door just to check that it was, in fact, her room. 104. It was. So who was this stranger? Cautiously, she approached. “This is my room. What are you doing here?”

[liviasxmmers-blog]

Livia had been perched in the kitchen for quite a while now, taking advantage of the coffee maker to keep her awake for these last few essays- which seemed like a good idea at the surface, but she knew that she should have quit hours ago and surrendered to sleep, regardless of how long her students had to wait for grades to be posted. The coffee would only keep her up longer- much longer than required to finish off the papers- and she’d be trapped with her thoughts once more, forced to start planning lessons months ahead to busy herself. Livia and her own thoughts were a toxic combination that bred sleepless nights and never ending stacks of research- something she admittedly hadn’t come to in a couple of weeks and didn’t particularly want to dive back into now. Circling the final grade in purple ink, she added another to her stack of finished papers, and as her focus lessened, she became hyper-aware of the person sitting next to her, the end of their fork tapping rhythmically against the counter. Reaching out, she placed her hand on the end of the fork, pinning it to the table. Her eyes rose toward those of her companion. “Do you always insist on doing that or is it just a nervous habit?”