Scenes: Part I
University of Southern Florida – Tampa
“…and by teaching the brain to carry out the process of neural construction – not only itself, but the rest of the central nervous system – this process will hopefully open new pathways, not only for victims of Bells Palsy, but paralysis, strokes, Parkinsons, and other neurologically based diseases…”
“Forgive me for interrupting, Dr. Torres, but we should be wrapping up pretty soon.”
Angelo Torres nodded toward his colleague – Dr. Troy Jenkins – and continued to wrap up his paper. “This brand of neurology is just beginning to open up. I encourage some of you medical majors in this very room to consider that as a possible direction in your future studies. Thank you.”
The lecture immediately broke out into applause. With a smile, Angelo turned to greet them. In a way, this was more what he had anticipated himself doing at one time before fate would lead him to the steps of the Hellfire Club. He had no regrets, though. He liked what he was doing. He liked the people he was with. With a smile, he ran his hand through the mass of stringy brown hair before he turned toward the class.
“Thank you very much, Angelo, for delivering a cursory overview to this new and exciting field. For any of you interested in discussing your work or your future with Dr. Torres, there are 20 minute slots for meetings starting from 9:00 A.M. tomorrow and ending at 1:00. Then, Dr. Torres must be on his way back to New York. Please work on your papers and have them ready for tomorrow.”
As the class adjourned, Dr. Jenkins walked up to Angelo, excitedly shaking his hand. “Great work, Doctor. I thought the ol’ Puerto Rican prodigy had lost his lecture chops.”
“No, not the chops… but a taste for the life altogether.”
“You should consider returning to the academic circles. Your research is particularly…”
“No,” Angelo said. “I’m doing fine just where I am. And…” he found his concentration interrupted by a sound, much like that of a human chainsaw coming from the middle of the lecture hall.
Dr. Jenkins sighed and glanced over toward the source of it. From their position, all they saw was the back of a closely-cropped head and a darkened arm hanging over the edge of the desk. “Believe it or not, Dr. Torres, up there is one of our most promising students. Well… theoretically, anyway. Sharp mind…” he said, closing the distance. The frustrated man shook the sleeping student awake, addressing him with a lowered pitch. “Mr. Edwards?”
“Huherwha?!” the startled student jumped in his seat, scattering his books around the floor again.
“I don’t mind should you decide to sleep in my class after working third shift again, but would you please be so kind as to not snore?” He gestured behind him. “Since I know you probably spent the entire lecture in dream land, I would like for you to meet Dr. Angelo Torres.”
Jermaine Edwards extended his hand, which the doctor gladly took with a strong firm shake. “Nice to meet you…” he said, his voice trailing off. He got flashes, suddenly. He was restrained inside some sort of field, grabbing the sides of his stomach… a slave… to the full moon? He howled as the claws tore through his fingertips… Abruptly, Jermaine ripped his hand off of Angelo’s. “Sorry… excuse me… I’m a little… under the weather.”
“No problem, Mr. Edwards,” Angelo said. “You might want to make an appointment with me to discuss your work.” He checked the clock on the opposite wall of the lecture room. “If you’ll excuse me, Troy… and Mr. Edwards… I have to make a quick phone call and then catch a bite to eat. Dr. Anthony is supposed to be meeting me at 3:00 today.”
“Understandable, Angelo,” Dr. Jenkins said. He then turned back to his young protégé. “Mr. Edwards… We already had this discussion. I don’t expect to be dealing with this again.”
Jermaine nodded, his attention being more or less focused on the guest lecturer as he left. Although his common sense said not to do it, he decided that was something he HAD to check out…
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BHC - Tennis Courts
“So, Nebs… You’re the White Queen, now. Does that mean we are supposed to hate each other?” Rogue asked, serving the tennis ball.
“Given the past history of the courts, I guess that is what we are supposed to do.” She answered, returning the ball over the net. “Between you and me, though, the tennis court is the only place I feel like hating you.”
“Why would you say that?” Rogue said, lobbing the ball back over with a swing behind her back.
“Show-off,” Nebula grumbled, dashing across her side to get the ball. Between the two of them, Rogue was by far the better tennis player. Nebula, on the other hand, was the one known for looking the better when they were on the court. It was really just Nebula’s style, though. She did not go anywhere looking cheap. Wal-Mart? As if! “You know what I want to hear about… What went on with Justin and Rhiannon!”
“Well, we had a visit from a none-too-kind stranger named Rose (as told in Outburst’s story). Manipulative little bitch. Kind of a telepath,” Rogue answered, knocking the ball back on the side so Nebula would have to dash again. “She had her sights set on Justin… as well as MY spot. Don’t know what happened to the heifer, but she disappeared and fast. Not before she…”
“No! She didn’t!” Nebula said, the ball whizzing right past her. “No… Are you telling me…”
“Yes… I’m afraid so,” Rogue said. “Rose seduced Justin, with a bit of help of her psionic charms… Once Justin came back to his senses, he was a mess. He fully confessed to Rhiannon.”
“Aw shit… and knowing Rhiannon…”
“Well… I don’t know, yet. At the time, she just slapped him between the legs with her bow staff and went down to New Orleans for a few weeks. She got back today.”
Nebula nodded. “Surely, with Phantom with her, Rhiannon will have had time to think about it…”
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BHC – Outburst’s Suite
Her bed was the first thing to explode. Why? Because it was the nearest. Next, her bow staff crashed through her dresser mirror, raining shards of glass into the air. She swung it across, scattering everything to the floor. Momentarily, her eye caught on a picture… a picture of her, Justin, and Phantom toilet-papering Strong Towers. She reached down to pick it up and ripped it straight down the middle. The half of the picture with Justin on it, she charged and hurled it at her Heath Ledger poster.
Rhiannon…
She reached into her stash of pictures, grabbing them by the handful. Each one of them with Justin… With a green flash, they zipped across the room in scattered directions, blasting through the wall and the windows… anything she could see.
RHIANNON…
The cards… He gave them to her. The deck that she saved just so they could play Shag. Angrily, she charged the entire deck and threw it out the window so that it exploded at the base of the statue overlooking the courtyard.
She didn’t know why she did it… WHY she had returned from New Orleans early to deal with this. The entire purpose of going down there was to get over it… get over the betrayal. Now…
She glared in the shattered mirror, her eyes glaring at the long blonde tresses he had said he liked so much… that he jokingly promised to sneak by in the middle of the night to chop them off. She reached into her jacket, pulling out a single card and charged it and sneered. “Long blonde hair, huh? Guess you only like brunettes now. Fuck you!” She snapped the card across the lock in her hand. Cut off just above the shoulder. “You know, Justin… you can eat this fucking hair for all I care.”
Phantom watched Rhiannon LeBeau continue her tirade. He had tried to explain, but she got so worked up that she would not listen. With a sigh, his eyes watched the locks of blonde hair fall down to the ground, landing on top of the burning trenchcoat. Just as he was about to say something, he sensed a ripple on the astral plane… Of what? He didn’t know… but he figured the other telepaths would deal with it. For now, he was needed here.
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White Court - Grounds
The Chief Groundskeeper was the first one to see him. The man was so put off by what he saw that instead of watering the marigolds like he intended, he accidentally sprayed one of his workers in the face.
“CARL!” she screamed, using her hands to futilely block out the stream of water coming at her. When she saw what caught Carl’s attention, she forgot her anger and instead stared in disbelief as he passed… the water from the hose still landing in her face.
The guards stationed at the entrance both jumped when they saw him. The blonde one had forgotten to press the button to open the door and had to be prompted by the other guard. As soon as he passed on through the entrance, they stared at each other, not quite sure if they believed they had seen what they had just seen.
As he walked through the hallway, a few of the cafeteria workers dropped their trays, spilling food and utensils through the hall. One of the busboys who didn’t see what the commotion was about turned around and literally backed into one of the tables, knocking it over. Not noticing everyone’s reaction – or more accurately ignoring everyone’s reaction – he continued toward the kitchen, this time kicking the swinging door wide open as he walked in. The cooks all stopped what they were doing as he walked through, heading toward the back where the butcher was.
The butcher was about to slice some deli meat when he saw Khalid walk through the door. The knife in his hand dropped to the ground with a clang as Khalid cleared off one of the tables with a photon lion’s paw. With a growl, he laid a full-grown buck across the table.
“What the…”
At first, Khalid just growled but then with a white flash of his eyes, he snapped out of it. “He’s paralyzed. Don’t sweat it. I already talked to him. He knows he’s going to die. He can’t feel anything.” Khalid wrapped his hand under the buck’s head and jerked it across, snapping the neck with a sickening crack. For a moment, the butcher saw an energy discharge leave the deer passing into Khalid. “He’s dead now. All right… I don’t really care what you choose to do with the skin, the head, the balls, or the organs. That’s up to you. Anyway, cut up as much as you can right now and place it in the freezer. One of the prime ribs is going to be my lunch today. ”
“Um… er…” the butcher stammered. “How do you… want it… cooked?”
Khalid looked at him for a moment, saying nothing. “Cooked? Oh… Sorry. Run it through the defrost, warm it to room temperature, chunk it on a plate, and deliver it to my office with mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, and a liter of water.”
“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON, HERE?!” came a voice from just outside the kitchen. The swinging door opened and the White Knight Ozymandias stepped inside. When he saw the recently-killed buck lying on the table, his gaze turned toward Khalid. “What the… how… who… wha…”
“Relax, Kane…” Khalid said. “Fine… fine… All right,” He turned back toward the butcher. “Make sure Kane gets a prime cut as well.” With a smile, he walked out of the kitchen.
Ozymandias and the butcher turned toward the buck and then finally toward each other, each shocked about what had just transpired. The butcher stammered at first, but finally spoke. “Um… er… will you be having yours… ‘a tartar’ as well?”
End Part I
Mufasa, the White Rook
XMBB Editor
King of Kemet
All that stuff
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