Chapitre 7: AS THE BELL TOLLS.
Out of all the things he despised about high school, the forced, painfully awkward new kid introduction had to be the absolute worst. The constant prickling sensation of every beady eye boring into him, like a thousand needles crawling under his skin, bordered on unbearable and Isaiah tried his hardest to maintain his composure despite it all.
Regardless of the fact that his prior realization had spurred forth an atmosphere so tense he felt unable to breath under it's weight. His new villain teacher, seemed wholly non plussed by his lack of comfort and wasn't in any way interested in making the situation easier, eyes as expectant as the spectating masses, he regarded Isaiah coolly, hands grasped firm to his shoulders since the moment the boy had walked through the door and he'd quickly latched onto him, sweeping him across the room in a flourish and turning to face him towards the class while he lurked behind like some kind of predator.
"Why don't you share a little about yourself, son, so we might close the chasm between stranger and friend, and you may begin to lay the stones of a bridge toward new companionship." Wyngarde spoke with the flourish of a poet or a 17th Century scholar, he dressed like one too, which spurred the faint thoughts in Isaiah's head that the man was more suited for teaching Literature or Theatre rather than biology.
His very movement and action were dramatic, a sinewy dance that seemed to scream. 'Look at me and marvel at all that I am!'
He was like a flower...A rose, drawing you to it's vibrant petals so as to distract you from it's thorns.
But Isaiah was no fool, and he knew the man's thorns quite well.
"Hello everyone..." The teen coughed out, trying his best to wound some abstract bit of composure round his bones. "I'm Isaiah Grey...I'm 17 and I'm new here." Something else wrapped around him, a slight tingle that had his lips pressing into a thin line.
Wyngarde's nails practically dug into his shoulders, he fought not to hiss.
The tingling became...aggressive, invasive. He pushed back and the man unlatched his gnarled claws, jolting back a bit before hastily forcing calm onto his mien.
Clearing his throat, the man set his eyes on the red haired teen, saying nothing for a moment before pulling on a wide smile. It was plastic. With a flourish he gestured towards their audience and harmed. "Thank you ever so kindly for that Introduction Mr. Grey, you may take your seat." He muttered prompting Isaiah to stiffly nod and make his way towards the only unoccupied desk in the room. It was thankfully at the very back of the class so hopefully he wouldn't be too set in the villain's attention.
Although the unnerving way Wyngarde's eyes never left his form, disillusioned him of such a thought.
Perched in the illusionists curiosity it would seem he would stay.
As Isaiah settled in Wyngarde with an abrupt clap of his hands, wasted no time diving into the day's lesson. The man, all manner of colorful flourish turned his sights upon his students and prattled this way and that about something or the other that Isaiah was honestly far from interested in paying attention to.
Instead the redhead sunk into his thoughts and allowed his mind to drift away in no set direction, simply moved this way and that by whatever his psyche saw fit to focus on. Navigating his new life was already quite the herculean task, now he had to be mindful of the constant threat that was his supervillain run school. He had to be on constant alert and not once let his guard down, which admittedly he was already doing quite a horrible job of.
'12:20' His eyes flittered to the clock on the wall, ten minutes and he can finally leave.
"-Change is feared by the obsolete." Isaiah snapped to the present, catching the tail end of his teacher's words as the man moved towards his desk, tapping lightly on it and adopting what had to be the most dramatic 'insightful' look the redhead had ever seen. "When a being evolves, rises above and beyond the minute qualities of it's kind, it is more often than not met with resentment and scorn rather than reverence, awe...wonder."
Wyngarde whirled around, his eyes managed to latch onto Isaiah's and again the redhead felt that odd tingle.
He swatted it away.
The man smiled, it was not plastic like the ones he was prone to giving...This one was genuine, so bright and care-free some part of Isaiah regretted his impulsive action, clearly he'd given the villain exactly what he had been seeking.
Confirmation.
"Those left behind often see what they are no longer capable of becoming, they see a future they can not reach, a future they are most unworthy of, and with great fervor, they seek to destroy it."
'12:25'
"This is nature's cruel irony...The inferior." Again he met Isaiah's eyes. "Clinging to what miniscule power they have left are always quick to lash out in desperate attempts to preserve their rapidly fading relevance, but..." He grinned, it was sharp, feral. "Their efforts will forever be in vain."
He moved forward.
'12:28'
"There is no end to greatness. The truly strong, truly mighty do not merely survive..."
'12:29'
"-they transcend." And again the man said nothing but stare, the tingles did not come this time, thankfully, and Isaiah fought to keep his own eyes locked onto the villain's. It would do no good to show weakness, no matter how much the vested and borderline lecherous look directed towards him creeped him out.
A loud ring sounded out snapping the two from their impromptu staring match, and swiftly Isaiah gathered his things and made his way towards the door, biting onto his lip and cursing whatever deity had placed him in this world and royally fucked with his luck to this extent.
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Charles Xavier and Erik Lensherr though ideologically opposed, seemed to hold the same strategy when it came to...rallying supporters for their cause. That is they had both realized the importance of farming their soldiers while they were still young, impressionable, weak and trying to navigate the world around them all while attempting to make sense of their identity and how they could ever hope to slot it in a world that reviled difference.
Their M.Os were about controlling the narrative, feeding prepubescent minds with their own convictions before they could form their own independent thoughts and perceptions.
Isaiah had often times in a distant world ping ponged back and forth between the two men's ideals, never quite sure whose side he preferred to be on. And even now he couldn't truly say he would certainly be capable of choosing should it come down to it.
Both men had their good points, both men were flawed, both men could not be trusted. And that last part there, was the undeniable truth, a simple fact. The sky was blue, the lunch in this place was utter garbage and two warring champions of mutant rights and liberation could not under any circumstance be fully trusted.
The redhead flexed his hand, reached forward and grabbed a cupcake from his tray. He took a bite and shut his eyes, the burst of flavor easily flooding out the bitter taste that had spread through his mouth.
After all Xavier had assessed Isaiah's powers, he had told the redhead his abilities lay in manipulating matter at the subatomic level. That the very components of any object could be shifted under the boy's gentle urging. But that was all, there was nothing more than that.
And that, was a lie.
"Uhhh, you're in my seat."
Isaiah's head snapped up, jade green settling on a dark expectant gaze, framed by the prettiest eyelashes he had ever seen.
"Fuck you."
His table shook a bit, really it was a floor, as if a mini earth quake had hit.
"What did you just say?"
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone