4 INTERLUDE
Obligatory Disclaimer : I do not own anything (except maybe OC characters) all characters, places, worlds, universes…etc mentioned here belong to their respective owners and/or companies.
This is purely a work of fiction. Not meant to offend or incite, but to entertain and (maybe) inspire.
INTERLUDE: WHO DO YOU RIDE FOR
Vanity upon vanity.
Edward loves his family. He is a hardworking man who makes sure his wife and son are taken care of, that his house is paid for, that there's food on the table, that he is seeing to his duty as a father. Doing that has become a bit difficult these days. His colleagues were pining for his spot, his competitors were making better sales.
"Chap, this is your path to making it past a life of mediocrity." Creighton, Edward's boss, sat across him, a cigar in his meaty fingers, a scantily clad woman splaying herself against him, the smoke wafted around the air intermixed with the scent of sweat and wine.
Edward tried not to but his eyes flittered around the room, the rugs, which were extraordinarily white, were silky enough to entice him to lie on them. The furniture: cashmere chairs, leather laced lamp stands, polished mahogany coasters, bottles embedded with gold seals, chandeliers with rare crystals.
The wine poured into his cup was worth half a year of his salary alone.
"The Hellfire club will make all your dreams come true." Creighton told, sliding his fat fingers into the smooth skinned server's g-string line as she laughed and chuckled, further rubbing herself against him.
Edward thought it ridiculous at first, a secret group consisting of society's elite that manipulated events beyond the veil. It sounded like a conspiracy but he'd seen their power, their reach, their hold. A hold that was firmly around his neck.
Edward possessed no illusion of fleeing, he made the choice to be here, to be invited to this gathering of debauchery and wanton wealth. This was what he wanted, this is power, to have excess, to stew in the aroma of the influential, to be influential yourself. Edward would not leave even if he was offered to.
He was once part of these people, a long time ago, back when his father, a brilliant chemist, partnered with a very powerful man. From squalor, his family was elevated into wealth and riches, the Stromm name was mentioned in awe and respect as a representation of the American Dream, of wealth through sheer hard work. But his father, Mendel Stromm fell to greed, tempted by ungainly wealth, the man engaged in illicit and illegal activities, embezzling company funds and selling trade secrets to competitors among his many crimes.
Despite being caught, his father staunchly defended his innocence in it all. It disgusted Edward. The weakness in not taking accountability, the entire farce of not owning up to his actions. For what? For honor? The man had lost all of it by letting his family suffer.
Soon after the man that raised him went to jail, his mother committed suicide from the shame of it all, choosing to rather cower than fight, leaving him the heir to nothing but disdain and disgrace. Edward swore to be something better, to not repeat their mistakes. His first act was to separate himself from that name, to give himself something more fitting, something to forever remind him of his purpose, he affixed a god's station and to man's ambition. Luthor: a god amongst men, salvation in flesh. He promised to once again elevate himself to that standing, and here it was before his very own eyes.
His family could move out of their modest home and into a mansion. His wife could spend as much as she wanted on her damned overpriced products, make herself look better. His son would obtain only the best and newest. A life where they would never have to worry for money.
Edward smiled, gray eyes gazing intently at Creighton's brown. He knew he would soon subjugate the pot bellied pig, it was his place to lord over bastards like these. Unlike his father, he would not fail. "Tell me what the price is." The liquor was smooth and warm, it gave heat as it went down his chest.
8.8.8.8.8
She believes she's cursed. She was fifteen, walking home from school with her sister on a hot summer afternoon, she found herself growing ever fixated on their shadows. It was a curiosity she could not explain, the shadows seemed to be as interested in her as she was in them. She was fascinated by their coal black and frigid forms, by how they so accurately mimicked the actions of the bodies beneath which they were attached to.
It was strange but she swore she could hear the shadows speak. They had a language that wasn't spoken through words, they communicated with other shadows, played with their shadow pets, ate with their shadow friends. It was unbelievable. Hi, that was what she said to her friend's shadow. It froze in place, drawn taut over the sunlit pavement, it stopped moving to the command of the body it belonged to, or the body that belonged to it, and it responded.
Excited that someone not a shadow could communicate with it, it jumped from a two-dimensional frame into a three-dimensional one. No longer was it just a shadow on the ground, it was a being with mass and weight and occupied space. A being of swirling darkness that seemed to be a walking figure of the abyss.
She turned to her sister to explain the amazing sight before them but her sister was locked in place, the bones in her arms and legs protruded past their rightful limit, the skin that tried to keep them within her body was drawn too tight, tight enough to see tissues and veins, tight enough to squirt blood and viscera through the extremely enlarged pores. Blood pooled under her white shoes, her eyes were replaced by lifeless blank things, her teeth chewed through her tongue, tears of red trailed down a face marred with unimaginable agony.
Darkness swallowed her as she collapsed into the pavement. Upon awakening she found herself in a hospital, her distraught parents were by bedside asking what happened. She'd seen what people did to mutants, she heard what the news said about them, about how dangerous they were and the means to employ when dealing with them, she could keep her mouth shut and no one would know, but it was her sister she'd just killed, she couldn't.
Once her parents were made aware of it, they clamped their hands around her mouth. Gone was the sympathy, replaced by fear and hatred. They promptly distanced themselves from her, sending her away to boarding schools on the other side of the country till she turned eighteen, at which point they fully cut off contact with her. Staunchly warning her to never return or approach them or anyone of her immediate family.
She believes the only reason they didn't get the authorities involved to have her locked away or institutionalized was from the fear of being ousted as the parents of a mutant, which on occasion bore as much brunt as being a mutant did.
Her life continued, she strove to have a modest and quiet life, a life under the radar, away from the prying eyes of mutants, mutant hunters, the authorities and anyone that would try to dig up her past. She met a man in college, it was happiness for a while until she unexpectedly got pregnant, a wedding followed, as did a birth and every day after that was a mixture of dread and hope.
She believes it's only a matter of time before her son would manifest a power, a horrible power like hers that would cause nothing but destruction and pain. Yet she prays he doesn't, she prays he turns out like his father, normal as normal can be.
"Ma, I'm home." Says her son, Alex, back early from school. "I might have a cold." His eyes, a beautiful gray, were bloodshot, his nose runny, his clothes drenched in sweat. She felt his forehead, it was burning. Her baby was sick.
"Go take a shower, change your clothes, I'll get you some meds and chicken broth."
"Thanks ma." He kissed her palm. She rubbed his cheek. He was her son, he was a good person despite their many failings as parents, he turned out to be someone she loved and cherished.
A smile blossomed on her lips. It wasn't perfect, but it was her family, she found joy where she could.
*.*.*.*
Deeper we goooo. Guess her name if you can. It's not called the Hellfire club for no reason, I wonder what the price is.
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Till next time, Rain (the best ever) away!
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