Loading ...
Sorry, an error occurred while loading the content.

Fic - "A Prophecy Like Fish" (2/?)

Expand Messages
  • rodlox
    ... a ... of ... EXACTLY ONE YEAR AGO: SEACOUVER: There were only two people in Joe s bar at this time of night. And they were here, not out of habit, but
    Message 1 of 1 , Mar 29, 2004
      --- In xmenmoviefanfic@yahoogroups.com, "rodlox" <Babnol@h...> wrote:
      > ~~~~~~
      > Title: A Prophecy like Fish.
      > Author: Rodlox.

      > Crossover: X-Men2, Tremors, The Prophecy, Scorpion King.

      ...and Highlander.

      > Note: any misspellings are entirely my own, and I apologize for
      > their presence.

      > ~~
      > `...and he placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and
      > flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree
      > life.'
      > -- Genesis 3: 24; the Bible.
      > ~~



      There were only two people in Joe's bar at this time of night. And
      they were here, not out of habit, but because the Old Man had offered
      to tell Joe a story, since the Highlander wasn't in town.

      "...And that was the end of it," Methos said, placing his beer bottle
      on the counter. "Next?"

      Joe Dawson got another beer, though he didn't hand it to Methos, not
      right away. Joe, like ninety-nine percent of Watchers, had thirteen
      stars on their tattoo. "So you're telling me that Kronos just up and
      dissolved the Horsemen, in the middle of a successful series of

      Methos nodded. He didn't doubt that he could grab the bottle out of
      Dawson's hand . . . being as old as he was, he was willing to wait
      for it. "I was a tad more surprised, Joe, at the time. Granted, I
      didn't put up half the fight that Caspian did; even Silas protested
      the dissolution more than I did. Then again, I was still `moping
      about', as Caspian put it, after losing Cassandra." The Immortal
      Cassandra, not Mathiyas' Kassandra.

      "Any idea why he did it?"

      "A few thoughts, Joe, but nothing concrete."

      "I thought concrete hadn't been invented."

      "Funny, Joe, real funny." Popping open his beer, he took a swig of
      it, then, "I'll have you know that, at the time, Rome was
      around . . . as a monarchy, I think."

      "You think?"

      "I wasn't in town at the time, okay?"


      =Standing in the x-jet, next to Jean, Jean telling him that she had
      to go now. Him protesting, even as she insisted that it needed to be
      done. A tear rolling down her cheek=

      It was the middle of the night, and Scott Summers was waking up.
      He'd slept with his helmet on, just like any other night -- as though
      this was a normal night after a normal day.

      It took him a while to realize that it was still night: his vision
      wasn't like most peoples'.

      In normal humans, and in most mutants, light from the sun or
      flashlights reflected off of objects, and only then did the light
      strike the eye. This was why many people had difficulty in seeing in
      the dark.

      For Cyclops, his eyes generated their own light, which reflected off
      objects, and returned to his eyes. Visual sonar. Nobody he'd ever
      known could see the `sonar', and only a few could detect it at all.
      With this sort of sight, he could see details of texture and
      temperature that passed the attention of others. But this left him
      deficient in some aspects.

      Scott Summers had never seen the stars. Nor had he ever seen a

      Before his destructive mutation had activated, Scott had never seen
      anything. His world had been tactile, limitted to what he could
      touch with his fingers and toes.

      But that was then; prologue. This is now, here. The future shall be
      told later.

      Scott had woken up, his nightmares a hash of images he could have
      never seen...

      =Standing in the x-jet, next to Jean, Jean telling him that she had
      to go now. Him protesting, even as she insisted that it needed to be
      done. A tear rolling down her cheek=

      He himself could not shed tears. If he had the ducts for it, likely
      they had shrivelled from disuse. If he had ever cried, his sonar
      would have evaporated the tears before they could slide down his

      Sliding out of bed, Scott threw on a pair of trousers and a robe.
      Just in case of...well, anything.

      Marie hadn't returned to the school this afternoon. Professor Xavier
      had insisted that Rogue be allowed to spend a few days on her own,
      that she needed the time. Neither Bobby Drake nor Logan had looked
      pleased with that pronouncement, though Ororo Monroe and himself had
      reluctantly agreed that she deserved a break, particularly after
      everything that had happened.

      Open and shut the door, leaving his room.

      Down one hall and up the stairs and through another corridor, all the
      way until he was in the kitchen.

      He found Nightcrawler and Johnny already sitting down and eating a
      quart of ice cream. Johnny was eagerly eating as much as slower Kurt
      was, though that was mostly because most of Johnny's ice cream ended
      up on his nose, cheeks, chin, and tongue.

      Scott sat down across from them.

      Johnny smiled at Scott, then stuck out his tongue, flicked it up and
      down, then drew it back into his mouth: a friendly gesture for him.
      Little Johnny, with the forked tongue. "He said you were
      approaching," Kurt said.

      Scott nodded. Part of Johnny's mutation enhanced his Jacobsen's
      Organ, the thing that allowed snakes to taste the air, and thus know
      the world.

      Scott had once overheard a few of the students talking amongst
      themselves, debating what nickname to bestow upon Johnny... `I don't
      think Tongue is a good idea,' one student had said. Another
      student: `what about Serpens?'

      "Got any leftover ice cream?" Scott asked. Kurt pushed the quart
      over to Scott. "Don't like the taste?"

      "Yes, I do not."

      Johnny's hands fluttered in his own personal sign language. Reading
      it, Scott asked Kurt, on behalf of Johnny, "What did you eat, before
      you came here?"

      Mice, cats, dogs, birdseed, pigeons, squirrels. "Various things,"
      Kurt said.

      More fluttering hands, with a tongue stuck out for emphasis. "What
      was your favorite food?"

      Kurt thought about that. "Once, I enjoyed the nectar of the gods."

      "Ah, ambrosia."

      Kurt frowned: what?? "No."



      There wasn't much in here aside from her. A few bramble branches,
      one of those talking dolls, half of a pogo stick, and a puddle of
      water with mosquito larvae.

      And then it started to rain.

      Marie stepped out from the shelter of the massive drainage pipe,
      stepping through a few puddles. Marie let the rain fall upon her,
      and she smiled. It was one of the few things that she wouldn't
      absorb into her personality, into herself.

      A dog approached, growling at her. A big doggie, and one that hadn't
      been in captivity for a long while.

      For a moment, Marie considered petting it. One never knew when
      something might come in handy. Then she dismissed the idea -- it was
      pain enough to house human thoughts not her own.

      She growled right back at it. The mastiff whimpered and turned tail.

      Marie sighed frustratedly. Glad as she was that the dog hadn't
      attacked, she also knew that it'd been the Wolverine in her that'd
      frightened it away.

      Ducking out of the rain -- maybe she'd re-emerge later on -- she
      returned to the pipe.

      In there, she contemplated where to go, what to do now. What to do
      next could wait, as far as she was concerned. For now, she just
      wanted to get to Alkali Lake. And then...and then..."we'll see," she
      told the voices in her mind.


      The sandstorm approached, larger than the cityfolk had seen in
      generations, and few among even the voyaging traders had experienced
      storms remotely the size of this one. Only Mathiyas, the present
      Scorpion King, ruler of this kingdom, had lived through a storm as
      large as it.

      Shops had closed, sealing themselves up. Families had retreated into
      their homes. What few people were homeless, quickly found shelter.
      Even the camels and other domesticates, all sought out a place to
      weather the storm.

      But then the storm had stopped.

      It did not blow away or dissapate. No, it simply stopped where it
      was, staying where it was, a few feet short of the city gates.

      "Mathiyas," called the storm. "Mathiyas."

      In the royal chamber, Kassandra was trying to talk Mathiyas out of
      it: "You should not go," she told him. "I have not seen it, but I
      fear that nothing good can come of talking with the storm."

      "Mathiyas," the storm continued to call, adding, "now, Mathiyas, or I
      shall overwhelm this place."

      "If there is a chance that I can save the people," Mathiyas
      said, "then I will."

      Though she wasn't happy about this, "Then I shall accompany you,"
      Kassandra said.

      Neither of them wore the robes of statecraft when they went out to
      the gates, which Mathiyas opened himself -- everyone else was hiding.

      There, before them now, was the wall of roiling airborne sand. A
      sandstorm that was just waiting for the right moment. A person
      appeared, a woman walking into coherency from the depths of the
      sandstorm. "Neither of you are bowing before me," she noted.

      "I bow to no-one," Mathiyas said.

      "An impetuous answer, and the wrong one."

      "What are you?" Mathiyas asked.

      A wry grin from the sandstorm. "There is no word in your language
      for what I am. There is in her language," briefly sparing a look at
      Kassandra, "but then, she already knows what I am."

      "And what do you think that I know you to be?" Kassandra asked.

      "Funny. You're funny. I needed a good laugh."

      "Why are you here?" Mathiyas asked.

      "Because I am not elsewhere."

      "What do you want with me?"

      A feral sound. "I could name many things. And, in time, I will have

      "I doubt that."

      A laugh, carrying the wild sounds of the desert wind. "Doubt while
      you can, second of your title," she told the second Scorpion
      King. "I am here to foretell.

      "You will bear Mathiyas an heir," Kassandra was told. "And your
      throne shall be passed on from you," the storm told Mathiyas. "Long
      before you turn grey."

      "I will gladly give my throne to my successor, my heir, he whom
      follows me," Mathiyas said.

      "Your successor, yes. Your heir, no. And as for `gladly'...You
      shall see."

      "What's that supposed to mean?"

      "You shall see." And she faded back into the storm. And the storm
      reversed course, heading back out into the desert. In less than a
      minute, the storm looked no bigger than a dust devil. In two
      minutes, and the storm was gone beyond the horizon.

      "What was that?" Mathiyas asked. He hadn't directed the question to
      Kassandra, but to the world.

      "Trouble," Kassandra answered.

      `..the jinns...made from a smokeless fire...'

      -- the Noble Quran.
    Your message has been successfully submitted and would be delivered to recipients shortly.