Thesis of a BlackWinged Angel

Thesis of a Black-Winged Angel  
  
Peaches A/N: This was under constuction forEVER! But, here it is, complete with some of the characters so graciously given to me by you guys! A group of new mutants, but lots of the old ones still in tact! Thank you SOOOO much to Hare, my co-writer, who's overseeing the bad-guys! You'll hear from him a little later! But, for now, r/r! Love y'all! Peaches the First!

1. What Dreams May Come  
  
Asima Shinka bolted upright in bed, a large knot in her throat, a cold sweat running down her neck as she surveyed the shadows frantically, looking for the demon that haunted her dreams so frequently. The moonlight seemed brighter then normal to her finely honed inky-black eyes as she realized she was, in fact, in her bed at Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters, and not, as she had believed in her sleepy stupor, at home in Vancouver. She could feel shivers creep up her back as she tried to recall her nightmare.   
  
Looking at the clock, she saw it was 2: 37 AM. She heard her best friend and roommate, Taylor Rimey, shift in her sleep across the room. No doubt she was sleeping like a baby. Asima envied her. She didn't have to live with the constant nightmares she couldn't remember.  
  
All Asima could remember about her nightmares was that she'd been having them since she was about eight years old, while she was still in Vancouver. She had been living with her mother, Gwen Shinka... and her stepfather, Kyle Walters. Her mother was an Irish-Asian Canadian, with an hourglass figure like her own, beautiful thick black-red hair, and the same ink-black eyes her daughter had come to inherit. Asima loved her mother more then anyone in the world... which was more then what could be said for her step-father.   
  
Kyle Walters was a vulgar man, and Asima often wondered how someone as beautiful, and smart, and kind as her mother had ended up with a vermin like him. Gwen had always assured her daughter that he had once been a great man, at least before he'd lost his job and began his alcoholic binges. After that, he seemed to have aged years in a matter of months. His hair thinned, his face drooped, and his once muscular build had degenerated to a beer-belly. He almost always smelled like some kind of booze, and was very violent when he was loaded. Asima could remember more then one occasion when she would hide, terrified, in her closet, preying her mother would be alright while Kyle screamed at her in the livingroom. Asima had never met her real father, and her mother seemed to prefer not to talk about him, though Asima couldn't imagine him being any worse then Kyle.  
  
After Asima's powers had manifested, her mother had left Kyle to move herself and her daughter to the United States. Gwen stayed in New York City while her daughter was taken into Xavier's Institute, where Gwen had gone as a teenager. Though no one was aware of his actions, Charles Xavier, the founder, had died when Asima was about 13, after using his powers to the point of killing himself in order to save the mutants under his care from a particularly strong recruit, who ultimately ended up with the Alliance, the rival group of mutants that, while fighting for basically the same cause, was also against the X-Mens morals. Charles' son, Harold, had taken up his father's torch, having many of the same powers as Charles, only not quite as strong.  
  
Now, Asima found herself staring at the ceiling in her room, her mind drifting. She could feel a draft coming in from somewhere in the mansion, but couldn't quite pin-point it, due to her sleep-deprived senses.   
  
Asima's powers were a bit different then many of the others at the school, and even in the Alliance. She had senses that were up to 100 times stronger, faster, and higher then a normal human. These were her sense of taste, smell, touch, hearing, and sight. She could take the power of her senses and convert them into energy blasts. For example, if she were to brush her hand against a hot pot or pan, which to her would feel like laying her hand flat on a red-hot stove element, she could then use the energy her body would use to feel pain to create blasts of energy, thus relaying her pain onto the unlucky recipient of her blasts. She had to admit, she loved her powers. She could, though she preferred not to, even move at a speed twice as fast as that of an Olympic track runner, and even see short flashes of the immediate future. She didn't like to brag about her powers though. She knew there were mutants, even here in the mansion, that could kill her with a thought.   
  
Her mind feeling heavy, and too disturbed to go back to sleep just yet, she got out of bed and made her way downstairs, carefully closing the door to the room behind her as she left, as to not wake Taylor. She could hear the hum of the television in the parlour while she was still upstairs, and could almost feel the electricity from Cerebro. Harold must have been using it that night. He seemed to like to use the nighttime to track mutants.  
  
Upon entering the kitchen, she saw Remus James sitting at the table playing, what looked like, solitaire. He glanced up briefly when he heard her come in and quickly looked back at his cards. She grabbed a glass from the cupboard and opened the fridge. She felt eyes on the back of her neck, but ignored it. Let him stare. He acted like he'd never seen a freak before.  
  
Of course, he had probably never seen Asima look so bedraggled. She had on an oversized Ozzy tee-shirt that reached to just above her knees (it was extra-extra-large), and her usually gloved hands were bare, revealing her short nails and chipped black nail-polish. To top, or rather bottom, it all off, her feet were covered by a pair of black and pink socks that, if pulled up, may have reached to her knees. He just seemed to sit there gawking at her.  
  
"Problem?" she asked in her trademark deadpan sarcasm. He just shook his head and went back to his game. She glanced at the card layout as she closed the fridge and took a drink of her orange juice. "You can move the two of spades to the ace, that opens up the three of diamonds for the two of clubs, then you can move that king into the empty space," she told him as she left. She felt him gaping at her as she walked away, but heard the satisfying slap of the cards as they were moved around on the oak table. She smiled to herself as she made her way back upstairs. She never passed up a chance to prove she was smarter then him. They had seemed to get off on a bad foot. She knew his sister was one of her most hated acquaintances, and he'd never seemed to acknowledge she was a living, breathing person due to that fact. Not that he was all out mean to her, but it was like a game of wits they had going on since he'd gotten here.  
  
Once back in the security of her room, she climbed into bed and eased herself back onto the pillow. For some reason, though she hadn't gone to bed until 1:30 AM, and now it was only 2:56, she had no desire to sleep. It was one of those nights when your mind is just too full to rest, and you have to let go of some of the build up before you could.  
  
She closed her eyes and listened to the things she knew only she could hear. She could hear the sound of a traffic light click on the intersection a few metres from the east wall of the school grounds, the steady beat of, what she guessed was, dance music on a discman. It sounded like something from a club's turntables. She could hear the clicking of someone's computer keys upstairs. She knew it must be on of the professors. They sometimes seemed like robots, and there was a resident joke that Mr Madrox never slept.   
  
Listening sometimes caused her to think about things she'd rather forget. And, there were a lot of things she'd rather forget. She hadn't exactly had a joyous childhood.  
  
She'd rather forget about the abuse she and her mother went through at the hands of her stepfather. That had to be the most traumatic event of her life. What he'd done to her... the event that had spurred her powers to manifest... the reason as to why she knew she could no longer trust any man or boy she knew, or had met since then...   
  
He'd raped her.  
  
In a drunken rage, three days after her eighth birthday, having no one else to take his anger at life out on, he'd attacked her as soon as she'd gotten home from school.  
  
She'd walked to the house the same way she had for nearly three years. The bus stopped on the corner, she stepped off, waving to her friends as she made her way up the street, her legs itchy from the school-issued knee socks from the Catholic school she attended. She couldn't wait to change into her jeans and teeshirt to go out and play with Chelsea and Marcus Lupin before supper.  
  
She opened the door with it's satisfying creak, unaware there was an extremely drunk, extremely violent man on the other side. Her mother was at work, and he was supposed to still be staying at his brothers after the last time he'd been kicked out.  
  
With no warning, Asima had felt someone grab her left shoulder, then a burning pain in her upper arm, and she'd felt the sensation of thick, warm trails of blood trickling down her forearm. In shock, she looked down to see a jagged cut through the fabric of her blouse, and the scarlet river soaking into the immaculate whiteness.  
  
Kyle had staggered into the livingroom drunkenly, dragging his stepdaughter with him. He threw her against the wall in rage, and Asima could hear her left leg break with a sickening crack. The pain was excruciating, but she fought to stay conscious. She searched through her teary eyes for something to use as a weapon. She found nothing, and was helpless when Kyle advanced on her.  
  
Fighting tooth and nail with the remainder of her strength, she'd felt another blaze of pain in her left leg, as though she'd been shot. Feeling a sudden burst of strength (what was later revealed to be her first energy blast), she push Kyle away from her, and passed out.  
  
She woke up three days later in hospital, her mother crying next to her bed. She had been shocked. Her mother never cried.  
  
As soon as Asima was released, her mother had gathered as much as she could from their house while Kyle was in intensive care, and they were out of Vancouver, even out of Canada, off to find Professor Xavier so Asima could have a chance at a semi-normal life with others like her.   
  
And here she was, laying in bed in the mansion 8 years later. She didn't realize there were tears in her eyes from the memories until she felt one fall.   
  
Scolding herself for being such a child, she wiped her eyes furiously and turned over, desperately hoping to sleep.  
  
It was 3:32.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Gods, Tay!" Asima found herself yelling through a closed bathroom door the next morning. "You're gorgeous, okay!? Now, get out! I gotta get a god-damn shower!"  
  
"Honestly, 'Sima!" Taylor yelled back in a chiding manner to her impatient friend. "I don't need to worry about looking beautiful! I AM!"  
  
"Then what the hell is taking so damn long!?" Asima was getting impatient. She'd slept very little the previous night, and she hadn't had any coffee yet. Dangerous combination and Taylor knew it.  
  
"Find another bathroom if you're so eager to get in the shower! I ain't bowing down to you!" Taylor called out. Asima let out a frustrated half scream- half groan and grabbed her things, making her way out to Blair MacLaine's room. She knocked on the door quickly, knowing Blair would probably already be up and dressed. She didn't have to share her room with an annoying brat like Asima's best friend.  
  
As Asima predicted, Blair answered the door looking, as usual, immaculate. Her black cardigan covered her halter-blouse, fastened by a single gold button. Her dark blue jeans were freshly washed, and her crystal pendant hung delicately on her thin neck. Her silver-blond hair tumbled over her shoulders, clasped by two blue buckles at her temples. She looked at the noticeably aggravated Asima and checked the time on her leather wrist watch.  
  
"7: 17, Asima?" she said, clicking her tongue. "Well, you're getting better."  
  
"Tay is being a jerk," Asima explained breathlessly. "Can I PLEASE get a shower in your bathroom?"  
  
Blair just smiled with amusement and nodded. Asima went into Blair's room as the "17" year old left, scratching Blair's Golden Lab, Sydney, behind the ears as she passed. Sydney thumped his tail with appreciation.  
  
Finally, at 7: 29, Asima was out of the shower and pulling on her thick leather gloves as the final article of clothing in her ensemble. She glanced into Blair's mirror and began to do her hair, basically just arranging it into a choppy looking mess.   
  
Asima, though no Ms America, wasn't totally unfortunate looking. She'd inherited her mother's best features: her ink-black eyes, her thick raven hair, and an olive complexion with just a sprinkle of freckles across her nose, and an hourglass figure. Her style, however, was far more outrageous then her mother's more conservative outfits. A fishnet top over a black tanktop, a red plaid skirt, littered with safety pins, with fishnet tights and black combat boots. Her gloves were a safety precaution, as where her contacts, and her tiny hearing aid (unseen by anyone else, as it fit in her ear next to her ear-drum). They were to protect her from her ultra-delicate senses.   
  
The only thing missing were her 'accessories'.  
  
She made her way back to her room, finding Taylor throwing her books into her schoolbag. Asima threw a pillow at her friend, catching the girl off guard. Taylor gave a look of innocence to her friend.  
  
"What did I do?" she asked sweetly. Asima just grinned and shook her head. Taylor was a thin, wiry girl with a thick head of hair pulled into a ponytail. It was brown with blond and auburn highlights from the girl's time in the sun. Today she donned her trademark black jeans and white tanktop. Her left arm was cluttered with colourful plastic and elastic bracelets, her right with wooden beaded ones.  
  
Asima grabbed her chains and bracelets from her dresser, adjusting her spiked choker as she grabbed her bag and walked out of the room.  
  
If upstairs had been Hell, downstairs was even worse. People of all descriptions frantically searched for lost books and homework. Some of the older ones who didn't go to school were desperately looking for lost car keys.   
  
"Heads up!" Asima heard someone call. She ducked in time to see an apple fly by her head. She looked to one side and saw Neil Roberts, with his incurably messy brown hair, holding the apple, his blue eyes showing only a hint of laughter. Whoever had thrown the apple had scampered off in fear of Asima's temper.  
  
"Take my damn head off next time, Neil!" she hissed at the 17 year old, who grinned and shrugged. He held the apple up in a sort of toast, then took a bite... right before he turned and ran into a wall.  
  
"Ah, justice," Asima smiled as Neil rubbed his head. She walked past him into the kitchen and grabbed a package of foil wrapped pop-tarts out of the cupboard, eating one without heating it first.   
  
"Can you get me one?" a small voice asked politely. Asima looked around, then down, to where 9 year old Caitlin Avery, her neatly braided blond hair falling down her back, was standing, looking quite calm in the rush of people. Her big blue eyes were hopeful. Asima smiled and handed her the one that was still in the wrapper she held. Caitlin smiled and scurried off, strawberry pop-tart in hand.   
  
Caitlin was a cute kid, Asima thought vaguely, then made her way out the door with her half-eaten breakfast.  
  
Taylor was waiting for her on the step with Mason McGee. His firetruck-red hair reached his chin at his bangs. The happy-face on his shirt grinned as impishly as he did.  
  
"Sorry about that little apple... thing," he muttered. He had obviously been the one to throw it. She couldn't be mad at him though, as being a klutz was his nature. Asima just raised her eyebrow at him in a silent warning. This was her 'do-it-again-and-you-lose-your-only-chance-at-ever-having-children' look.  
  
"What took you so long?" Taylor asked innocently. Asima shot her a look of daggers. Mason stifled a laugh for his own good.  
  
"What'd you do now, Tay?" Mason asked her teasingly, his word coloured by his faded Australian twang. Taylor shrugged.  
  
"I think 'Sima's just got PMS," Taylor said simply.  
  
"Okay, change of subject!" Mason said quickly, his face going almost as red as his hair. "Goin' to the semi-formal on Friday?"  
  
"And hang out with those posers?" Asima asked in a sarcastic incredulity. "I think not. 'Oh'," she mocked the preps, "'look at how well I can shake my ass at the DJ while still keeping my balance!'"  
  
"So, what ARE we doing on Friday?" Taylor asked. Asima shrugged. Like she was supposed to know!  
  
"I'll probably end up hanging out with my good friends, Ben & Jerry," Asima snorted. "I have no life, you know that!"  
  
"Hey, you know what they say," Taylor told her, "Live fast, die young, leave a good-looking corpse behind!"  
  
"Okay, I never got those sayings!" Mason said with annoyance. "Who the bloody-hell is 'They'?"  
  
"Important people!" Taylor retorted. "And it would be who ARE they, not who IS they!" Asima snorted again.  
  
"This is the basis of your everyday conversations," she said dryly. "That's just pathetic." Mason and Taylor laughed in agreement.   
  
The sound of an engine made them look up.   
  
"Jason Fox," Asima smiled with sticky-sweet sarcasm as he pulled his black BMW up alongside the trio. Jason Fox grinned lewdly as he pulled his red shades down to get a better look at Asima and Taylor. His orange-red hair was pulled into a signature ponytail, a tip of silver-white at the end. He nodded with approval. Mason's knuckles turned white as his hands curled into fists.  
  
"How would either of you two ladies like to spend a night with the World's Sexiest Man?" Jason asked crisply. "Or both of you, either way's fine."  
  
"Sure," Taylor purred, "Just tell me where I can find him." Taylor smiled with the same sweetness as Asima as they continued walking. Fox wasn't one to be shot down so easy. He continued to edge his car along side of them.  
  
"You're lookin' at him, Sweetheart!" he replied smoothly. "C'mon, once in a lifetime offer, right here!"  
  
"Yeah," Asima snickered, "I've always had a thing for guys in tights."   
  
She was referring to his team outfit, which included a pair of orange wrestling tights. He was a member of the "rival" team, the Alliance, but rarely showed up to fight. He seemed more interested in seducing a female X-Men than fighting one.  
  
The Alliance was the equivalent of the Brotherhood, the group Asima's mother had faced as rivals during her years in Bayville. The Alliance of Mutants was lead by former Brotherhood member, Scarlet Witch. Her real name was Wanda, but very few people actually called her that, and those who did without permission paid dearly.  
  
"Mmm, feisty!" Jason said, licking his lips. "I do love spicy food!"  
  
"Thought you were more into sweet stuff," Asima said dryly.   
  
"Doesn't mean I can't handle the rough stuff," he smiled suggestively. Asima just looked at him with amusement and shook her head.  
  
"I see maturity isn't a compulsory asset in the Alliance, eh Fox?" she asked cooly. Jason just smiled and sped off. Though not before he winked at the girls. Taylor grinned widely as the boy tore down the road.   
  
"I don't think he had a clue what you just said," she laughed.  
  
"Yep," Asima said, "They're smart ones, those in the Alliance." She reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out one of her tangled chains to put on. "Crap," she muttered, trying to untangle it. This was a daunting task with gloves. Mason took it from her, and, within a matter of moments, had it untangled. Taylor made a whipping motion behind his back, but Asima smiled at him. "Thanks."  
  
"No prob, luv," he said... then ran into a streetpole... 


End file.
