Requested character: Ultimate Colossus (Peter Rasputin)
Warnings: Spoilers for pretty much everything recent. Some parts will
probably be AU by the time the stories go up.
Summary: Ali feels chatty. Peter does not.
The strange girl with the even stranger hair waves at him as he
walks past, gesturing with her whisky bottle for him to come into her
room. He stops in the hallway, close enough to be polite, but far
enough to not be completely overwhelmed by the smell of stale
cigarettes and alcohol that seems to follow her wherever she goes.
She holds the bottle out to him; when he shakes his head, she just shrugs and takes another swig.
"We never really got introduced properly, did we? Name's Ali."
If her introduction is anything to go by, the use of her name must at
all times be accompanied by checking out the other person's body with
great interest, and not a whole lot of subtlety. He sighs.
"Yeah, yeah. What's your real name, big guy?"
He hesitates for just a moment. "Peter."
"Oh, that's much better. No offence, but 'Colossus' just makes it sound like you're starring in bad porn, or something."
"And Dazzler is so much better, I take it?"
The girl gestures expansively with the bottle, dousing the
carpet liberally with cheap alcohol. "Look, I keep telling you guys --
Dazzler's my band. Calling myself Dazzler would be lamer than lame."
She drags him into the room as she speaks; normally, the thought
of someone like her being able to move someone like him would be beyond
laughable, but she has the element of surprise in her favour. Besides,
it would be just plain bad manners to just break her wrist and get her
to let go. He's not at that stage.
"I mean, how many people name themselves after their bands? Not too many, and they're all pretentious little dicks, anyhow."
She lets go of him long enough to start rummaging through the
extremely localised chaos that is her room. She's only been here less
than two weeks, but already there are more illicit substances in this
one place than he has ever seen in his entire life... and that includes
his time in the Red Mafiya. The Professor is going to be less than
pleased when he returns from whatever trip he's currently on. Some
days, Peter wonders at how Dazzler is even still here. He suspects that
even Professor Xavier has his limits, although they do not yet seem to
have been reached.
She holds out a bottle. "Vodka?"
"No, thank you." The smell isn't so much going away as settling
down comfortably into his sinuses. Breathing is a little easier, if
only due to familiarity.
"Suit yourself." She cracks open the bottle and gets started
on it, simultaneously digging through a desk drawer that obviously
contains a little more than just pens and notebooks.
He drags his mind back to the topic at hand. "There is nothing
wrong with having a mutant name. You would do well to embrace yours."
"I already have a name, big guy. What, your old name isn't good
enough for you, so you had to go get a new one? Fuck that. Ali Blaire
is who I am."
The words bring up an odd kind of defensiveness within him, one
that he normally only feels when listening to non-mutants speak. "Ali
is what they called you."
"Whaddya mean, 'they'? My family? My friends? Yeah, 'they' call
me that. What do your family call you?" Dazzler clasps her hands
together in front of her, gravely voice pitched up into a disturbing
falsetto. "'Oh, Colossus, I'm so glad you're home!' 'Let's go out and
get something to eat, Colossus!' Is that how it goes? 'Cause if that's
the case, count me the fuck out." She starts rummaging through a bag.
"Shit, I know it's here somewhere...."
He has... less to say in response to that than he thought he
would. Dazzler doesn't give him a chance to gather his thoughts,
pushing the half-finished bottle of vodka into his hands.
"Here, man, it's yours. I gotta fly." She pushes past him out
of the room, and he stumbles out after her, bottle clutched stupidly
against his chest. "But hey, stop around any time."
With that, she disappears in a cloud of smoke and alcohol fumes, and Peter wonders what the hell just happened.
"I'm so totally onto you."
He just manages to refrain from jumping. Dazzler has this sort
of casual ambush ability that borders on being a mutant power. She just
sort of slumps into a room, and people don't pay any attention.
It helps when she doesn't totally reek. Peter has to admit that he's impressed with how much she's cleaned herself up.
Dazzler hauls herself up onto the kitchen bench, heels tapping
out some sort of rock rhythm against the cupboards. He's pretty sure
that's just plain orange juice in her glass.
"Seriously, I totally have you figured out."
The article on the economic condition of Uruguay is fascinating. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"My bullshit sense is tingling, Petey. Give it up."
"There is nothing to give up, Dazzler."
"Look, I don't have a problem with it. I just wish I'd known
earlier, so I could've devoted all my energy to hitting on War. You've
cost me a lot of time, man. I'm having to work double-time now just to
make up for it."
Her directness takes him aback; it's the first time anyone at Xavier's has ever just said it so casually.
It's not as bad as he thought it would be. Especially since
Dazzler is giving him the filthiest smirk in the history of pretty much
everything in the world, and he can't help but return the smile.
"Ha. I knew it."
"How did you work it out?"
"Well, duh. Anyone with eyes could see it." She pauses. "Which
makes me think that the Prof could do to hire a team optometrist. But
yeah, it was obvious. Oh, and Jean wasn't exactly subtle about
confirming my suspicions. The name Jean-Paul was mentioned more than
once, I must say."
He groans; Dazzler's grin just becomes more wicked.
"Please, not a word of this to anyone."
"Hey, it's your funeral." Her voice takes on a more conspiratorial tone. "Wanna go beat up Sinister?"
He can't help but smile. "He's probably dead by now, Dazzler."
"I appreciate the sentiment, though."
"Hey, it's not just for you. I'm not overly fond of the big
dweeb, either. A man insults my voice, he deserves whatever he gets."
It was good to see you again, even though the circumstances were
somewhat less than ideal. I am glad that you have recovered so swiftly
from your injuries, as it will make it so much easier for us to get
"Dazzler, what did we say about keeping our hands away from the keyboard while other people are trying to use the computer?"
"Depends. What did I say about calling me Dazzler?"
"Fine. Okay." Standing up, Colossus turns and lifts Dazzler
straight up, her startled squeak bringing just the faintest hint of a
smirk to his face. He crosses the room in three strides, and places her
back down in the corner.
Her expression quickly slips into its usual vaguely-amused
cynicism, but not before he notes and files away the wide-eyed shock
that had flitted across those features a moment before.
He heads back to his chair, and settles back down.
I would like very much to see you again sometime in the future.
"You're never gonna get him like that."
His eyes don't leave the monitor. "Didn't I tell you to sit, Dazzler?"
"Do you ever actually want to get laid, Peter?"
He tries not to grit his teeth too visibly.
Talk to you soon,
P.S. What's your opinion on threesomes with hot mutant chicks?
"You did not just hit 'send'."
"'Fraid I did, big guy."
"You did not just do that."
"Gotta say I did, Peter."
He stares at the monitor. 'Your message has been sent' blinks at
him cheerfully, completely oblivious to its previously-unheralded
ability to send his stomach plummeting into his oversized boots.
He uses his words carefully, deliberately.
"Please do not do that again, Ali."
"Sure thing, Colossus."
She pauses in the doorway; he can hear her grin. "You'll be thanking me later, Russkie. Trust me."
"Hello, Ali. This seems to be becoming a habit." He indicates
the stark, ugly walls around them, the gesture more out of habit than
any ability to actually show her anything. "Coming here, I mean.
Sometimes it feels like I have to go visit a hospital just to see any
of my friends."
He pulls a Walkman out of his backpack, followed by a stack of
battered tapes. "It's your work. Hope you don't mind me going through
your room like that, but I didn't have much choice. I had to clean your
room before the Professor got mad, anyway. I think he doesn't mind too
much, as long as he can pretend that there's nothing there. It's not
like he doesn't know."
He straightens out the slightly wilted flowers on the bedside table; the card identifies them as being from Warren.
"I cannot believe he has gone while you're still here, Ali. I
may have to have strong words with him, next time I see him." He grins.
"Not enough to do any permanent harm, don't worry. I wouldn't want to
damage him for you."
The complete and utter lack of a filthy reply is still difficult to get used to. Peter hopes he never has to. Talking with her is normally like white-water rafting without a paddle. Or a raft.
He misses it.
Peter settles down carefully in the too-small chair, which creaks precariously beneath him.
"So, I got a phone call earlier. You'd be so proud...."