Email to Kitty, from Illyana

[x-snowflake.livejournal.com]

To: [Pryde, Kitty]
From: [Rasputin, Illyana]



Yeah, well. I guess I could do some honesty.

I've got a headache all the time from the bloody concussion and believe me, washing oatmeal off my shoes close to midnight with one hand (making sure not to get the other one wet, so that the doctors don't shout at me) was not the fun task it sounds like. And you know, I'm bloody tired and I hate how that godawful addict girl can sit there having put a love potion into an idiot's hands and accuse me of having demon subjects, and I'm kind of tired of her being right in a skewed, biased way. I hate how Paige decided that putting oatmeal in my shoes was her best option, and then couldn't even take what she dished out (literally).

I wish I had put all of her shoes in Madagascar. I wish I'd given them to poor Madagascarian children who would use them to walk in Madagascarian swamps where crocodiles lived, and then the crocodiles ate their feet and Paige's shoes too. It's scary, because I also wish I could just make her shut up, and then I think, Oh, I can, and of course I feel guilty that I can and that I remembered I could.

Of course I'm bloody petty. Why is this always such a goddamn surprise to people? Like I haven't been petty a thousand times before. But it's not like I've destroyed Amanda's precious wards or thrown anyone into the depths of hell or even touched anyone else here. So why is it my problem that all these people can think about is words. Like they mean anything anyway.

And I am never going to catch up in my classes, because I barely understood in the first place and I can't even bring myself to ask for help -- and you know, I'd almost rather fail, because to be honest at least failing school is something I'm supposed to be doing. And maybe after that I will finally have the good conscience to just get out of here, having thoroughly abused all opportunities offered to me and alienated at least half the population. Which I do on purpose, don't think I'm asking for sympathy.

But then I ask myself where I'm supposed to go and there's pretty much nowhere, just a world full of people like Clarice and Amanda and my patience is wearing very thin. And Limbo. Fantastic.

It's stupid.

I'm not making any sense, am I. I'm tired and you listen to me complain enough, so I'm also sorry. You should just forget you read this. Here, I'll give you space for that:












There. Your memory should be properly erased. I'll see you in a few minutes anyway, you probably won't even get this until tomorrow.

Illyana

Comments

[x-kitten.livejournal.com]

To: [still my favorite roommate and best friend, no matter what any of them say, including you, so don't think you're getting rid of me that easily]
From: [she who occasionally abuses email nicknames]
Subject: See, you keep forgetting that I adore you.

It's understandable, of course, cause the majority of the people here are stupid and don't get that. But still, it's there. You're my friend. Full stop.

And you'd be amazed at how often I check my email.

Come on, we're going to go play something random with Jamie, and we'll talk about this later, if you want, or we'll pretend you didn't say this, if you want. Cause, you know, I kind of want you to be happy and comfortable. I'm funny like that.

And you live with the school's original genius girl, you know. Accept no substitutes. We'll get you through math and science, although I'm making no promises about the non mathy classes you're taking. (And somehow I suspect failing classes wouldn't get you sent away, just get you extra study sessions. Prof X is funny like that.)

Your friend, whether you like it or not,
-Kit

[x-snowflake.livejournal.com]

To: [roommate who checks her email too often]
From: [playing with the email names again]
Subject: I don't forget so much as have temporary lapses of memory.

You know, it's uncanny, the way you check your email. I think it must be a secondary mutation.

As I said, you should forget I said anything. I think it's these bloody painkillers they've given me, they make me feel a bit blurred around the edges -- the only good thing is that I lose the occasional periods of agony.

I'm not sure which is worse, agony or melodrama. I think I'm just going to stop taking the pills. Headaches I can handle.

It's not so much the science and the math. That stuff translates over. But you know, honestly, it doesn't matter. What, like I'm going to go on to college or something? I have a better chance at taking over South America (and that would be much more profitable). So don't worry about it.

Illyana

[x-kitten.livejournal.com]

To: [best friend, ever and always]
From: [the email is not a mutation, just a passion]
Subject: I here fish is good for memory. Will make you fish for dinner.

The doctors told you to take the meds. They told me to watch you. Therefor, you will either take the meds or I will lace your food with them. -sweet smile-

You know the bitter sarcasm defense mechanism doesn't work on me, right? If you don't want to go to college, don't go to college. If you do want to go to college you can. Alowences are made for people who's native language isn't English, study sessions can be arranged (and if nothing else, Jamie is way better at the liberal arts stuff than I am), and we can work together to get you what ever you want. Possibly including South America, but I don't think you'd really want that. Very argumentative lot, the South Americans, as a whole.

I will worry about you, cause you're my friend and I reserve the right to worry and care about my friends. However, I will also 'forget', cause you want me to.

-Kit

[x-snowflake.livejournal.com]

To: [more like 'obsession' if you ask me]
From: [disobeying the doctors' orders]
Subject: You're cooking for me now?

They told you to watch me? Jeez. I can take care of myself, you know. The painkillers just make me overly given to emotion, which irritates me more than headaches or a sore arm or whatever. Don't you dare put them in my food, because that is sneaky and you're supposed to be the good half of the room, aren't you? To keep up the mystery about why you like me for all the people who don't.

It was hardly bitter sarcasm. I save that for the idiots. To be honest, I haven't even thought about college. I mean, I don't even know if I'm going to be alive in two years or not. One of the consequences of getting only halfway sacrificed.

Maybe I'll become an X-Man.

(That was a joke.)

The South Americans may be argumentative now, but just you wait. Anyway, yes, do forget, and don't worry about me. I'm good at surviving, remember? It's what I do.

Illyana

[x-kitten.livejournal.com]

To: [The doctors aren't out to get you, you know.]
From: [Hewlett-Packard HP, Obsession for geeks]
Subject: If you want. I do a mean pancake. :)

Well, I won't drug you if I believe you're not in too much pain. Promise me you will take them if it gets to be too much pain and then I won't drug you. And it's the being sneaky that keeps people thinking I'm the good one - they just don't notice when I go around doing bad stuff. I'm sneaky like that.

Well, why not think about it? We could all be killed tomorrow, but that doesn't stop us from planning what we want to do, even if we're not going to get to do it. So, what would you want to do?

There's surviving and then there's being happy.

-Kit