“Light cigarettes?” Chad Guthrie complained again for probably the fifteenth time. “I mean, seriously, what’s the point? Light cigarettes. Isn’t that, like, an oxymoron or something?” He frowned at the cigarette, but still continued to smoke it. Angel, Terra, Chad and Ethan had just finished a session in the Biosphere, and were now sitting around in the rec room relaxing. Terra was moody for no other reason than that she had to get up early and run around, destroying robots. Angel was trying hard not to grin like an idiot, she was on a type of high from the previous night’s events. Ethan was obviously content, but quiet as he always was, and Chad was-- well, Chad.
“S’for people who, you know, want to die, but not so quickly,” Ethan quipped from his spot in the giant armchair in the corner of the room.
“I’m going to hell, anyway. Might as well not keep ‘em waiting,” Chad said passively and shrugged. Ethan rolled his eyes. It was evident how they’re relationship worked out so well. Ethan wasn’t exactly quiet, but he wasn’t outspoken either. However, he was smart, determined, witty and eager. On the other side of it all, was Chad. Chad was outspoken, a braggart, really. He didn’t lack self-esteem, for sure, but he was a good kid, nice and polite to his elders, and knew for the most part when to shut up. Chad would say something , bragging, something that maybe didn’t even happen, something that he’d made up to make himself seem dangerous, and cool and intimidating. And then Ethan would tell him, calmly, to be quiet, because he was lying. Ethan kept Chad in line, and Chad didn’t really care because there was an unspoken bond of respect and deep friendship between them. And beside the personality differences, you could tell they were opposites by first sight. Chad, the first son of Sam Guthrie and Rahne Sinclair was a little sloppier, with, not long, but not short blonde hair and devilish brown eyes and a very informal look, like someone you’d see at a heavy metal concert. Plus, he smoked incessantly, and drank whenever he possibly could. Ethan, the auburn-haired, green eyed child of Scott and Jean Summers was a surprise to say the least. Jean and Scott had been expecting a little red-headed girl who they’d name Rachel, but, they got Ethan, who’s powers were nothing hereditary, he controlled plants.
“I guess it’s just what you get for stealing smokes from the townies,” Terra said simply and leaned forward, plucking said cigarette from Chad’s fingers, she took a long drag and offered it to Ethan, at which he calmly refused. She passed it back to Chad.
“You know, when I get bloated...” a woman on the television murmured happily.
“Small tits,” Chad commented.
“You’re vulgar,” Ethan accused, a disgusted look upon his face.
“It’s true.”
“That your vulgar, or about the lady.”
“Both.”
“Why do I talk to you?”
“You love me. Everyone loves me, I’m muchly loved. Aren’t I right, Angel?”
“Yep. Are we going to screw, or is this just small talk?”
“See.”
“Right, that must be it.”
Angel smirked, and then noticed the time on TV. Nine-thirty A.M., time for Pandora to go see Dr. MacTaggart, who’d moved on campus only a week or two ago. Angel got off the couch and moved to the stairway. “Pandy!” she called, “It’s nine-thirty!” There was no response, but that was natural, Pandora had become generally withdrawn as of late, moody. It was expected, but nevertheless, the small group of friends gathered in the rec room fell silent. Angel waited one minute... two. “Pandora? I--” she started to summon her friend once more, but she abruptly trailed off as something invisible bumped into her. Pandora, invisible. Everyone looked down at their feet as the invisible girl swept through the room, as the door leading outside opened, seemingly unassisted, and as the door closed behind her.
Pandora cringed, not because of pain, but because they were ugly, and lifted her arm up. Pandora stood nude infront of Moira MacTaggart, who was examining the younger girl, as she had done for several previous days. One long, dark purple/red welt ran from about Pandora’s right breast to her waist, on her side. Moira frowned, the welts were a definite sign of Legacy Virus activity, which didn’t really help Pandora’s case, but Moira still hated to see this happen to yet another person. The knowledge of the disease had obviously taken it’s toll on the girl, her skin was a pale white, her eyes were red-rimmed with dark bags underneath. Even her hair seemed to lack the life that had once possessed her.
“Does it hurt ya any?” the doctor asked, her eyes going over each grotesque feature of the welt.
“No. Not really.”
“When ye put ye’re arm down, or when pressure is applied, there is no pain?”
“No.”
“Well, good, you can get dressed,” Moira finished morosely and began writing on a clipboard.
After Pandora had her clothes on, she asked, “So, how do I look?”
“We seem ta be makin’ a tad bit of headway, I think it’s very possible we’ll get ye cured, lass.”
“And if we don’t?”
Moira hesitated. “We will.”
“Cause, you know, I think about it alot... every night. I mean, if I die, who’s going to care? Will anyone notice? I mean-- there’s my brother. But will my father come to my funeral?”
“Lass, please... is crazy talk ye’re speakin’ of. Ye’re not going to do die. Crazy talk.”
Pandora wiped away a tear, “Is it?”
Angel flipped lazily through the channels and finally stopped on a news show, featuring a vapid reporter walking through the ruins of Paris. But Angel could really care less, her thoughts were elsewhere. Terra had gone upstairs a few minutes ago, and Chad had asked her about her and Cam. Supposedly Lawson had mentioned how Angel hadn’t come to her room last night. Indeed, she hadn’t, and the comment had brought a tidal wave of pleasing memories back to her. She had slept the entire night with Cam in that bed, except she hadn’t slept. She had listened to his heartbeat until dawn, her head resting on his bare chest, which move up and down in a rhythmic, calming motion. His strong arms wrapped around her in a lovers embrace, flesh to flesh. Abruptly, Lawson burst through the door, a wide grin plastered on her face in spite of the mud that splattered her battle-dress. Cam has the best idea, whoever wants to go, major outing tonight at the grand opening of that new nightclub in Boston, the Tomb!