dorksidefiker (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dorksidefiker) wrote2011-03-26 05:14 pm
dorksidefiker) wrote2011-03-26 05:14 pm
Too Late
Title: Too Late
Fandom: X-Men
Characters: Jonothon Starsmore
Prompt: 90. Too Bad
Word Count: 777
Rating: PG
Warnings: Minor spoilers for New Excalibur 9
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Notes: Now that we know for sure about Jono's ancestory, it's about time we meet the rest of his family.
It was a surprisingly sunny day when they lowered Jonothon's father into the ground. One would have expected it to be at least a little overcast.
Of course, the way his mother carried on, there wasn't really a need for more water.
He watched from his perch on a crumbling old angel, well away from his mother and cousins. He hadn't been a part of any of their lives for a long time, and he wasn't about to come back now. He wasn't even sure why he'd come in the first place. The old man had wanted nothing to do with him, even before he'd blown his face off. They'd argued about everything, from politics to music to what kind of cigarettes were worth smoking.
Even if the old man's heart hadn't given out on him, there wasn't going to be a reconciliation in their future.
"You two always were too much alike to get on well."
Jono almost fell off his perched as he turned to gape at the woman who had spoken to him. "Aunt Morag?"
His father's sister turned a cheery smile on him as she joined him at the feet of the old angel. Her thick chestnut braid was shot through with grey, and there were a few new lines around her eyes and mouth, but otherwise Morag Starsmore looked exactly as she had when Jono had last seen her, right down to the embroidered peasant blouse and patchwork skirt. "Jon, luv." She caught him in a hug before he could get away. "It's good to see you. I see you've grown your face back."
"Yeah." He pulled away from her a bit, holding her at arms length. "I thought you didn't do funerals."
"I don't," Morag said. She'd first told him that after his great-grandfather had finally passed. "I came here to see the other family outcast."
"How'd you know I was here?"
"Asked a dead bloke." Morag gave him an enigmatic smile. "Fancy a pint, nephew?"
***
"So how's the psychic business been treating you?" Jono asked, wrapping his hands around the pint of Guiness his aunt had insisted on buying him.
"Oh, can't complain." Morag waved a plump hand airily, setting her bracelets tinkling. She wore enough jewelry that Jono though she'd sink like a stone if she fell into the Thames. He'd been fascinated with it as a child, and for two very interesting weeks when he was fifteen, he'd adopted a masculine version of her garb. It had driven his father up the wall, which had been the general idea. He'd followed that with the endless black that now made up his wardrobe.
His father had never gotten on with Aunt Morag. The old man was staunchly conservative, while his sister was wildly out there.
It was one of the reasons why Morag was his favorite aunt.
"How've you been, luv? You've dropped off the face of the earth, seems like. Haven't seen you since..." She offered him a sad smile.
"Been busy. You know." Jono said, not quite meeting the older woman's eyes.
She reached out and patted his hand. "Back in London for a while, pet?"
"T' stay." Jono took a mouthful from his pint and rolled it on his tongue, enjoying the taste.
"Got yourself a place?"
"Yeah, a flat in White Chappell. Not far off from where ol' Jack knifed that last bird."
"Morbid bastard," Morag said with a smile.
"Too right." He grinned into his beer.
"You're not more than a stone's throw away from me, Jon." Now she sounded faintly accusing. "You should come by. You need feeding. All skin and bones, you are."
Jono kept his eyes on his drink.
"Feel like you've been away too long. Like you're not really part of the family no more." She gave him a half smile. "Just like Dickie."
Jono looked up, blinking. "What?"
"Your father, luv. He went through a rebellion when he was your age. But he came back to his family, settled down with your mum." She took his hand and squeezed it. "We're your family, Jon. We'll be waiting for you when you're ready."
"I've got to be gettin' on, Aunt Morag," Jono said, rising from his seat and finishing the last of his pint. "I'll be around." He hesitated a moment, then kissed her plump cheek.
Morag watched her nephew duck out of the pub, then turned to her silent companion. "See?"
'e's been marked by the old bastard.
"He'll be fine, Dickie. The old man's always taken care of his own. Even the ones who turned away."
You're just sayin' that cause you're his.
"Needs must, brother mine, when the devil drives."
Fandom: X-Men
Characters: Jonothon Starsmore
Prompt: 90. Too Bad
Word Count: 777
Rating: PG
Warnings: Minor spoilers for New Excalibur 9
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Notes: Now that we know for sure about Jono's ancestory, it's about time we meet the rest of his family.
It was a surprisingly sunny day when they lowered Jonothon's father into the ground. One would have expected it to be at least a little overcast.
Of course, the way his mother carried on, there wasn't really a need for more water.
He watched from his perch on a crumbling old angel, well away from his mother and cousins. He hadn't been a part of any of their lives for a long time, and he wasn't about to come back now. He wasn't even sure why he'd come in the first place. The old man had wanted nothing to do with him, even before he'd blown his face off. They'd argued about everything, from politics to music to what kind of cigarettes were worth smoking.
Even if the old man's heart hadn't given out on him, there wasn't going to be a reconciliation in their future.
"You two always were too much alike to get on well."
Jono almost fell off his perched as he turned to gape at the woman who had spoken to him. "Aunt Morag?"
His father's sister turned a cheery smile on him as she joined him at the feet of the old angel. Her thick chestnut braid was shot through with grey, and there were a few new lines around her eyes and mouth, but otherwise Morag Starsmore looked exactly as she had when Jono had last seen her, right down to the embroidered peasant blouse and patchwork skirt. "Jon, luv." She caught him in a hug before he could get away. "It's good to see you. I see you've grown your face back."
"Yeah." He pulled away from her a bit, holding her at arms length. "I thought you didn't do funerals."
"I don't," Morag said. She'd first told him that after his great-grandfather had finally passed. "I came here to see the other family outcast."
"How'd you know I was here?"
"Asked a dead bloke." Morag gave him an enigmatic smile. "Fancy a pint, nephew?"
***
"So how's the psychic business been treating you?" Jono asked, wrapping his hands around the pint of Guiness his aunt had insisted on buying him.
"Oh, can't complain." Morag waved a plump hand airily, setting her bracelets tinkling. She wore enough jewelry that Jono though she'd sink like a stone if she fell into the Thames. He'd been fascinated with it as a child, and for two very interesting weeks when he was fifteen, he'd adopted a masculine version of her garb. It had driven his father up the wall, which had been the general idea. He'd followed that with the endless black that now made up his wardrobe.
His father had never gotten on with Aunt Morag. The old man was staunchly conservative, while his sister was wildly out there.
It was one of the reasons why Morag was his favorite aunt.
"How've you been, luv? You've dropped off the face of the earth, seems like. Haven't seen you since..." She offered him a sad smile.
"Been busy. You know." Jono said, not quite meeting the older woman's eyes.
She reached out and patted his hand. "Back in London for a while, pet?"
"T' stay." Jono took a mouthful from his pint and rolled it on his tongue, enjoying the taste.
"Got yourself a place?"
"Yeah, a flat in White Chappell. Not far off from where ol' Jack knifed that last bird."
"Morbid bastard," Morag said with a smile.
"Too right." He grinned into his beer.
"You're not more than a stone's throw away from me, Jon." Now she sounded faintly accusing. "You should come by. You need feeding. All skin and bones, you are."
Jono kept his eyes on his drink.
"Feel like you've been away too long. Like you're not really part of the family no more." She gave him a half smile. "Just like Dickie."
Jono looked up, blinking. "What?"
"Your father, luv. He went through a rebellion when he was your age. But he came back to his family, settled down with your mum." She took his hand and squeezed it. "We're your family, Jon. We'll be waiting for you when you're ready."
"I've got to be gettin' on, Aunt Morag," Jono said, rising from his seat and finishing the last of his pint. "I'll be around." He hesitated a moment, then kissed her plump cheek.
Morag watched her nephew duck out of the pub, then turned to her silent companion. "See?"
'e's been marked by the old bastard.
"He'll be fine, Dickie. The old man's always taken care of his own. Even the ones who turned away."
You're just sayin' that cause you're his.
"Needs must, brother mine, when the devil drives."