Subject: [OTL]: Emma Frost: A Friend of the Old Family Date: Thu, 1 Aug 2002 19:29:50 +0000 From: DarkMark A Friend of the Old Family by DarkMark Emma Frost was tensed to take the second blow. She knew she couldn't take it without crying. Her father had done it before. Alistair Frost wasn't using his belt this time. He was using his big, ham-like hand. The hand which, several minutes ago, had taken its toll on Emma's mother Susan. Emma thought she had known fear, thought she had known pain, before this moment. She was wrong. As wrong as hell. Her father's arm came back and, even though Emma tried to dodge, came down and across her face like a heavy whip. Her head snapped to the side and she knew, without feeling it, that her face was bleeding. "Daddy, please stop," she said, in the smallest voice she had ever used. "Don't you tell me to stop!" Alistair's voice was slurred by the whiskey. "Don't you ever tell me to stop! Damned business goes under, damned wife won't cooperate, now you! Don't you ever tell me to stop, Emma!" He slapped her a third time. Emma cried out. She didn't know if her neck might break on the next blow. If only she could use the power that she had lately discovered, for her own benefit. She heard voices in her mind. At first she thought she was going crazy, until she realized that the impressions and words and images she was getting were from her own mother. That was horrific. But she learned to deal with it, because she had to. She learned of her father's cheating, of his impending business failure, and of his increasing dependence on alcohol. Soon enough, she learned of it directly from her father's mind. None of that was any proof against the beatings Alistair Frost began dealing out to his wife and 13-year-old daughter. Earlier that week, when Dad was reasonably sober, he had told them he'd gotten a letter. He wouldn't quite tell them from who, but Emma noticed he was considerably nervous when he said it. All he would say is that it was from "an old member of the family", who was apparently coming over for a visit. But the Frost Jewelers chain had been going under, and the hoped-for sale to a larger conglomerate didn't go through. Alistair Frost was facing bankruptcy and humiliation. And even in a house the size of theirs, Emma found there weren't enough places to run from Daddy's wrath. Perhaps he had been drinking to quiet his nerves as much from the letter as from the failure. In the end, it didn't matter a bit. Emma had seen into his mind and saw the things he did with a woman at the bar where he had gone. He had come home, wanting more, wanting something that her mother just wouldn't give him. And now, her mother was... "Daddy," said Emma, through lips that were split. "Please, just please, stop. You'll hurt me." "Oh, yeah," said Alistair, his hair mussed, his shirt open to show the scratches Susan Frost had dealt him while he was choking her. "I'll hurt you all right, Emma. I'll hurt you, and then make it all better. Daddy promises. Just gotta teach you. Now just wait. Just one more." "She told you to stop." A new voice, one Emma had never heard before. It sounded deep, resonant, and somehow hollow. How had its owner gotten in? The doors were locked and the windows were clasped shut. Alistair Frost turned, in the space of his daughter's pink-painted bedroom, and gave Emma enough space to see the man who had invaded their home. He was tall, white-haired like Emma, mustached, and dressed immaculately in a grey suit with an opera cape. He was wearing brown boots which still bore some snow from outside, and carried a tan fedora in his right hand. He looked to be in his early fifties. He was not moving. He simply stood and stared. Stared at them both. Emma's father gasped. His hand began to shake. "I'm... I'm... it's good to see you..." "No," said the man. "It is not." He crossed the space between them faster than she could have believed possible. His hands were upon her father in an instant, and Alistair Frost found the ability to let out a piercing scream. The white-haired man looked at Emma with a neutral expression. "I will return in a moment," he said. "No," said Alistair Frost. "No." Emma didn't know how a man could run out, bearing another man with him, as quickly as the white-haired man did. But he managed it. She heard the voice of her father, screaming, pleading for his life. It grew fainter as they receded in distance. Then she heard a muffled cry. And then, nothing. Except for some ill-defined sound she couldn't put an action to. Trembling, Emma stayed on her bed and didn't even think about moving. And somehow, she didn't wish to see what was in the newcomer's mind at all. Within fifteen minutes, the old man was back. He stood before her bed and held out his hand. "Come," he said. "No," whispered Emma. The man looked deeply into her eyes. There seemed to be crimson in his irises, somehow. Emma felt her reluctance fading. "Come," he repeated. Emma sat up, got off the bed, and gave him her hand. He led her out of the room, and out of the house. -F- Emma was glad he had allowed her to grab her coat from the closet first. The temperature was barely above 20 degrees. Thinking about the weather was good. It kept her from thinking about other things. The old man wasn't wearing more than his suit and opera cape. He had a cane in one hand. He hadn't seemed to have brought a bag. He was holding her right hand in his left, and his grip was strong but not discomforting. "What happened," she started to say. "Your father will not be seeing you anymore," he said. "We are going to the police station. You must tell them what has transpired. They will get you to treatment, and to another home. They will attend to what has happened." "Can't you tell them?" "No. I will not be here." She shivered. "Can you tell me who you are?" "I wrote your father last week and told him I would be paying a visit. I know of your power, Emma." "My power?" "Yes. Your mental abilities. You are a mutant, Emma. A young mutant. You were born with great power. I would not see that lost to us." "How did you know?" "I know." They walked on a bit more in silence. They were already in town. The cop station wasn't a half-mile away. There were a few cars struggling on the streets, but not too many pedestrians. Emma felt that was good. He had cleaned the blood off her face, but she had noticed him almost shaking as he did it. He had also turned and put the washcloth on his face, afterward. "There will come a time when I see you again, Emma," the man continued. "You are part of my family in one sense. I will make you part of my other family. Your powers will be of great use to us. I will give you more power than that. Power beyond your imagining." Emma resisted the temptation to get into his mind and find out just what he was talking about. She spoke again. "So... we're related?" "Yes. I am one of your family. From an old branch. A very old branch." "And you came just to see me?" "Yes. But I also came in case I had to save you from your father. From what I heard... well... let us just say that I was prepared for what I had to do. He will not become part of my other family. As for your mother, I am sorry." She wanted to cry. But she knew she had to save that for later. "Emma," he said, pulling them both to a stop. "There is where you have to go. Go inside, and tell them what has happened. They will take care of you. Go now." She turned to look at him. "When will I see you again?" "When you least expect it," he said. "But when you most need me. Goodbye, Emma." He started to leave. She called after him. "Wait. You haven't even told me your name." He hesitated, as if debating himself, and then turned. "My name is like your own. Frost. Deacon Frost. Goodbye." Then a snowdrift seemed to separate them. That was very odd, as the snowfall a few seconds beforehand had slowed to a crawl. When it eased up, the man was nowhere to be seen. As quickly as she could, Emma Frost scampered up the steps of the station house. At the top step, she looked behind her at the snowy sky. A black shape with wings was visible for a moment, outlined against the white. She was able to follow it only for a few seconds. Then she pulled open the door and went inside. ****** Blame Cherry Ice for this one. We were talking about Emma Frost in chat and I suddenly realized that a character from the old TOMB OF DRACULA series (who appeared in a different form in the first BLADE movie) had the same name as her. At that, my brain went, Hey...what if...? This is the result. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope Cherry does, too. Emma and Deacon Frost are property of Marvel Entertainment Group. No money is being made on this story, no infringement is intended. And while you're at it, why not check out DarkMark's Domain at http://Dark_Mark.tripod.com/darkmark1.htm for more stories?