Author’s Note: < > means they’re speaking in French
Piotr Rasputin lay in his coffin on the shore of Muir Island. A group of cold people huddled together, watching him being let down in his grave. These were the same people that cared for him for the past few months, the same people who loved him, and the same people who watched him die.
His sister, for whom his noble sacrifice was made, had chose to stay in her room, alone. At times like these, that was the only way she knew how to deal with things.
His friends had gone crazy all morning. After coming home, they’d all had their own ways to find recourse. His sister had gone crazy finding him a gravestone, and then fixing it with Meggan to make it just right. His friend Rahne had cried for a long time, consoled by the living vessel for the last person she’d cried for, Douglock. His doctor, Moira, had shut herself off mentally to make all the correct preparations on her friend’s and fallen teammate’s dead body. The man he had once so brutally attacked and nearly murdered sat outside on the godforsaken rock of Muir Island, and smoked. And cried.
His old teammates had been notified, and it was decided that they would have an official funeral when there was time to sufficiently do so, and when their disappeared teammate was returned.
Steps had been taken to find their other fallen teammate, but wherever she was it was an odd place undetectable. They had a certain area pinpointed down, though, and were planning on going off to find her as soon as they had finished with the funeral.
***
"In other news, today a town suffered the effects of drunk driving. A young couple with one son was murdered last night when hit by a large truck driven by a drunk driver. The town has suffered some damage due to the accident, but the local authorities are working on a solution," the anchor said. "At NATO today......."
The televisions droned on in front of Meggan. She sat in one of Moira’s labs made to filter information to the mutant team. Meggan sometimes came in here and pondered the events of the world, and sometimes she just sat in front of the television and spaced out.
This was one of those times. She barely heard the TV mention the recent death as tears rolled down her cheek.
<"Come play with me,"> a small voice whispered to her from behind.
She swiftly turned around to investigate the foreign voice, but saw that she was still the room’s sole occupant. Frowning curiously, she turned back to face the television.
<"Please,"> the same voice returned. <"Momma and Papa can’t. I like to play.">
Meggan turned around, and this time saw a small, plastic, red fire-engine roll across the floor in her direction.
Brow furrowing, she reached to turn the television off and saw it already was off. Brow furrowing, she stood up and walked over to the truck, bending over to pick it up.
It was a regular toy engine, just like any other. Meggan couldn’t sense or see anything different about it.
<"Boink,"> a voice said, as a little black haired boy with blue eyes appeared in front of Meggan, levitating on the air. He grinned, and then pushed Meggan’s nose. She reached for him, but her arms only grabbed air, and he disappeared.
<"You’re fun!"> he giggled.
Douglock walked down the hall and saw Meggan lose her balance from where she kneeled. "Query, is Meggan engaging in some unknown sport?" Douglock quizzically asked.
"No," Meggan paused, glancing around the room. "I don’t think so."
"Well, the funeral is beginning. Perhaps I shall assist you to it?" Douglock gallantly offered an arm to her.
Meggan smiled weekly, wrapping her arm through Douglock’s. They walked to the funeral, as the television turned back on. Flipping through the channels, it landed on a cartoon about superheroes. The room was filled with the sound of an echoing giggle, and then the giggle, and the toy engine, disappeared.
***
"Miss Locke," a red-headed, freckled man asked. "Are you read to proceed on schedule?"
"Yes, I am," she smiled, wrapping her arm around the short, seated man. "Of course I am."
"Good," he responded. "Our employers made it clear what they want us to do with these two."
"I know," she said, running her finger down his cheek.
"They’re very important, and won’t be easy to take in," he continued.
"I know," she said, grabbing the drink out of his hand and setting it on the counter.
"It’s not going to be easy at-"
He was interrupted by the tall woman who abruptly kissed him. He stood up and followed her out of the room, laughing.
Under the drink she had set down was a newspaper with a picture of a certain demon sorceress/flight attendant and Brad Pitt. In the picture, Brad Pitt had cake in his face and the sorceress was giggling over him, hugging him and smiling at the cameras.
***
"And here he will lie. May he rest in peace," Meggan finished. In front of her stood a sobbing Moira MacTaggert, a weeping Rahne hugged and comforted by a forlorn Douglock, a scowling Pete Wisdom, and a teary eyed Illyana, whose hair flew about in the wind. She just stood there, defiantly and stoically.
Meggan stood by the grave marker, and glanced the group over.
"Come, let’s go inside," Moira insisted. Meggan walked in with her, and everyone but Illyana followed.
She stood by the grave marker. It was a marble and crystal structure, and had been made through the combined effort of funeral parlors across Europe, Illyana’s powers, and Meggan’s powers.
It glinted in the falling light.
The grave marker was a sword stuck in a stone. The sword was made of shining crystal, and it glittered in the faintest rays light, making rainbows out of the merest of sunlight. The sword was set in black marble, and on the marble was an inscription that read: "Here lies Piotr Nikolotevitch Rasputin. He died in battle, saving others. Let this crystal shine and give us beauty and hope, much like he did. But nothing will be able to fully replace him. He will always be with us in our hearts."
Kneeling over the inscription, Illyana let out a sob, and she began to cry.
What good was a new, beautiful world when you were all alone?
The End
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