Flint and Steel: A Warren Worthington III Series

Chapter One: The Rooftop

A voice pops into your head as you walk out across the flat stretch of the rooftops. You recognize it with a smile- Jean Grey, bored out of her mind on another sunny day and popping into yours to see if anything new is happening. What's up, Jean? You can practically see her shrug through the mental connection. Not much. What are you doing now? You grin to yourself. I'm on top of the roof. Time for some practice.

Instantly, Jean's cheerful demeanor drops. What? It's not your day. You freeze in place. What are you talking about? It's Wednesday. Jean hesitates. No, it's Tuesday. Not your day. You curse silently. How did you mess this up? Shoot. I've got to go. You know whose day it is, the one mutant here who can't stand you at all. Why did you mess this up so badly? Jean's already left your head, as if she can sense that the potential standoff about to occur is nowhere near what she wants to experience on a day such as today.

You're already stopping your forward movement, ready to turn around and leave this place before you're spotted, but it's too late. A brief flicker of movement registers behind you, and when you whirl around, there's a boy standing maybe one foot behind you, metal wings still extended from where he'd just touched down from his flight in the sky. He's landed intentionally close, just to rattle you. A glare curls its way onto his lip. "What are you doing here? This isn't your time slot." You fight the urge to roll your eyes. "I misread the date. My bad. Now, can you please get out of my way?"

Your use of the word 'please' is a courtesy, something that Warren Worthington III most certainly does not deserve. If he had even the smallest fragment of a soul, he would accept this unnecessary nicety and move away. However, much like every other experience you've ever had with him, he does not. Instead, he folds his arms across his chest, something almost like a grin on his face. "You misread the date? How'd you manage that?"

You sigh dramatically. "Contrary to popular belief, I cannot be perfect all of the time. We all make mistakes. Now, move." Warren considers this. "If anything, you should be the one moving. I'm trying to practice, you know. You're the intruder." You hate the way he's almost right about this. That being said, you can't afford to show one iota of weakness to this metal-winged irritation without hearing about it for the next week. So, you straighten your spine, and don't move an inch.

"I'm not the one who went out of his way to land right behind me. Go back to soaring around with all the other pigeons." A smirk ticks at the corners of Warren's mouth. "The other pigeons? That's not making me any more likely to move." You would love to stay here and argue all day, but you're already getting sick of this. So, you gather the last few vestiges of your pride and start to move to the side, around him, but Warren just shifts slightly to block your path.

You throw your hands in the air, annoyed. "Do you want me to go or not? Let me through!" Warren shrugs. "I don't know. I mean, you're invading my time to practice. I think I want an apology." You narrow your eyes. "You'll get an apology when I'm dead and buried, Worthington. Either move or let me go, or so help me, I will torch your stupid little bird-winged body like it's a matchstick." You'd hoped that this threat would at least do something, but instead, he laughs, the menace.

"My stupid little bird-winged body? Your insults are just as good as your mutation, L/N." You glare at him. "If that's so, then why do you go out of your way to avoid me whenever I practice?" You let your mutation run through you as you say those last few words. The air seems to crackle with heat, and a fiery glow illuminates your eyes and hands for just a moment. Despite his tough and callous exterior, Warren flinches. You regret this display for just a second.

Then the facade is back up, and Warren's scowling at you with renewed vigor. "Fun and games are over, Y/N. Get off of the roof or I'll drop you off it myself." You hate to leave like this, on the losing end of the argument, but you can't quite shake the mental image of Warren a few moments ago, the second you'd used your powers to try and intimidate him. So, you shrug your shoulders, issue one last retort, and leave. This time, Warren lets you go.