Ethereal | (X-Men: First Class)

8. Choice

An act of selecting or making a decision when faced with two or more possibilities.

⭇⭁

French Translations

Lèves tes yeux hors d'elle : Get your eyes off of her.

Lèves tes bras hors d'il : Get your hands off of him.

Arrêter ce : Stop this.

⭇⭁

Sebastian Shaw was not the kind of man Marianne had been expecting him to be.

The lack of regard for human life that had been displayed by his underlings (as Marianne guessed them to be), of course, was exactly what she had been expecting of him. But from how Charles and Erik had described him as a person, she had pictured him in her mind as an older man. She had thought he would be an obviously aggressive man, perhaps muscled, someone who came off slightly unhinged; shorter, maybe, and broader. She had pictured him more like the men she would see in the pubs late at night or drinking on the street corners, the type of man who lashed out at the world and the people around them because they felt they had been dealt a raw deal.

The real Sebastian Shaw in front of her was worse.

He was handsome, she could admit that, tall and lean, with a good face and lush hair. He wore a nice suit, black with a wine-red shirt underneath. He was relaxed, completely at ease as he walked towards them with a charming smile, even as he casually ordered the devil-man (who he called Azazel) to kill an agent who had run into the courtyard. He had an air of superiority around him, like the men who would rarely come into her store who were always looking for the first edition of some pretentious book written by a famous author or a relatively unknown author he would look down at her for not knowing. He seemed like the kind of man who could do anything and get away with it and had been raised to know it.

There was a thrum of energy within him. She could feel it. She had to ball her hands into fists to keep her hands from shaking.

This man had power. Too much power.

He smiled and chuckled as the final agent collapsed outside (Marianne flinched when she heard the body drop - a good agent, one who hadn't offered them up as a sacrifice or fled when he could have, was gone) and he passed the ugly helmet off to the man who had come from the tornado. "Thank you, Riptide," he said politely to the man, who nodded in acknowledgement.

"My friends," he said, looking back to them, "there's a revolution coming."

As he came closer to them, Marianne clenched her fists tighter and stood up straighter. She raised her chin and glared into his eyes. He merely raised an eyebrow and kept smiling when he noticed her dark look.

"When mankind discovers us and what we can do, each of us will face a choice: to be enslaved, or rise up to rule." His voice lowered to a whisper as he shared his enticing offer. A chill ran down Marianne's spine. The man had a voice like silk, but his words left her feeling grimy. She followed his eyes as he looked at each and every one of them, lingering for seconds longer than what would have been appropriate. "Choose freely, but know that if you are not with us, then, by definition, you are against us."

He was threatening them. Threatening all of them. Non. She stepped forward slightly, even as something inside of her screamed to stay away from him. She realized too late it was not a wise move, as his gaze shot back to her. He smiled. She dug her nails into her palms and darkened her glare. Her nostrils flared as her heart raced and her breathing quickened. The lights hanging from the ceiling began swaying back and forth slightly, even though there was no breeze.