something wicked this way comes [Morph]

[Francesca von Hannesburg]

Francesca carefully placed her bag under the table, where it was safe from being trodden on by careless passers-by. Then, she pulled out her camera and the lead, and plugged it into the computer. There was a pause, and then the camera's screen lit up brightly. She selected 'computer' from the menu that had appeared, and waited for the computer to pick up the new drive. Once she had everything set up, and the images were uploading onto the printer, she pulled out some of her work and pen, and settled them carefully on her lap.

Glancing at the screen every so often to check it was still uploading, she went to work. The questions were simple enough; all about remembering facts and data, nothing personal in there. After about five minutes, the computer beeped to let her know that everything had been uploaded. She saved the images, made backups files, and cleared her camera memory, then went through her photos. They were good; the weather had been cool, and rainy, but the air was clear and the overhanging clouds gave the images a lovely blue-grey hue. There were a few in particular that she liked- a robin perched in a bush, the stream running over some rocks. Maybe she'd give a few to Laura to hang on her wall. Maybe she'd get some drawings in return. Francesca loved the little drawings Laura gave her. They weren't very realistic; the animals often had funny little smiles, and in one, the cat was wearing a hat. But they were beautiful, and she was more than happy to give away her precious photographs in return.

Unplugging her camera and shutting down the computer, she pushed the keyboard back to give herself more space on the desk, and continued with her work, leaving the camera lying on the desk beside her. The time passed quickly as she worked, and by the time she'd done the first sheet, fifteen minutes had passed already. She glanced at the clock, sighed, and pulled out another sheet, swapping the finished and the new in her folder.

[morpheusbrown]

Morph sauntered into the common room with one purpose, if he was honest. He was looking for some poor innocent. He was already making bets on how long it would take him to make them cry. Or if it was Rio, they could have some kind of matey banter. Morph felt his relationship with Rio could go either way. He was either a great friend… or competition. And Morph loved a competition.

Spying one kid, a cute little redhead who was looking at that camera as if it was her firstborn child, he moseyed over. You never knew with kids here, if they’d run away as soon as you sat down next to them or not. And that was no fun. Although Morph liked to tell himself it was because he was getting a reputation some of the kids here were just so messed up… He smirked as he thought about Jessica. As if she was as defiant as she liked to pretend. But it was always so delicious squashing her. This one looked like she could be even better, if only he could scratch the surface.

He leaned against the side of the table and smirked at her. “Oh, sweetie. Not another good little girl.” He grabbed the already completed homework, balled it up and tossed it across the room, reaching out to grasp the redhead’s wrist. “I haven’t seen you around, honey…” he purred, his sweet words betrayed by the fact he was aiming to hurt her, perhaps beyond repair. Make the shrinks do their petty, worthless little jobs for a change. “Why don’t you tell me your name, sugar? We might get along.” There. He wondered what she would do and smirked again. Maybe this one would have some bite. He could do with someone like that. Leaning back on the desk, he regarded her and wondered exactly what it was she was here for. Aside from the sad little hobby she had. Anyone could take a photograph.

[Francesca von Hannesburg]

Francesca put down her pen, her fingers cramping. Glancing at the clock, she sighed. Half an hour of her time gone. She could have spent that time with Laura and Jo, if she'd had the forethought to do it last night. But no, and now she only had until tomorrow to get it done. Flexing her fingers, she went to pick up her pen again, but a hand grabbed her wrist. She flinched at the sudden contact, staring up to look into the eyes of a big, dark-haired boy. As she watched, he picked up her homework and threw it away. She didn't bother looking to see where it had gone; it didn't matter. It was ruined now, and all her attention was focused on the person holding her wrist.

He was far to close to her for comfort, but she resisted the urge to pull away. Maybe if she didn't act scared, he'd get bored soon and leave her alone. Clenching her jaw, she glared at him defiantly, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. He wanted her to talk? No way. Her own father hadn't been able to do that, so some bastard who just wandered in certainly wouldn't be able to.

Bravely, she met his gaze, trying not to shrink back or start trembling. Then he'd know she was afraid, and that was obviously what he wanted. But she couldn't help herself from tensing up all over- this reminded her of home far too much. She yanked her arm, but he wouldn't let go. Her lip curled back as let out a noise that was halfway between a hiss and a squeak. The closest she'd come to talking to anyone since she arrived here. Twisting her hand around, she attempted to dig her nails into his wrist, her heart thudding, but her newly cut nails prevented her from doing any serious damage. Still, maybe he'd get the hint and let her go. She wasn't just going to sit there and let him torture her.

Suddenly, a terrible thought hit her. What if he took her camera? Or worse, broke it? At least if he took it, she stood some small chance of getting it back. Before she could help herself, her gaze darted towards where it sat on the table. Well, now he'd notice it, so she might as well try and stop him getting it. She shot out her free hand, grabbed the strap, and pulled it towards her, cradling it protectively behind her back.

[morpheusbrown]

Morph examined every inch of the girl’s face. She was younger than he was. Very cute… in that sort of way some people liked. And she was pulling that ‘I’m not scared of you’ bullshit he sometimes got. Ah. How sweet. He grinned and pulled her wrist sharply towards him. Silly little girl…

Feeling her nails against his wrist he sighed long sufferingly, like a parent almost out of patience. Did she honestly think a few scratches were going to make him let her go? True, he had bigger fish to fry… but he always made time for his little minnows. He twisted her wrist in his hand, keeping her nails away from him. It might not have been painful, but it was bloody annoying.

Her lack of speech didn’t bother him really. It was just another thing to tease her about, but if that’s what she was here for she’d probably heard it all before so there was no point. Leaning over he spotted her name on the camera bag. “Francesca.” He rolled the word around in his mouth, playing with it like he was playing with her. Still with her wrist in his hand, he leaned back against the desk, leaning on her wrist. It would hurt, sure, but wasn’t that the whole point? He raised his eyebrows at Francesca’s hiss. “Funny little creature aren’t you?” He reached out and pulled a handful of her hair, hard, before letting go, looking thoughtful.

“Don’t worry, Frankie sweetheart. I’m not going to take away your little toy.” At the moment he was just looking through things, trying to find something that would make something click, get past all those nasty defences she’d thrown up against him. He loved the stubborn ones… They liked to pretend they were so tough, all talk. Or, in this girl’s case, all hiss.

[Francesca von Hannesburg]

She winced as he yanked on her wrist, but refused to make a sound. He was grinning. She glared up at him, a flush rising in her cheeks. The bastard. If she could just get hold of a box of matches... She clenched her jaw when pain stabbed up her wrist, and the anger grew. She twisted her arm slightly: it still hurt, but it softened to a dull ache, rather than the intense pain of before. Holding her camera by the strap, she carefully lowered it onto the floor behind her seat. If she could get her wrist free, she'd be able to grab it and make a run for it, never mind the rest of the work in her bag, which was on the floor between the two of them.

She glanced around. If there was someone nearby, maybe she could attract their attention- her thoughts were interrupted by a tug on her hair, and she shook her head, flinching away as he let go. He knew her name? Could she get no peace, anywhere? The way he said it reminded her of her uncle's friend, the one who had come over and over again. He'd enjoyed making her uneasy by saying her name over and over, as well.

Frankie? Toy? No-one called her Frankie. No-one did. No-one but her father had ever called her that, and this guy was not her father. Just that word made her shake with a mixture of fury and terror. She knew she was going white, and tried to breath steadily. She could no longer meet the boy's eyes, so she fixed her gaze on the table, gritting her teeth to hold in the scream. And as for her camera, it wasn't a toy. It had cost seven month's worth of savings. Of course, there was no way he could know that, but the words still made her burn with anger. She felt utterly helpless to do anything but continue glaring, her fist clenching and unclenching behind her back. One day, if she ever got hold of anything flammable- and she vowed she would- he would regret this.

Suddenly, Francesca whipped her free hand round. It wasn't a slap; the fingers were clawed, aiming straight for his eyes, aiming to blind him at least temporarily so she could run. Maybe she'd run back to her room, or Jo's room... but what if he followed her, and hurt Jo or Laura? To the art studio? There was sure to be somebody there. But it was all the way across the school. Maybe she'd just scream until someone came and took him away. They'd probably take her away as well, but she didn't care. As long as he wasn't allowed near her.

[morpheusbrown]

Seeing the girls rage, Morph savoured her expression and smirked down at her. “What’s wrong with you, kitten? Cat got your tongue?” Pulling her wrist into another uncomfortable position he noticed her discomfort as he used her name and raised his eyebrows. He of all people knew how infuriating names could be. “So, Frankie…” He savoured the word, watching her for any sign of discomfort… or anger. He loved it when they were angry. “What shall I do with you?”

It wasn’t a real question, obviously, but people’s reactions gave them away. It was something to work from, something to make sure they were as uncomfortable as possible. All he wanted from this little girl was a few tears. Was that really so much to ask? His eyes raked her face, still holding that defiant look. Sweet, really.

Years of practise that involved hitting other people before they hit you allowed him to grab her other wrist as her hand came towards him. He yanked her cruelly out of her chair, forcing her away from her sweet little school girl pursuits of homework and taking photographs. “Now then, Frankie, honey… You wouldn’t want to make me cross, would you?” His voice was seductively and deceivingly smooth. He knew security would be here soon and he would once again be seeing the inside of a cell in iso, and probably one of the Doctors Hudson to boot. But that didn’t matter. All that mattered right now was that he was in charge over this small, pitiful scrap of humankind and she couldn’t do anything about it. “That would be a very silly thing to do.” He whispered, waiting for any reaction.

No doubt she’d been planning to run for a friendly face. These little ones always did. Bigger people were likely to stand their ground and fight, but the little ones always went running for a grown up or a friend. Someone to comfort them, or to tell on him. Rather childish really. He twisted Francesca’s wrists cruelly. There was no reason for him to stop after all. Who was she going to tell?

[Francesca von Hannesburg]

She shifted uncomfortably when he used her name again, fists squeezed tight in his grasp. No. He wasn't going to do anything, he wasn't going to do anything. The pain in her wrists was spreading up her arms, and she felt like her shoulders were being pulled out of their sockets. How could she stop the pain? The only way she could see was moving closer to the boy, and she refused to do that. But it hurt, so much she could hardly bear it... Finally, Francesca swallowed her pride and inched closer, relieving the strain on her arms.

His words had no effect on her that he was able to see; she remain stock still in her seat, glaring at him, pale as a ghost. But inside her, something was screaming. NonononoNO! Not that, anything, please, no nothing but that she'd do anything if he didn't do that to her she would TALK if he wanted her to... Francesca gritted her teeth. He wasn't going to see how terrified she'd made her. But she was biting her lip so hard it bled, trying to stop herself from screaming. The bitter taste flooded her mouth, and her nose crinkled as the tang reached the back of her mouth and made her gag.

Turning her head, she spat out the blood that had accumulated in her mouth, careful to avoid her bag and camera, and glared at him. He didn't have her legs, that had to count for something, right? She lashed out with her foot, aiming straight for his crotch as hard as she could, hissing with fury as she did so. Even if he wouldn't let her go, she was going to cause him as much trouble as possible before someone came. As she kicked, she yanked back on her arms, hoping to unbalance him, or at least, free her wrists.

[morpheusbrown]

Ooph. Morph wondered, through the haze of pain, what was WITH all the people here and trying to kick him in the balls. One thing he had not done was let go of Francesca. He was a little proud of that. He simply held her wrists tighter, so tight he probably left bruises. No, screw that. He knew he left bruises marking her pretty white skin. Graffitiing her pretty pale skin, like spray paint on the Taj Mahal. Morph Woz Ere.

He smirked down at her, forcing her back into her seat. “Now then, sweetie. Don’t want to make me cross, do you?” He noticed her lip bleeding and raised one of his hands, still clinging to her wrist, to tease it out of her mouth. He grinned predatorily at her and leaned in to kiss her. It wouldn’t be long now until she cried…. And the sooner she did that the sooner he’d let her go. Cruel, wasn’t it, that all he wanted was a few tears and she’d be allowed to skip back to her dorm and get on with her life.

“So, honey. Any suggestions?” He smirked. He’d noticed the effect this had had on her last time. “Whatever am I to do with naughty little Frankie?” He knew full well she didn’t talk, but he enjoyed pushing it, making her more and more uncomfortable until she was ready to snap. He put one leg over hers, perching on the desk and twisting Francesca’s wrists into yet another painful position. The tears were so close he could almost taste them…

She was a sweet kid, he noticed, looking her up and down. Not his type, but still… examining her fingers, he raised her right hand to his mouth, and wondered what she’d do if he bit her. Biting wasn’t his style either… but it might be her’s.

[Francesca von Hannesburg]

She whimpered as he grasped her wrists. Why wouldn't he let go?! She sat down without resisting, realising it would probably hurt more if she did. She didn't meet his eyes anymore, and she knew she was shaking. She couldn't help it. His fingers touched her lips, and, almost instinctively, she snapped, clashing her teeth down hard on his fingers. She felt the skin break and bit down harder, tasting blood that wasn't her own. She clenched her jaw as tight as possible, trying to inflict as much damage as she could. Morph whipped his hand away, leaving a deep gashes in his index finger. She felt a small thrill of grim satisfaction. At least she wasn't going to give in that easily.

But then he kissed her. She went still, rigid, eyes wide. Francesca stared straight past his ear, refusing to believe this was really happening. No God no not again not now I can't take this I can't do it help me please help me make it STOP! When he pulled back, she remained where she was, swaying slightly, staring blankly past him with enormous eyes. Somehow, everything suddenly seemed very distant, as though it wasn't really happening and it was all a bad dream.

When he called her Frankie again, though, she turned her head, very, very slowly, to gaze to him. A little sound escaped her lips as she stared at him. Some part of her wondered what he was going to do next; the rest was preoccupied with convincing her that she was dreaming. It was probably the nicest way to deal with the situation. It was what she'd done before, with her dad. She'd felt all dreamy like this then, as well. Somehow muffled, as though everything was still happening, but far away. Separated. That was a good way to describe it.

[Dr. Peter Ivrie]

Peter had come into the common area as he felt it would be best to frequent the areas students were likely to be. Not only would it let it be known that the children could easily come to an adult for help, but it would allow them to keep the children’s behaviour at somewhere resembling acceptable. Peter didn’t wholly trust modern technology such as cameras, or computers. He preferred to do things the old fashioned way, with legwork.

This was the reason he came upon Morpheus and Francesca. Just the look on Francesca’s face was enough to convince him this was not some consensual, if inappropriate, arrangement. Without one word, in ice cold righteous anger, Peter strode across the room and took hold of Morpheus’ collar, pulling him off the young girl, forcing him to let her go. Mercifully Morpheus appeared to know the game was up. If Peter could do anything about it, Morpheus would never get within calling distance of this child again. Peter thrust the teenager towards a security guard who had wandered in to see what the fuss was about and told him to take Morpheus to isolation. He didn’t specify how long. That would be subject to his therapist… Josephine, Peter remembered. He would make a few recommendations.

He watched Francesca silently for a few moments, staying where he was at a hopefully comfortable distance from her. He was sure she was upset and afraid. He remembered a little of the detail from her file, so decided to keep his distance. May as well start. “Hello, Francesca. My name is Peter.” He left off that he was a doctor. If he didn’t know it, he didn’t want to intimidate her. A selective mute, he remembered, so any reply was out of the question. He pondered whether to go on or just stand there and leave her to indicate what he should do. He didn’t want to simply wade in asking if she was alright, the situation had to be handled carefully. Then again she could simply want a hug.

Stiffly getting down on her level, even if he was across the room it couldn’t hurt, he continued softly. “I saw what he was doing, Francesca. I am so, so sorry. I promise, he will not hurt you again.” Then he stood silently. One didn’t want to talk overmuch in the presence of those who did not talk at all. It appeared rude.

---

Morph didn’t bother fighting the old man who grabbed him. After all, no matter what he did, the game was up. And that little girl, the silly little girl who had the misfortune to get in his way, she was damaged. All he was doing was making sure the shrinks did their jobs. Perfect logical sense. He smirked down at her as he was pulled away and shoved at a security guard who was looking at him as if he was the scum of the earth.

As he was hauled away to isolation, Morph decided that wasn’t really all that bad for a spur of the moment fling with a little slip of a kid who hadn’t said a word. Not bad at all. If only he’d managed to get a few tears…

[Francesca von Hannesburg]

She was still frozen when Peter appeared and dragged Morph away. The only thing that really registered was that her hands were now free, and she whipped them into her chest, shrinking in on herself. She pulled her legs up onto the chair, buried her face in her knees, and tried to die. And now the tears came. She was crying, whimpering, her whole body wracked by wordless, choking sobs as she tried to burrow into her chair. She wanted to die. No, she wanted him to die, wanted him to burn like he deserved...

The new man's voice cut through the haze of hatred and fear, and she realized that she was screaming quietly into the darkness between her face and knees. She closed her mouth, breathing heavily, and sniffed. Gathering her courage, Francesca raised her head and looked at him. Her eyes felt prickly from crying, her nose was running, and she couldn't stop shaking. For a few moments, she just stared at the man opposite in terror.

Then the true meaning of his words struck her, and she swallowed. He was male, and looked like he could easily pin her down, maybe more easily than Morph had. And she was already weak, she wouldn't be able to fight him off. But he was looking concerned, and he'd taken Morph away. He'd come in and he'd saved her, punished Morph and promised not to let him near her... She uncurled herself.

Sliding off the chair, she limped over to him, picking up her camera on the way. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to cling to something, to make sure she wasn't dreaming and he really had saved her. Something real. Hugging her camera with one hand, she curled up beside him, leaning against him and resting her head on his chest, clutching at his top with her hand, and cried. She buried her face in his jacket and cried and cried, all the tears that she'd hidden from Morph coming out in a relentless flow as she wailed into Peter's chest. He felt warm, and solid, convincing her that it wasn't a dream or a hallucination: she really had been saved. On the other hand, it had really happened. She was suddenly aware that Peter was crouching and this position was probably uncomfortable for him, but at that moment, she didn't care. He was here, he'd protect her, and her camera wasn't damaged. And that was all that mattered.

Finally, her tears subsided, and she released her choke-hold on his shirt, sniffing loudly. She hoped he wouldn't be angry with her for getting his shirt wet, but she couldn't help it. Swallowing, she looked up at him trying, through the tears, to look questioning. 'What happened to Morph? Is he going to come back?' She stayed where she was, curled up against him, drawing comfort from his realness, his warmth and solidity. If he understood her, she hoped he'd answer her. She wanted to know, and although she desperately wanted- needed- comfort, she also had to know what had happened to her tormentor. She had to know if it was punishment enough.