Your Pretty Face Is Going To Limbo (Part Two)

We all have talents. Life is just a matter of finding out what you like, what you're good at, and nurturing it. Apparently, that was what high school and college was for. Could have fooled me, with the uniform curriculums most of them had. But at Xavier's you had the chance to spread your wings and figure out what your thing was.

Ruth could paint her ass off. For someone who couldn't really see in the conventional sense, it was kind of nuts that she could make anything that could be recognized by others, but her stuff had a real touch of baroque to it.

...And I only knew what that was because the Paladins' advisor doubled as the Xavier Institute's art teacher. He was also the main person to encourage Ruth's talents. It was a fairly recent thing, given that she'd only taken the class at the start of the semester.

Ruth wasn't on the baby X-Men squad I was heading up, but that didn't mean she still wasn't my favorite goddamn telepath and a Paladin. That meant that I would always have time for my little sister.

"I can't wait to see you finish this thing," I said to her, appraising the progress she'd made on her most recent piece on the easel, "It looks all hellfire and brimstone, like it's shaping up to be some kind of Dante's Inferno shit."

"Thank you, yes," Ruth said, beaming at me for a bit before frowning, "She sees it in her head, yes, but only part of it. Pardon, Mister Rasputin, but finishing it will not happen until I can see the whole picture."

What she'd said left me curious, "Is this a precog thing?" I asked, getting a gentle nod, "Wow. And here I thought you could only use it to see bad stuff," Not use it to make fucking art.

Ruth shrugged her shoulders, "Sorry, but she still does not know what it is yet. Good or bad, no one can say yet, nor for whom, no," She took off her apron and went to try and clean the paint from her hands, "Pardon, she will be ready to go in a minute, Bellamy, yes!"

"Take your time," I told her, waving her off. It wasn't like I had anywhere to be. Classes were over, and as an insomniac, I had all the time in the world.

Mister Rasputin had finished setting things away after his last class and made his way over to me, "Ah, how are you doing, Bellamy?" We hadn't really spoken since my new elevated position, "I figure you've been trying to get into a groove."

"It's been... work," I admitted, omitting particular details. Before I started begging for help, I wanted to try and figure things out on my own first, "Still not sure how well everyone's going to work together when everything hits the fan, but we'll burn that bridge when we come to it."

"All you can do is prepare," Mister Rasputin said for my benefit, "You will do fine. You are smart boy."

Or smart enough to know when to ask things of smarter people. I kept that to myself though, "I'm not trying to worry about it too much today," I said. I was just going to grab a snack with Ruth, and find other things to do to knock around for the rest of the day and night. I wasn't going to get everything together in one day, "Has she been doing well in here?"

"Ruth obviously cannot see, but still-," He trailed off and went elsewhere to grab something for me to see. From a cabinet behind his desk, he pulled out another painting. A very good rendition of the Paladins holding the Field Day trophy. It was fantastic. I wanted to frame it and hang it over wherever the hell Eddie was hoarding the real trophy, "When she sees something in her head, she does things like this."

I was impressed, "Awesome," I was always stoked to see my friends succeed. It warmed the cockles of my heart.

"She finished this before Field Day," Mister Rasputin said, sounding just as proud as I was, "There are four others like this. She spends all class working on them, of things she sees in her head. Sometimes, she does them fast. Big pieces take days or weeks sometimes. Sometimes she doesn't want anyone to see them. I don't think she does it because they're not good."

I studied the Field Day picture anew, "If it's precog stuff, it might be because we agreed not to tell people everything she sees. Just the important stuff," Thinking that she was seeing and painting things she'd rather not see made me frown, "I hope she at least enjoys it. She seems happy so far."

"There may be good days and bad days, much like anything else," Mister Rasputin reasoned, "Perhaps this helps her come to terms with her power," One could only hope. Telepathy and precognitive abilities were two big burdens to have to shoulder, "...You care for her very much, don't you?"

"Of course I do," I said with a big grin, "I'm surprised it never came up around you, Ruthie is my little sister," I started launching into my own head-canon about our familiar origins, "We were separated at birth you see. Long lost. And after many years apart, we came back together here. She sought me out without even knowing who I..." I trailed off when I noticed a change in Mister Rasputin's demeanor, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Mister Rasputin tried to say, only to realize that I wasn't buying it. Having no reason to keep anything from me, he let me know what was up, "I have little sister, Bellamy. A real one. She is... not with us anymore."

"Oh," I droned, feeling like a jerk for saying something that reminded him of his loss, "That sucks."

"Yes," Mister Rasputin agreed, understanding that I was at a loss for anything substantial to say, "It was not you speaking of Ruth that made me think. When you said in your report last week that the 'cure' Icarus had was simply a mutated version of the Legacy Virus, it brought up bad memories. Still fresh."

Again with that stupid virus. Damn pox of the mutant world, "The Legacy Virus killed you, didn't it?"

Mister Rasputin nodded, "It killed Illyana first," I winced sympathetically as he continued, "I had to watch my sister die in front of me. I could do nothing to save her. Was hardest thing I ever experienced."

And life hadn't gotten any easier for the man from that point. He'd killed himself to save the world from the Legacy Virus, got brought back from the dead, was experimented on, and then had to watch his girlfriend be shot off into space to save the world again. After all of that, he was stuck with my group of misfit mutant kids as an advisor.

It might have been years since the first of those things had happened, but as far as he was concerned, the time frame had been a matter of months. Mister Rasputin was a tough dude to suck it up and work through all of that.

On his desk was a small picture frame. It was a picture of him and a young blonde girl. His sister, I presumed, "What was her name?"

If nothing else, he was at least happy to share that much with me, "Illyana," I made sure to commit that name to memory, even though I would never meet her, "I miss my Little Snowflake every day, Bellamy. As do I miss Katya," I nodded stiffly at the reminder that my first teacher was gone, "Protect the ones that make you feel complete. It is probably the most important advice I could ever give you."