"Are you sure you're up to this? Things can get pretty rough at night." Karl was a lanky man with graying hair that contradicted his youthful face. He wore black thick-rimmed glasses, skinny jeans and worn-out shirt and sneakers. He was obviously going for the hipster/starved artist look. He gave her a once over again and frowned. "I'm not going to pay you if you–"

"Just shut up and listen to me, OK?" Rogue said impatiently. Avoiding another useless appraisal of her looks, she darts to the front of the dim bar and picks up the dark blue Les Paul, plugged it in the amp, gave it an experimental strum and began a solo rift. Aiming to impress, she picks a favorite Racer X song, Viking Kong, knowing the audience wouldn't appreciate Amazing Grace at this hour. She bops her head in tune, lost in the music, reliving her pre-mutie days as the only girl in their small town rock band, Anna Marie. The Cody in her head would probably forgive her for rendering him in a coma –this was his favorite song too.

Never knew you played, darlin', Wolverine commented, clearly pleased, just like Karl who was probably drooling. But, unlike the owner of the bar, Wolverine was a little disappointed that she never told him. And that good too?

You never asked, Rogue thought noncommittally, and focused on her rift. After her piece, the only thing she could hear was the loud beating of her heart. She noticed that everybody was quiet, gaping at her like she was Hank in a pink tutu. Instead of blushing and fishing for praise, (ok, maybe she was blushing, but the dim lighting hid that fact well enough), she puts the guitar back down and stomps back to him. "So? Good enough, right?"

The owner nodded as if he was hypnotized.

"Now, as long as you pay me fair and don't let anybody lay a finger on me, I can play whatever song you want and sing too, if the vocalist dies. Gotta warn you in advance though, mister, I won't sing pop songs." Rogue kept her chin up high, like she was the one in charge.

To her surprise (and relief), Karl started laughing. "You got yourself a deal, Joan Jett."

Actually, she was more of a Jennifer Batten fan, but she'll give this man what he wants. Rogue knew this was much better than washing plates or waiting on tables. She didn't want to strip either. At least she can be on the stage, untouchable, without selling her sexuality to drunken, smelly men.

"Just make sure you show some skin, JJ," the man said before leaving her to talk to someone else .

Well, so much for that. At least she'd be doing something she knew she loved to do. Back at Xavier's, she never got around to playing, as all the instruments present there were for classical music. Also, the electric guitar made her feel connected to her roots, not that she wanted to return there though. But it was a nice change, feeling Mississippi in her heart in the middle of nowhere.

"I'll be needing at least three rounds tonight, people!" Karl announced loudly. "30-minute breaks or less in between sets. I need to hear music all the fucking time. Get ready! We'll be opening soon!"

Rogue padded to the front again and picked up the guitar. Taking her place by the side to the wall –the one away from people, she leans against the bar stool, and starts strumming. It took her a while to notice that the other band members were actually gussying up before the show.

"You can't be wearing the Goth look, babe," someone said from behind her. The drummer. He was referring to her gloves, her black long sleeves, black pants. Black everything. "You can make that guitar weep, but people need something to look at."

Did he just call you babe? Wolvering was quick to answer, Punch 'im out cold, darlin'. You don't need–

Actually, the musician has a point, dear, Erik countered.

Rogue growled at him nonetheless. Woops.

"Just sayin'," the drummer mumbled, throwing his hands up in defense.

Sighing because she knew Erik and the drummer had a point, Rogue stopped strumming and made her way to the ladies' room. She went to the furthest sink and tied her hair in a tight, high ponytail, letting her platinum locks loose by her cheeks. She eyed the mirror in front of her and wondered how else could she look better. Her eyes looked tired, the dark circles around them getting more evident the more she stared. Her lips were still plump, slightly chapped, but she looked pale and cold.

Pretty as fuck, I think, Wolverine smirks. Or should I say pretty to fu–

No one was asking for your opinion, pervert. Erik gives her a mental pat on the back. But you are always a beauty, never doubt that.

You guys aren't helping at all, Rogue thought. She bit her lips hard in an attempt to make them redder. Alive. She pinched her cheeks in an attempt to make them rosy. She was nervous. Shaking her head, she reminded herself, "No one can touch you. You can do this." She shut her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath and unbuttoned her long-sleeved shirt. She slipped the garment off and then her camisole. She lets out a curse as she stares at her black-laced push-up bra. Sorry girls, she said, referring to the generous cleavage on show.

Rawr, Wolverine growled playfully. Me thinks–

He was then muffled somewhere in her mind, while Rogue was too busy putting the long-sleeved shirt back on sans cami, but this time, she left all the buttons open, baring her midriff. Then she heard a toilet flush from one of the cubicles behind her, and out stepped the mocha-skinned vocalist of the band.

The woman gives her a smile from the mirror as she washes her hands. "Heard you play. You're good." She then took something from her pocket and placed it on the sink as she gave Rogue a nod of encouragement. "Name's Koren. We'll be waiting for you out there, 'k?"

Rogue only managed to stare as Koren left, and rushed to the little black tube of lipstick waiting by the porcelain sink. She popped the cap, twisted it open and with a pout, she applied the crimson lipstick onto her lips.

"You look pretty good, chica." Marie could almost hear her friend Jubilee's voice from the other side of the room. It was only now that she wondered if she would have still left if Jubilee didn't leave for college. Knowing it was hopeless to ponder on yet another absent person in her life, Rogue slid the lipstick back in her pocket and gave herself two thumbs up. She grinned at her reflection. Sexy yet subtle. That'll do.

Now, on with the show.

Logan inwardly flinched when the singer crooned at the front. A waitress put another bottle of beer in front of him right after he downed the one he was drinking. He told himself to stay for a few more minutes before going back on the road. He lit another cigar, took a puff, and then a long drag. He closes his eyes for a second, his senses appeased; nothing out of the ordinary was happening so far.

When in the city, Logan did his thinking time in bars. The thick atmosphere was mainly clouded with smoke and alcohol –an amiable distraction from all those suffocating teenage hormones at the school. Here, the hushed whispers and poor music were nothing compared to the sudden screeches, squeals, whining, and a whole bunch of unexpected bull he put up with at the mansion.

Just to think, which was a good sign that he was still in control. If, however, major self-recollection was necessary, he would be so far up in nature's ass until he reemerged as Tarzan. Nowadays, though, he didn't feel lost, rather,lacking. The more he got used to routine at the mansion, the more he was starting to really, genuinely miss her.

Marie had been such a normal part of his life in the mansion for the past few years, and sometimes he wished that when he got back from his long drives, she'd drop him a hi or hello before he went back to his room. Because she always said goodnight to him before, no matter how late it was. She'll have a book in hand, but deep inside he knew she was just using reading as an excuse to wait for him. Sometimes it was her iPod. Sometimes she really was just there, waiting. She was always so sweet to him, Marie was.

Logan found it incredulous why he kept postponing the real, serious search for Marie. What was keeping him from doing so? For one, his sensible side was urging him to respect her decision. He didn't want to look like an outraged parent who wanted to ground her in the house because she ran away. It wasn't like she was a child. Kid.

But the Wolverine was forcing him out of this train of thought, claiming it was his responsibility to take care of her, whether she needed it or not. What if she was in real trouble then? What if she was already dead in a ditch somewhere? The thought of Marie lifeless made his blood run cold.

She's still alive and you know it. She just wants you to find her.

Logan felt antsy with the prospect of seeing her again, as if she would find out about a secret he was keeping. What the fuck.

Man up, bub.

You need to find her soon.

Need her now.

Need to see her.

Need.

Logan growled to himself, dissatisfied and perplexed at the same time. He was such a fuck up. An indecisive, horrendous, badass motherfucking fuck-up.

"But I'm in so deep, you know I'm such a fool for you…" the woman at the front sang. "You got me wrapped around your finger… Do you have to let linger? Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger…"

"How fitting," Logan grunted quietly, feeling the exasperation consume him. His brows knit together when he remembered Marie humming this particular tune on those random days he was in her presence, singing softly when she thought he wasn't listening to her.

Oh, I thought the world of you,

I thought nothing could go wrong,

But I was wrong, I was wrong.

Now this is what he didn't like about Marie. She always had him thinking, always wondering. Like her scent, shealways let it linger. Like honeyed vanilla. And by god, he had always taken it for granted, just sniffing it like the animal he was, content to have her sweet scent in his room, the hallway, the kitchen, the library, and everywhere he saw her. Everywhere she had smiled at him, especially after she bade him goodnight or see you later. Never goodbye.

Logan took a big gulp of his beer. 

But you always really knew,

I just wanna be with you.

"Oh, fuck."