Marie was positive she was going to die in an elevator. Not in the way most people would think, with the pulley snapping and plummeting to death. No, she was convinced that the Wolverine would decorate the cream colored walls with her insides. By the look on his face after she seemingly caught a case of the inappropriate giggles, he was probably considering it. His jaw clenched right along with his fists, once again – or still? – in those gloves and thanks to Carol she had a sudden awareness of what those three slits in the knuckles were for.
If she thought the probing stare of the professor was bad, it paled in comparison to the barely restrained fury in the Wolverine’s eyes. One would think that the hazel color of them would be nice, if one wasn’t on the receiving end of a death glare. She wants to explain, but any variation of “sorry, it’s just your dead teammate” seems like bad form.
For reasons completely unknown to Marie the Wolverine doesn’t gut her. Instead he clenches his eyes to match his jaw and fists. When he turns away from her she can just make out his growled, “Un-fucking-believable.”
The elevator opens and for the hundredth time today Marie marvels that she’s still alive. Another cold-hot wave pass through her as Carol’s laughter floats through her mind – “wouldn’t have it any other way” – and the right side of Marie’s body goes numb.
“Hurry the hell up!” His barked order comes from halfway down the hall, but it’s as clear as if he was still next to her in the tiny elevator. Even though her right leg gives with every step she still presses on, hugging the wall for some sense of stability. Marie can only imagine what she looks like; stumbling, shaky, pressed to the wall, baggy borrowed scrubs covered in blood, tears, and sweat. It can’t be a coincidence that the hall is empty. He eyes her the entire way, as if she’s playing up her weakness, planning on getting the drop on him and run like a mad woman for escape. Maybe he can see that she actually does have that brief urge before the memory of not having anywhere to run to snuffs that out.
When she finally reaches him he only cocks his head again, this time to a closed door. It’s nice, better than nice, along with everything else decorating the hallway, and it’s just a door. She looks down at her ruined gloves and for some reason hates the thought of having to touch something so nice with them. The Wolverine must be considering the same thing, but for very different reasons, when he grunts and moves past her to open the door. Still, she hesitates before going in and has the absurd thought that he might just literally give her ass a kick so he can be rid of her. He must have more self-control than anyone would think because he just growls instead, but it’s a warning nonetheless. Whatever is inside that room can’t be any worse than what he can dish out. So she hops to…well, as much as anyone with a dead foot can hop.
If she thought the door was nice…
The walls were the same rich, dark wood with a glossy finish. The furniture, from the desk to the four-poster bed looked like antiques in a modernized way that only a lot of money could buy. A part of her that she thought she left in Mississippi noted the thick linens and started figuring the cost of the entire yardage. Xavier really was trying to kill her with kindness.
By the grumble coming from behind her, Marie could tell that this wasn’t the Wolverine’s preferred method of execution. She didn’t know if it was stupidity or a stolen need not to turn her back on a predator that made her turn to face him. The glare was back, along with the crossed arms and general “don’t fuck with me” attitude, but this time he added a curled lip around that crushed cigar, as if she was getting bored with the usual he gave her.
“I’m sorry.”
Crap.
Did she say that…out loud? Did she just mumble an apology for murdering his teammate? It looks like he’s thinking something similar. He’s got the same look on his face as he did in the elevator after Carol triggered her giggle switch. Like he can’t believe she has such a little amount of self-preservation. They might just be on the same page with that.
That look doesn’t last for long though and before she can figure out the proper etiquette for atonement she hears a SNIKT. The Wolverine – and she’s damn well sure there’s not an ounce of Logan in there this time – starts towards her with an accusing claw directed her way. Now she can truly understand the threat he carries in his frame, the unbridled fire in his eyes that he’s been working to reign in all day.
“You –” He barely spits out, the cigar gone somewhere around the time she started drowning in fear.
Her right leg is awash in numbness and she can only stumble back and pray that he makes this quick. Not Victor. Not Victor. Not Victor. She doesn’t remember closing her eyes, but she must have because when she doesn’t feel the burning puncture of metal claws in her gut she opens them. Nothing but dark fury stares back at her, the glinting of a claw separating the brief space between them. If it wasn’t for the bedpost at her back she’d be whimpering on the floor. She thinks she’s whimpering as is, the right side of her body still sagging. It’s probably a pitiful sight and she thinks the Wolverine might agree. It would be easy pickings. He does the sniffing thing again, taking a long hit of her this time, which reminds her of every fluid she’s caked in. Maybe he thinks that she’s not worth getting his claws dirty. With a lot of effort he closes his eyes and steps back, still tense, clenched, and radiating animosity. The claw slowly slides back home and without sparing her a glance the Wolverine turns and leaves, enough stiffness in his body to rival Scott’s. As Marie slumps to the floor Carol lets her know that neither one of them would appreciate the comparison.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
By the time she fills the tub for a third washing, Marie almost forgets that she’s still in enemy territory, that there’s a feral mutant who probably wants her dead, that her mind and body are no longer her own, and that her foster mother has something to do with it all. Forgetting is a lot harder now that she’s mostly lucid.
When she was able to get her feet back under her long after Logan had left, Marie discovered a change of clothing on the bed in colors that a nighttime - roadside construction worker would find too bright. Even if she was keen on the idea of leaving her new room, Marie just couldn’t fathom doing so in Rainbow Bright’s rejected clubwear. Someone thought it would be hilarious to see the poisonous killer wander around a school in a tube top, a long sleeve shirt that was nowhere near opaque, a skirt that would make her Baptist birth mother blush, and hose fit for a streetwalker. All in various shades of neon. The X-Men had to be laughing it up right about now. Not to forget her mutation, they had left her a cheap pair of white costume gloves that looked far too cartoonish for her taste. Now this kind of torture made sense. At least they had salvaged her long green coat and boots.
After dressing, Marie only dared one look in the closet mirror before recoiling in horror. Yes, this was definitely torture. Even Carol was appalled that the new body she inhabited looked like a glow-in-the-dark hooker. Keeping far away from that traitorous mirror, Marie wrapped herself in her coat and parked herself on the bench in front of the window. She was afforded a view of well manicured gardens, a far cry from the near cave of her former home.
Even in the ridiculous outfit Marie would almost go as far to say that she nearly felt human after bathing and luxuriating in the toiletries left for her. Almost. She’s a mutant, after all. There are a lot of people who wouldn’t qualify her as human. She’s also a killer and a couple of baths can wash away the blood on her hands, but the stain on her soul is permanent. Marie closes her eyes as she rests her head against the cool glass of the window. None of it makes sense. She’s not exactly ignorant of the Brotherhood’s activities. She’s overheard enough boasting to know the kinds of things they do. She’s listened to enough of Erik’s lectures to know what they’re after.
Doesn’t mean she agrees with it.
Mystique found her, took her in, clothed her, fed her, and it seemed like she cared for her…in her own way. Marie was never forced to take part in anything the Brotherhood did, Mystique was adamant about that. She was also pretty adamant about telling Marie just how important she was. Well, how important her mutation was. Hours were spent on her potential. If it wasn’t for her terroristic tendencies and general disregard for human emotions, Mystique would’ve made a killing as a motivational speaker. Instead she forces her foster daughter to do the killing. So what, was it take your kid to work day? That bitterness is all Marie this time and she has the absurd idea of testing the window’s thickness and hoping that Carol’s flight ability fails her when she then sets out to test gravity.
What the hell happened? Where did all that brass and southern spitfire go? She can’t blame Carol’s influence on the bleak turn of her thoughts because she was miserable long before this…incident ever happened. Not for the first time, Marie thinks that Mystique only kept her from dying on the streets so she could slowly kill her with life among the Brotherhood.
Pummeling of fists on the door breaks her out of her thoughts. “Hey, are you decent!?” Without even waiting for an answer her intruder barged in and…well, that was a whole lot of yellow on one tiny person.
Marie had an inkling of where her donated clothes came from.
“So you’re the big bad Rogue, huh?” The girl looked like she was Marie’s age, maybe a little younger, late teens. One thing was clear; whoever this girl was she had no concept of less is more. It took Marie a bit to remember that she had been asked a question and even longer to get her throat cleared to answer.
“Just Rogue.”
The yellow girl cocked a hip and put her hand there. “Well I’m the big bad Jubilee and I can take you. So don’t get any ideas.”
“I don’t have ideas.” Marie lamely replied.
Like the Wolverine, this Jubilee must have decided that Marie wasn’t worth a second thought. The girl walked over and flung herself on the bed, chin propped on fists, yellow booted feet in the air.
“So, word on the street is that you killed Carol.” Jubilee popped her gum while Marie winced. She had a feeling that she’d have the same reaction for the rest of her life.
The yel- Jubilee – shrugs. “Whatever. Ding dong the bitch is dead.” Oh…oh this girl either had a lot of balls or…
“Exc – uhm….what?” Marie couldn’t have heard her right.
“Carol. Super bitch.” …or was just a whole lot of brass. The girl in question offered another shrug. A shrug?! “Like, big time. Thought she was the shit and that everyone should know. Made my life hell. Oh, also, big time slut.” Jubilee popped her gum again and gave a decisive nod.
Marie had no words for that. Carol did though, and they all seem to be directed at the yellow girl stretching out her gum and they were just as vicious.
“I mean, like I know you’re not supposed to bad mouth the dead and stuff, but she was a total. Bitch. Complete Brotherhood material if you ask me.” Jubilee flicked her dark eyes towards Marie. “Uh, no offense.” What? Marie wouldn't be offended by that even if she could access that emotion behind all of the confusion she was mired in.
“Uh, aren’t…I mean, ya’ll are…aren’t ya supposed to be…”
“One big happy family?” Jubilee supplied. “Not so much. I mean, like sometimes yeah, but that’s usually the Junior X-Men. We’re tight, but there is nothing but drama on the main team.” This girl, this intruder, this person with seriously questionable taste in clothing was gossiping with the enemy? Marie was even more lost than she was in isolation.
“So. How’d my digs work out for you?” Jubilee sat up at that change of subject, but Marie was still stuck. Was this a way to lure her in? Have one of their team befriend her? Get fake information about problems within the X-Men? Out of habit, Marie reached up to rub her temples, feeling a headache coming on, hoping that Carol isn’t gearing up for playtime.
“Oh hell.” The girl is looking at her hands. Yeah, the killer skin is real – “Those are awful. Let me see the rest of you.” Oh the gloves. Yeah, they’re pretty bad, just like the rest of what she’s decked out in. Since she recognized Jubilee’s handiwork, Marie stands up and opens her coat, feeling all the world like some neon-fetish flasher.
“Damn. I know we’re not supposed to like you, but…geez. Even I can’t dish out this kind of torture.” With a sigh, Jubilee stands. “Guess I’m the only one who can rock something as fierce as that. C’mon my vampire pal, let’s find you something totally boring to wear.”
Marie doesn’t quite follow, literally and figuratively. “Huh?”
“Well you drain people right? Kind of like a vampire?” Jubilee stops just before she reaches the door and pops on the yellow-framed sunglasses that were sitting on her head. “They’re all the rage now.”
Marie can’t hold back a snort. “Yeah, I bet I’m real popular.”
“Dunno. Most people will probably hate you ‘cause you know, the whole Brotherhood and killing an X-Man thing.” Tact, thy name is not Jubilee.
“And you?”
“Wouldn’t pee on you if you were on fire, but you did knock off Carol for me. So the enemy of my enemy is someone I’m not going to outright kick the shit out of, right?” When she raises her hands, Marie sees sparkles shoot up from Jubilee’s palms. The girl in sunglasses smiles. Balls or brass?
“Uh, sure. Makes…sense…I guess.” No, nothing about this really does.
“Cool. Let’s get to it, chica.”
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Jubilee, Jubilation Lee, Jubes, Ms. Lee, Queen Bee - whichever of the many names she was going by that were rattled off to Marie – showed her where the mansion kept the second hand clothing. Jubilee looked around like everything was covered in Toad’s slime and of course, called it something not as nice. Once again the hallways were empty. Marie was told that it was dinnertime and while asked if she “wanted in”, she knew that the question was obligatory and there was no way Marie was welcome. Jubes didn’t elaborate why she hated Carol and the Carol in her head wasn’t giving her any clues so Marie decided to keep quiet.
Heading back to her room with a couple bags of more appropriate clothes, even some gloves, Marie felt a little better. At least if the X-Men killed her, she wouldn’t die in Rainbow Bright streetwear.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Oh hi again! So I was going to wait for a beta, but this is a short chapter and A) I want to make sure anyone who showed interest, still will after this and B) it's a gift for a friend :D
Oh, also....uh....don't throw anything too hard at my head if you're not happy with Wolvie in this chapter....because....uh....you probably won't be....
*ducks for cover*
Oh, also....uh....don't throw anything too hard at my head if you're not happy with Wolvie in this chapter....because....uh....you probably won't be....
*ducks for cover*
Chapter End Notes:
Oh hey there. So what's Jubes playing at? Is she playing? What's all that "drama" about?
So how 'bout that temper of Logan's, huh? Guys? Uh, don't hate me.
So how 'bout that temper of Logan's, huh? Guys? Uh, don't hate me.