Disclaimer thingie: Marvel owns the X-Men and all of their relatives. BBC/Lionheart own Doctor Who and Ms. Sam-Jones. Highlander is, iirc, owned by Rysher Entertainment. Buffy is owned by Joss Whedon (all hail the Master) and Fox/WB.
Marya, otoh, is mine. Borrow her without asking and I'll have my lackeys get medieval on your roody-poo candy ass.
PG13/R for swearing and some nastiness.
Author's notes: I've been tricked into rewriting a ton of X-history, so bear with me.
Dedication: To Lynxie, because she's half-co-plotter, or something. And because she wouldn't let me stop writing -.- To Acetal for betaing this monster, it ain't over yet, bub. To KayJay and Mitai and Alicia for the origin of the crazy idea. And to Tapestry for helping Lynxie kick me and get it finished.
And, last but not least, this is--for those few who haven't been involved with it--a Challenge. Guess the Author.
The Rise and Fall of the House of DeZorga, 1
Finding That Spark of Beginning
by Suzy DeZorga
It was going to be one of those days.
Life in the ever-complicated and oft-destroyed and rebuilt X-Mansion was never easy. But then there were days like this. Days when you were dragged shopping with your arch-enemy (not that you called her that, or let anyone KNOW that she was that. Oh, no, you just grinned and bore it and tried not to kill her 'accidentally') and her lovely cohorts.
Of course, I had brought this horrible occurrence upon myself just by living. I seemed to attract trouble, wherever I went. Like that time in Salzburg when the little Gestapo officer caught me hiding with that lovely family. They got out and went on to singing stardom. Me? I ended up in yet another rat-infested cell for a few months. Had some fun seducing the officers, of course.
The mall being our destination, I decided to be charitable and let Jean drive. Jean Grey, once possessor of the Phoenix Force. Not that THAT was all that great a pedigree. As the mother of the Phoenix Force, I should know. But, back to Jean, the redheaded love of a man *I* found myself in love with. Thorn in the side, annoyance...
"Marya, Zales or Sam Goody first?" Jean asked cheerfully.
Considering we were apparently Christmas shopping, I decided not to answer that one on the grounds I'd sound bitchy. Luckily, Rogue answered for me.
"Ah'd like to hit that glove store, first."
"We could split up," Jean said, a bit uncertainly. She was trying to act like she wanted us to all have Fun together.
The other two shoppers with us were the lovely Weather Goddess-turned-lackey, Storm. And, aside from Rogue -- our resident Southe'n Belle, was Betsy Braddock. The purple-haired Braddock was the resident Ninja.
I think she just didn't want me roaming around with one of Xavier's credit cards.
"Jean, why don't you go with Rogue?" Betsy suggested. "I can go with Marya and Storm."
"That's okay, I'm--" Fine on my own, my brain completed as Jean overrode me.
"That's perfect! Ororo, you and Betsy can show Marya around the mall." She turned to leave our vicinity with Rogue, then called over her shoulder, "And don't forget the Secret Santa gifts for our visitors!"
"Like we could forget," I muttered.
Betsy's soft chuckle told me she agreed with me on that. "Let's go, ladies. I need to find that perfect gift for Warren."
"And I, Charles," Ororo said calmly. It was the first thing the Weather Goddess had said in some time. She didn't like me.
At least, that's what the tendrils of emotion that slipped past my shields told me. I reached out and strengthened them as the mall patrons began penetrating them. Stupid of me not to remember to thicken them before entering. A melange of frenzy, hysteria and greed slammed into me for an instant, then was gone into soothing silence.
Neither of my companions had noticed my falter, and I was grateful. Wouldn't do for any of them to guess how powerful and sensitive I actually was. Charles Xavier, planet's greatest telepath? *Bzzzzzz* Sorry. Wrong answer. Thanks to my genes, I'm apparently the world's most powerful telempath. Considering my parentage, it shouldn't come as a surprise.
From everything I've been able to piece together, my parents are a test tube containing gene pieces from a thousand different mutants and Inhumans. From what the Mother Askani told me as I was sent back through several time storms, I'm the saviour of the world. Or something like that.
I was never asked, just told. And then dropped into the Middle Ages to start learning. Not that it wasn't fun, or anything. I happen to like swinging a twenty-two pound sword around...
But I digress. The current situation is that I'm a member -- or, will be, once I pass my initiation -- of the X-Men. A group of mutants battling the baddies in a world that fears and hates them. And, in a few days, the various auxillary teams of the extended X-Family will be joining us at the mansion for the Christmas and New Year holidays.
And so, we were to find extra gifts for them. In case they forgot it was Christmas. My streak of perversity was urging me to the most expensive store. My practical side suggested the dollar store. And my playful side won out.
We went to Kay Bee.
----
Shopping the week before Christmas in a toy store is an art form composed of elbows, knees and a few hip-checks. I made it to the aisle of the Boy and began grabbing small things. A few toy cars, a few action figures -- GI Joe, Transformers and Beastmaster -- and a few of the strange little gadgets like yoyos with wrestling stars on them. Somewhere nearby I could hear Storm muttering under her breath. The poor thing was claustrophobic. I thought about that for a moment then decided to get a few puzzles too.
It's not that I'm unfeeling or anything. But if we wanted to get out of this bloody mall any time SOON, it would require fortitude from all of us. Still...
"Ororo?" I called. Best to not use our code names -- might tip off the shoppers that we were super-heroes.
"Yes, Marya?" Good. She was still speaking to me.
"Could you take care of this stuff while I try to find a few other things?" A sort of lie. I doubted any of the women on the X-Teams wanted Barbie for Christmas.
Well, maybe some of the blondes might. I halted that train of thought and handed over the small basket of goodies to Ororo as she exited her aisle. "Here, love. Get these checked out and go sit on a bench. Betsy and I should be out eventually."
The Goddess gave me an odd look, then nodded regally and appropriated my basket. "I shall do so."
"Cool." My only concession to the slang of the time was the word cool. At least, that's what I tried to tell myself as I wended my way to where Braddock was inspecting the stuffed animals. Poor girl was boxed into the corner, shoppers milling around her. A few gaped at her hair. Most ignored it, though. In a day and age when green hair was common, purple was generally not considered interesting.
Now, blue skin might have caused comment. In the Middle Ages it hadn't, of course, thanks to the Scot and Irish Berserkers. But in this day and age of skin-colour and sexual preference making you what you were...I had a feeling the Irish Berserkers would have already finished their own space station to get away from the heathens.
I waved cheerily to Betsy and stepped into the corner, snagging a few stuffed rabbits. "Shall we hit the checkout? I hear there's a twenty minute wait at the moment."
"Indeed." Braddock nodded coolly. "Shall we?"
I nodded and turned to go. And found myself rudely shoved backwards by a woman in her thirties. She was mumbling under her breath and sort of careening around, searching for presents.
"You know," I said to Betsy conversationally, as I shoved an elbow between two shoppers and snagged her arm dragging us both clear of the bottleneck, "people used to be more intelligent and kind."
"Did they?" she asked dryly, as we high-tailed it to the checkout area, our purchases in hand.
"Not really, but it seemed like something to say at the time." I flashed a silly grin at her.
She smiled back, and for an instant the shadows in her eyes disappeared and they sparkled a lovely amethyst. The eyes matched the hair, both purple and brilliant. Personally, I sorta wished I had her hair. Mine was too bloody different to ever do anything but attract attention.
Thanks to the gene stew that was my heritage, my hair was several colours. Red, black, brown, blonde, and that didn't even count a few of the neon highlights. My eyes matched it, with both wavering between blue, green, brown, amber and black. I'd heard that Braddock had gone through the Siege Perilous among other things. Apparently the body she now had wasn't exactly her own.
I wouldn't mind a trip through the Siege myself, if I ended up looking short and dumpy at the end. The bane of my existance -- although, I must admit being able to go dancing on rooftops without any problems is useful. Anyway, the bane of my existence being the hair, the well-toned body, and the bust. All women are not graced equally.
The clerk at the counter had a hard time raising her eyes from my cleavage. I fought down a sigh and wondered how a t-shirt that proclaimed "I'm a bitch, ask me how." could be attractive. Of course, it was black. But that's beside the point.
After making our purchases, Betsy and I exited the over-crowded store and fought through an eddy of shopping traffic to find Storm seated on a bench near the center of the mall. The Weather Goddess was looking calmer. She stood up and came toward us as we approached. "Betsy, Marya, I believe our next stop should be the bookstore and then the music store."
"As they're next to each other, we could even do both," Betsy said, grinning slightly.
Storm smiled at her and nodded to me. "Shall we?"
"Certainly," I replied, grinning myself. "Gift certificates, and my Secret Santa present for Remy are up next."
"Indeed. I must find Charles'." The Weather Goddess looked at me. "Are you certain--"
"I'll be able to find something for Remy? Yeah." I grinned even more. "Reallly won't be a problem. Trust me on that one."
I'd grown up with Remy LeBeau. Oh, not completely, but when the second time storm removed me from Egypt, I was in the Bayou, and a man by the name of Henri LeBeau found me sprawled on his front porch the next morning. I spent the next seven years of my life learning to be a thief and an assassin, as Henri's cousin Girard taught me both. "You're gonna be a lov'ly lady, gal, needta learn everyt'in'." And so he taught me to defend myself and kill. And Henri taught me to steal. Sounds all great, huh?
Remy himself was my first kiss. I was a blossoming thirteen at the time and had just discovered boys. Remy was fifteen and in love with Belle, the daughter of one of the assassins. Devious person that I am, I convinced him practise was a good thing. I sighed, remembering how the night after that little kissing session, a time storm dragged me away and landed me in the Middle Ages. King Arthur's time, to be precise.
And some people think living on the street is primitive. Bah. It's nothing compared to living in an age that believes bathing will destroy your mind.
I found myself wondering if Storm was upset that I'd drawn Remy in the Secret Santa gift exchange, then shrugged. She could deal with it, I was sure. After all, the lad mooned over Rogue.
Which brought me to remembering my first glimpse of the vaunted X-Men.
I'd been asked by Nick Fury to 'visit' the X-Men, due to the fact that he wanted an operative of some sort watching them. From the inside, as it were. Since I'd left the Avengers about three years before, I'd been a freelance mercenary, pulling jobs here and there. And running into bloody SHIELD.
Sable Enterprises had employed me to recover a security system. Unfortunately, the lady that runs that operation neglected to tell me it was a SHIELD installation I was raiding. Colour me surprised when Nick Fury himself apprehended me. Luckily, he decided to get me drunk and pump me for info on Sable. Also, luckily, I have a high alcohol tolerance and knew nothing about Sable.
Drinking Nick Fury under the table was apparently cause for respect. A week later, I was let go with instructions to try NOT to burgle him again. And then a month later, I got a message. He had a job for me. I did that job, killed some people, and got him the info. Three months later, he called again. And so it went like that until about a week ago.
"Marya, I need you to run a rig for me. But it's...complicated." Fury sounded a bit hesitant. Nick NEVER sounded hesitant.
I refrained from hanging up on him and asked the fatal question. "Complicated, how?"
"We need you to join the X-Men."
I let the silence drag, then gave in and doubled over, laughing. "Nick," I gasped out around my semi-hysteria, "Nick, let me talk to you face to face on this, okay?"
He sounded relieved when he agreed to a time and place.
Once Nick explained the assignment to me -- over hot cocoa and muffins at a local coffee shoppe --I decided to accept it. After all, how often do you get to play with such legendary figures as the X-Men? He fixed some things and called in a favour with Charles Xavier, and boom. I was in like fleece on a lamb.
A young man with tousled blond hair answered the door to my knock. He took in my black leather jacket over black jeans and t-shirt with the "I'm a Slayer, ask me how" logo on it (The shirt had been a gift from an old friend of mine. Suffice it to say, Rupert was now Watching a young Slayer by the name of Buffy.) and then spotted my luggage.
I interrupted him before he could ask. "Hi, I'm Marya DeZorga. SHIELD sent me as a liasion. And you would be?" I asked politely, even though I knew from the hair and picture from the file that this was Samuel Guthrie, aka Cannonball.
"Hallo, ma'am, Ah'm Sam Guthrie. C'mon in, I'll fetch the Professor."
He turned and left before I had a chance to respond. I shrugged, grinned and grabbed my bag off the stoop and stepped in. The front hall I stepped into reminded me of those facades on the old shops in Chinatown and other portions of downtown New York. As if it was just what you were supposed to see, that there was something else underneath. I thinned my shields and let little feelers of empathy slip around. They slithered out into other rooms, encountering a few people and plants, then the awareness expanded up above me and below.
Underground. It made sense that the living quarters would be there, my mind agreed. On the edge of my perception, I sensed a mind, searching. For mine? A telepath. Quickly, I pulled back everything and thinned out my shields, pulling the layer that was my public mind up and to the fore. Let whoever it was read that. No way in hell they were getting any deeper into my mind.
A sound came from down the corridor and three people stepped into view, then stopped, blinking at me. The middle one was tall and dark, a tattoo of an 'M' over his right eye. The look he gave me made me almost laugh. It was so blatantly an "I'm a big, badass security guard! You will respect Mah Authoritay!" look. The man to his right was lazily appraising me with red eyes rimmed in black. His hair was longer and curlier, and he was taller, but I knew him.
The third person in the trio was a grinning young man with dark blond hair and blue eyes. He had an air about him as if he was waiting for the next opportunity to crack a joke. My mind automatically labeled them Clown, Guard and Thief before I was able to pull out the relevant file pages (mentally) and call them Bobby, Bishop and Remy.
"Hello, gentlemen." I nodded coolly to them, waiting for their leader to appear. After all, he was the one I really needed to impress. "Marya DeZorga."
"Allo, chere, I'm Remy LeBeau, this here guard-dog is Bishop and yon drooling puppy be Bobby Drake." Remy made the introductions.
I nearly told him I knew who he was, then decided to wait. "Hallo." We all politely shook hands, Remy kissing the back of mine extravagantly.
As he straightened, another movement came from the hall and a bald man in a wheelchair entered. Charles Xavier. World-premiere telepath, Headmaster of the Xavier institute for Higher Learning and leader of the X-Men. He looked at me and held out his hand. "Miss DeZorga, I presume."
"It's Ms," I corrected, taking his hand and smiling charmingly. "And, yes, 'tis I." I tilted my head to the side, mischief getting the better of me. "Actually, it's Marya Louisa Susanna DeZorga, to be precise."
And that didn't cover the myriad titles I'd accrued over the centuries.
The Professor, to his credit, didn't blink at the long rolling list of names. He merely nodded and turned to Bobby. "Robert, if you could please find Scott and Jean, and have them meet me in my study?" As Bobby nodded, looked at me one last time and scampered off, he turned to Bishop and Remy. "And if the two of you might find the rest of the students?"
"Yes, sir," Bishop nodded. Remy winked at me and followed the hulking guard out of the room.
"If you will follow me?" He wheeled around and started down the hall. I silently followed him through a sumptuously decorated house and into a well-appointed study on the ground floor. It was paneled in mahogany and red leather. Er, the seats were red leather, the carpet red and a golden brown to complement the rest of the room. Xavier wheeled himself behind a large cherry wood desk and looked up at me. "Have a seat," he gestured.
I looked at the two leather and wood chairs, shrugged, and flopped into the left-hand one. The one nearest the windows. I have a window fetish, I admit it. I like knowing where they are and being able to get to them and then go through them, if need be. Must be the thief in me.
As he studied me, so I studied him. There wasn't much to see, at first. Just an older man (well, not to me, but...) completely bald, a set of dark, but clear, blue eyes. They were intelligent too. He knew I was looking him over, just as I knew that he was. Distantly, I could feel his mind probing around mine, looking for cracks. He wouldn't find any. I'm a telempath and I'm 1000 years old, give or take a few years -- I've gotten to the point of rounding things like that up, recently. My training and shields are about as high and refined as you can get.
My 'public mind' is the only thing he could possibly read. It's a collection of thoughts and memories that amount to about twenty-five years of life. It's multi-layered, complex, and reads as 'me'. It isn't, but it does. The painstaking layering that had gone into that shield had taken nearly an entire day, and left me exhausted for a week. Don't ever let anyone tell you mind powers don't beg a price. It's just like running a 50k marathon.
Xavier finally broke the silence. "Tell me, Ms. DeZorga," he steepled his fingers and leaned forward, still studying me. "Why are you here?"
"Fury sent me. Said you needed another player -- that there'd been some threats and such against your person." I nodded at him. "As a bodyguard, for you, specifically."
"And you're a mutant."
It wasn't a question. Fury had obviously sent him my file, "Yes. Telempath, partial TK and a dollop of something that promotes the re-knitting of tissue. A healing factor, if you will." One thing I'd learned long ago. Tell them the truth and they always underestimate you.
While I was musing on that lovely fact, the door behind me opened and several people bustled in. The one in the lead was a statuesque redhead with green eyes and a lovely smile. Behind her ranged Bobby, and another man with brown hair and a business-like look. He looked tired, too. I guessed he was the one that handled the leading side of everything.
"Ah, Scott, Jean, Bobby." The Professor nodded at all three in turn and waved at me. "This is Marya DeZorga. She'll be joining us a tactical consultant and as a back-up to Jean."
Scott turned to look at me, his look impersonal. "And she was recommended to us, by?" The man was worried, I could tell from the way his emotions were coloured. He didn't trust me, he didn't trust whoever had sent me, and he was a bit upset that the Professor obviously did.
"Nick Fury," I said, and watched shock and a bit of fear cross his face before he closed down and pulled on his poker face. "And he sent me to help. Hell, once he explained the reason for the forming of the X-Men, I almost volunteered."
"Why?"
"I've seen too much war. Peace is a good thing." For an instant, I thought of telling him how many wars I'd lived through. How often I'd seen people killed for no reason other than that they were different. But I knew he wouldn't believe me. Just like they wouldn't believe that I was old enough to be all of their ancestors. And just might have been.
Bobby snorted and grinned at me. "You sound so serious when you say that. Lighten up, lady."
For an instant I looked at him, the weight of centuries pressing down on me. He flinched. I grinned. "I always do."
"Now that you've finished interrogating the newest memeber of our team, Scott, I'd like you to--" The Professor was cut off as the door swung open again and several more people walked in. In the lead was someone I recognised.
"As you requested, Professor, I have brought--"
I was out of my chair and pouncing Logan before Bishop could finish his statement. I think I startled Logan. I know I startled everyone else. "Logan, luv, haven't seen you in bloody ages!"
"Suzy!" He looked at me, surprised, then chuckled softly, playing along with my exuberance. "I take it you've gotten yourself in trouble again."
"Me?" I stepped back from the hug and attempted to look innocent and sweet. Logan wasn't having any of it, so I grinned and shrugged. "Well, sort of."
He snorted and turned to the Professor. "She's a handful and trouble, but she'll back us unto death."
I felt touched. It was the nicest thing I'd ever heard Logan say about me. "Doing it too brown, m'friend."
"Yes." He looked at me, his eyes suddenly turning serious. "I know you."
Blinking, I stepped back for a second before recovering. I understood what he was saying, since he was projecting it discreetly. Don't mess with his people, and don't screw their lives up and he wouldn't kill me. "Yes, you do," I replied softly, before turning to the rest and sticking out a hand. "Hi, I'm Marya DeZorga, and you all are..?"
It was Braddock who approached me first. Her purple hair was held away from her face by a scrunchy, and her clothing told me she must've been working out. She looked at me neutrally as she shook my hand. "Elizabeth Braddock."
"Nice to meet you."
One by one the others introduced themselves. Ororo Munroe, white hair, gorgeous brown skin. Scott Summers, who nearly got asked if he had any relatives in Sunnydale, CA. Jean Grey, who smiled at me and made sure to flash her engagement ring for my perusal. I was betting it was Scott she'd bagged. Bishop, who shook my hand and tried to break it. Or at least make me cry out. I didn't. Rogue, who shook my hand with hers in a glove and made me almost ask if that white streak in her hair was dyed. Warren Worthington the Third, who shook my hand and flashed that playboy smile and made me wonder why he wasn't off chatting with his stock broker. And then there was Remy.
"Hallo, Ma'amselle, I--"
"Hallo, Remy," I interrupted him, smirking slightly. "Nice to see you again."
The recognition that had surfaced for an instant earlier and then been buried under disbelief came back. "Louisa?"
"Yep." I hugged him, as he stood, frozen. I stepped back and looked at his face in concern. "I'm sorry to have broken it to you this way, but..."
"Non, 'tis okay, ma cherie." He hugged me fiercely for an instant, then let me go and grinned. "Dis could turn out to be a fun gig, neh?"
I snorted. "This isn't a gig. Is it?"
There was more discussion, but it was boring and I tuned it out, since my brain would catch it and I could review it later. Instead, I tried to figure out where the research scientist rumoured to be on the premises, one Dr Henry McCoy, was. According to my sources, the man was a mutant and covered in blue fur. He also was researching the Legacy virus, something that interested me greatly. I wanted Legacy destroyed. Plus, I wondered if he would remember meeting me.
Three days later, I still haven't met the elusive Dr McCoy. I'm beginning to suspect he's a figment of everyone's imaginations. Considering that three-quarters of what everyone considers the 'Chivalry' of the ages is imagination, this wouldn't surprise me.
At the moment, though, what was surprising me was the sight of Ororo Munroe, Weather Goddess, dancing absently to the music over the sound system in the Sam Goody we were in. I stopped remembering the last few days and listened to the music.
~o/Love me, hate me, hurt me and break me.
Want me and take me, but don't ever leave me!/o~
It was techno. Chick techno, and it was British. It was also something I recognised, having gone clubbing in Britain earlier in the year. Republica had finally hit the States.
"Lovely song, innit?" I said conversationally.
"Hm?" Storm looked up from sorting through a stack of cds.
"I said -- never mind. D'you think I should get the new Pet Shop Boys single for someone?" It was the first innocuous question I could come up with.
Ororo blinked at me and for an instant, something flickered in her eyes then was gone. "Actually, I believe Jubilee might like that."
"Good. Thought so." I picked it up, smiling to myself, and wandered off to find a few more small items to make Xavier's charge cards rack up more points.
I will be the first to admit that I think I'm right too much. I'm also wrong, on occasion. Not usually, though. We'd agreed to meet Rogue and Jean in the food court. Now, a food court is one of those places where it is technically impossible to find any members of your party -- until you've bought something to eat. Knowing this, I decided to be the one to break down and spend money at one of the over-priced eating establishments. They were hot dog stands, masquerading as eateries.
As I approached one of the food stands, a burger and fries place, I realised that the head in line in front of me was very familiar. "Hallo, Rogue," I said, slipping into line behind her.
She started and turned to look at me. "Marya."
"You ladies get all your shopping done?" I asked, cordially.
"Ya could say that." Rogue wrinkled her nose. "I keep forgetting that Jeannie's such a perfectionist."
"Is she?" I cocked my head to the side and grinned. "Bet she's an eldest child, then." I winked conspiratorially to Rogue. "They tend to be masochistic perfectionists."
Rogue laughed. "That ain't the half of it, ya know." She leaned in close and whispered. "She stood Scott up -- but he took her back. Man's got it bad for her."
"Stood Scott up?" I raised both eyebrows and leaned closer. "Do tell me more."
"Well," Rogue glanced around. "Look, Jean's coming, I'll tell you later, 'k?"
"Sure." I grinned and gestured. "Your turn."
As Rogue went up to the cashier to order, Jean stepped into line behind me. A minute passed, then her curiosity got the better of her. "What were you two talking about?"
"Later, love. 's my turn." I flashed a smile over my shoulder at her and went up to order.
I was puzzling over why Rogue had decided to gossip with me. Maybe it was the fact that Jean was doing her best to make me out to be scum. I shrugged mentally and paid the cashier.
Storm and Betsy had grabbed us a table and staked it out by putting the shopping on the chairs. Five chairs, gods know how MANY bags. I chuckled under my breath and set the tray down. "Drinks and fries, ladies. Caffeine, sugar and fat."
"Thank you, I think." Betsy inspected the french fries. "Ketchup?"
"Right here, gals." Rogue set her own tray down and smiled. "Y'all find everything?"
As we all settled around the table, Jean arrived and set down her own tray. For a while there was nothing but silence and the occasional request for ketchup, salt, or a napkin. We ate in silence, and my mind roamed over the last few years and further back.
I was born -- if it can be called that -- in the latter part of the 18th century. The first six years of my life are terribly fuzzy, and I've still no idea who my parents/creator/whatever you want to call it were. When I hit six, or thereabouts, a time storm dragged me to the future where I met Meggan Braddock-Askani. And she informed of the whole Chosen One business. I was the backup, in case the Askani'Son failed. I was six at the time, I had no idea what she was talking about.
Six months spent in the future under Apocalypse's rule was enough for me, though. I demanded one day to get sent back to where I belonged. The Mother refused. I threw a huge tantrum and snapped open my mental pathways. I'm embarrassed to remember that I nearly took down the entire Citadel in my rage. It took the Mother knocking me out with the remains of the Phoenix Force to calm me.
Training took over the next period of my life. First, mental, so that I ended up supremely shielded. Then a time storm to give me some sort of normal childhood. With a family of thieves and assassins. Normal. Right.
The next time storm took me to about 1200 AD. I spent the first few months orienting myself and dodging all sorts of institutions. Like religion and rape. And then I ran into this guy with fangs. The bastard had just broken a barmaid's neck and was sucking her blood. I proceeded to kick his ass into the next week and then found myself being approached by an older gentleman. He claimed I was a vampire Slayer. I told him where he could stuff it. Especially when he mentioned more Chosen One crap.
Three weeks later, I was training with the Watcher's Council. Those of us who fight Fate know in the end that it is futile. But the winning is in the fighting. Or some crap like that.
My musings into the past were rudely interrupted by Jean. "So, Marya, who was he?" She gestured at the ring on my left hand. It contained a thin, gold band, inscribed very delicately with a few arcane signals.
The truth was out. They'd never believe it had been my betrothal ring to one of the knights in King Arthur's court. It was the only such ring I'd been able to keep over the years. Although, the Marquis I married in 1787 gave me a lovely garnet in silver one that I still had for those occasions I needed to scare off annoying suitors. 'Oh, yes, this is something my husband bought me recently. Isn't it lovely?'
"An old friend gave it to me." I smiled. "Said it was meant for luck." I knew I was ducking the question, but I was doing it gracefully, and I didn't really want to lie if I could help it.
Jean apparently was realllly curious about the ring. "A friend?" she asked, arching her eyebrow. "Oooo. Do tell."
"His name was Gareth." True. "We thought we were in love, so we decided to get married." I smiled. Also, true. "But we decided it wouldn't work out, so we split." I shrugged. "No loss." Not true and most definitely not true. We had gotten married. And, three months later Gareth went off on a Crusade to find the Holy Grail. I was still doing the whole 'fight Fate' thing at the time, so I didn't go with him. He never returned.
Some of my sudden memory of the loss I'd felt must have shown in my eyes. It was enough for Jean to back off and turn to ask Storm what she'd gotten. I was very glad, as the sudden memories of Gareth had caught me off guard. He'd been my first love and my first lover. He'd been everything kind, gentle, sweet -- well, sort of. Men, in any day and age, tend to be semi-sweet, semi-aggressive, whatever their tendencies.
Gareth had perished the way he'd always wanted -- in battle. And I was left a widow at seventeen. The Queen took me in, seeing as I'd been married to one of her House Knights. The Lady Gwynevere, or however they're spelling it these days, was a lovely woman given to strong passions and irrational hates. We got along quite well, after a few initial run-ins. I joined the castle guard, too.
Almost absently, I got up and helped pick up our trash and bags, disposing of the trash and, almost companionably, chatting with Jean and Ororo. How I got involved in a conversation with them, I'll never know. My mind does weird things to the autonomic functions of my body (which sometimes includes my mouth, unfortunately) when I'm not looking.
We were discussing going dress-shopping. I decided that was a cool idea. After all, I hadn't bought a new dress since I went swing-dancing one evening a few months back with Deadpool. The Merc with a Mouth had been a charming evening companion and we'd been on a job together. Sort of.
"So, we'll hit The Limited, first, then?" Jean looked up at me (I was ever so slightly taller).
"Perfect." I grinned and added mentally, I can have fun muttering about all the teenie-boppers.
To The Limited we trooped, five women on a mission. We made one detour, leaving all of our packages in a locker. Good thing, too...
Flipping through the racks while trying to ignore the little salesgirls in their oh-so-hip tiny little outfits gave me enough energy to try on three dresses. Rogue found this lovely little green number and didn't even bother trying it on.
"It's mah size, sugah." She told me gleefully, looking over my shoulder. "Heah. Try that one."
She was pointing at a gorgeous fuschia monstrosity. I was half-torn between fear and laughter. "I'll add it to the stack."
Unfortunately, none of the dresses I found there suited me. We headed out after a brief consultation, to the nearby Lord and Taylor.
It was while we were there that something happened to Jean. I'm not sure what it was, it just felt like a psychic disturbance, on the periphery of my shields. Whatever it was, it felt oily and cold, and vaguely familiar. Jean herself didn't say anything about it, but as we left the mall later that evening, purchases and dresses in hand, I wondered. Would she tell Scott and Xavier about it?
---
End Chapter One
=====
'I stood at the kitchen sink, my radio playing songs like "Tainted Love" and "Love is Strange"...'
__________________________________________________
© 2000 Suzy DeZorga
Marya, otoh, is mine. Borrow her without asking and I'll have my lackeys get medieval on your roody-poo candy ass.
PG13/R for swearing and some nastiness.
Author's notes: I've been tricked into rewriting a ton of X-history, so bear with me.
Dedication: To Lynxie, because she's half-co-plotter, or something. And because she wouldn't let me stop writing -.- To Acetal for betaing this monster, it ain't over yet, bub. To KayJay and Mitai and Alicia for the origin of the crazy idea. And to Tapestry for helping Lynxie kick me and get it finished.
And, last but not least, this is--for those few who haven't been involved with it--a Challenge. Guess the Author.
The Rise and Fall of the House of DeZorga, 1
Finding That Spark of Beginning
by Suzy DeZorga
It was going to be one of those days.
Life in the ever-complicated and oft-destroyed and rebuilt X-Mansion was never easy. But then there were days like this. Days when you were dragged shopping with your arch-enemy (not that you called her that, or let anyone KNOW that she was that. Oh, no, you just grinned and bore it and tried not to kill her 'accidentally') and her lovely cohorts.
Of course, I had brought this horrible occurrence upon myself just by living. I seemed to attract trouble, wherever I went. Like that time in Salzburg when the little Gestapo officer caught me hiding with that lovely family. They got out and went on to singing stardom. Me? I ended up in yet another rat-infested cell for a few months. Had some fun seducing the officers, of course.
The mall being our destination, I decided to be charitable and let Jean drive. Jean Grey, once possessor of the Phoenix Force. Not that THAT was all that great a pedigree. As the mother of the Phoenix Force, I should know. But, back to Jean, the redheaded love of a man *I* found myself in love with. Thorn in the side, annoyance...
"Marya, Zales or Sam Goody first?" Jean asked cheerfully.
Considering we were apparently Christmas shopping, I decided not to answer that one on the grounds I'd sound bitchy. Luckily, Rogue answered for me.
"Ah'd like to hit that glove store, first."
"We could split up," Jean said, a bit uncertainly. She was trying to act like she wanted us to all have Fun together.
The other two shoppers with us were the lovely Weather Goddess-turned-lackey, Storm. And, aside from Rogue -- our resident Southe'n Belle, was Betsy Braddock. The purple-haired Braddock was the resident Ninja.
I think she just didn't want me roaming around with one of Xavier's credit cards.
"Jean, why don't you go with Rogue?" Betsy suggested. "I can go with Marya and Storm."
"That's okay, I'm--" Fine on my own, my brain completed as Jean overrode me.
"That's perfect! Ororo, you and Betsy can show Marya around the mall." She turned to leave our vicinity with Rogue, then called over her shoulder, "And don't forget the Secret Santa gifts for our visitors!"
"Like we could forget," I muttered.
Betsy's soft chuckle told me she agreed with me on that. "Let's go, ladies. I need to find that perfect gift for Warren."
"And I, Charles," Ororo said calmly. It was the first thing the Weather Goddess had said in some time. She didn't like me.
At least, that's what the tendrils of emotion that slipped past my shields told me. I reached out and strengthened them as the mall patrons began penetrating them. Stupid of me not to remember to thicken them before entering. A melange of frenzy, hysteria and greed slammed into me for an instant, then was gone into soothing silence.
Neither of my companions had noticed my falter, and I was grateful. Wouldn't do for any of them to guess how powerful and sensitive I actually was. Charles Xavier, planet's greatest telepath? *Bzzzzzz* Sorry. Wrong answer. Thanks to my genes, I'm apparently the world's most powerful telempath. Considering my parentage, it shouldn't come as a surprise.
From everything I've been able to piece together, my parents are a test tube containing gene pieces from a thousand different mutants and Inhumans. From what the Mother Askani told me as I was sent back through several time storms, I'm the saviour of the world. Or something like that.
I was never asked, just told. And then dropped into the Middle Ages to start learning. Not that it wasn't fun, or anything. I happen to like swinging a twenty-two pound sword around...
But I digress. The current situation is that I'm a member -- or, will be, once I pass my initiation -- of the X-Men. A group of mutants battling the baddies in a world that fears and hates them. And, in a few days, the various auxillary teams of the extended X-Family will be joining us at the mansion for the Christmas and New Year holidays.
And so, we were to find extra gifts for them. In case they forgot it was Christmas. My streak of perversity was urging me to the most expensive store. My practical side suggested the dollar store. And my playful side won out.
We went to Kay Bee.
----
Shopping the week before Christmas in a toy store is an art form composed of elbows, knees and a few hip-checks. I made it to the aisle of the Boy and began grabbing small things. A few toy cars, a few action figures -- GI Joe, Transformers and Beastmaster -- and a few of the strange little gadgets like yoyos with wrestling stars on them. Somewhere nearby I could hear Storm muttering under her breath. The poor thing was claustrophobic. I thought about that for a moment then decided to get a few puzzles too.
It's not that I'm unfeeling or anything. But if we wanted to get out of this bloody mall any time SOON, it would require fortitude from all of us. Still...
"Ororo?" I called. Best to not use our code names -- might tip off the shoppers that we were super-heroes.
"Yes, Marya?" Good. She was still speaking to me.
"Could you take care of this stuff while I try to find a few other things?" A sort of lie. I doubted any of the women on the X-Teams wanted Barbie for Christmas.
Well, maybe some of the blondes might. I halted that train of thought and handed over the small basket of goodies to Ororo as she exited her aisle. "Here, love. Get these checked out and go sit on a bench. Betsy and I should be out eventually."
The Goddess gave me an odd look, then nodded regally and appropriated my basket. "I shall do so."
"Cool." My only concession to the slang of the time was the word cool. At least, that's what I tried to tell myself as I wended my way to where Braddock was inspecting the stuffed animals. Poor girl was boxed into the corner, shoppers milling around her. A few gaped at her hair. Most ignored it, though. In a day and age when green hair was common, purple was generally not considered interesting.
Now, blue skin might have caused comment. In the Middle Ages it hadn't, of course, thanks to the Scot and Irish Berserkers. But in this day and age of skin-colour and sexual preference making you what you were...I had a feeling the Irish Berserkers would have already finished their own space station to get away from the heathens.
I waved cheerily to Betsy and stepped into the corner, snagging a few stuffed rabbits. "Shall we hit the checkout? I hear there's a twenty minute wait at the moment."
"Indeed." Braddock nodded coolly. "Shall we?"
I nodded and turned to go. And found myself rudely shoved backwards by a woman in her thirties. She was mumbling under her breath and sort of careening around, searching for presents.
"You know," I said to Betsy conversationally, as I shoved an elbow between two shoppers and snagged her arm dragging us both clear of the bottleneck, "people used to be more intelligent and kind."
"Did they?" she asked dryly, as we high-tailed it to the checkout area, our purchases in hand.
"Not really, but it seemed like something to say at the time." I flashed a silly grin at her.
She smiled back, and for an instant the shadows in her eyes disappeared and they sparkled a lovely amethyst. The eyes matched the hair, both purple and brilliant. Personally, I sorta wished I had her hair. Mine was too bloody different to ever do anything but attract attention.
Thanks to the gene stew that was my heritage, my hair was several colours. Red, black, brown, blonde, and that didn't even count a few of the neon highlights. My eyes matched it, with both wavering between blue, green, brown, amber and black. I'd heard that Braddock had gone through the Siege Perilous among other things. Apparently the body she now had wasn't exactly her own.
I wouldn't mind a trip through the Siege myself, if I ended up looking short and dumpy at the end. The bane of my existance -- although, I must admit being able to go dancing on rooftops without any problems is useful. Anyway, the bane of my existence being the hair, the well-toned body, and the bust. All women are not graced equally.
The clerk at the counter had a hard time raising her eyes from my cleavage. I fought down a sigh and wondered how a t-shirt that proclaimed "I'm a bitch, ask me how." could be attractive. Of course, it was black. But that's beside the point.
After making our purchases, Betsy and I exited the over-crowded store and fought through an eddy of shopping traffic to find Storm seated on a bench near the center of the mall. The Weather Goddess was looking calmer. She stood up and came toward us as we approached. "Betsy, Marya, I believe our next stop should be the bookstore and then the music store."
"As they're next to each other, we could even do both," Betsy said, grinning slightly.
Storm smiled at her and nodded to me. "Shall we?"
"Certainly," I replied, grinning myself. "Gift certificates, and my Secret Santa present for Remy are up next."
"Indeed. I must find Charles'." The Weather Goddess looked at me. "Are you certain--"
"I'll be able to find something for Remy? Yeah." I grinned even more. "Reallly won't be a problem. Trust me on that one."
I'd grown up with Remy LeBeau. Oh, not completely, but when the second time storm removed me from Egypt, I was in the Bayou, and a man by the name of Henri LeBeau found me sprawled on his front porch the next morning. I spent the next seven years of my life learning to be a thief and an assassin, as Henri's cousin Girard taught me both. "You're gonna be a lov'ly lady, gal, needta learn everyt'in'." And so he taught me to defend myself and kill. And Henri taught me to steal. Sounds all great, huh?
Remy himself was my first kiss. I was a blossoming thirteen at the time and had just discovered boys. Remy was fifteen and in love with Belle, the daughter of one of the assassins. Devious person that I am, I convinced him practise was a good thing. I sighed, remembering how the night after that little kissing session, a time storm dragged me away and landed me in the Middle Ages. King Arthur's time, to be precise.
And some people think living on the street is primitive. Bah. It's nothing compared to living in an age that believes bathing will destroy your mind.
I found myself wondering if Storm was upset that I'd drawn Remy in the Secret Santa gift exchange, then shrugged. She could deal with it, I was sure. After all, the lad mooned over Rogue.
Which brought me to remembering my first glimpse of the vaunted X-Men.
I'd been asked by Nick Fury to 'visit' the X-Men, due to the fact that he wanted an operative of some sort watching them. From the inside, as it were. Since I'd left the Avengers about three years before, I'd been a freelance mercenary, pulling jobs here and there. And running into bloody SHIELD.
Sable Enterprises had employed me to recover a security system. Unfortunately, the lady that runs that operation neglected to tell me it was a SHIELD installation I was raiding. Colour me surprised when Nick Fury himself apprehended me. Luckily, he decided to get me drunk and pump me for info on Sable. Also, luckily, I have a high alcohol tolerance and knew nothing about Sable.
Drinking Nick Fury under the table was apparently cause for respect. A week later, I was let go with instructions to try NOT to burgle him again. And then a month later, I got a message. He had a job for me. I did that job, killed some people, and got him the info. Three months later, he called again. And so it went like that until about a week ago.
"Marya, I need you to run a rig for me. But it's...complicated." Fury sounded a bit hesitant. Nick NEVER sounded hesitant.
I refrained from hanging up on him and asked the fatal question. "Complicated, how?"
"We need you to join the X-Men."
I let the silence drag, then gave in and doubled over, laughing. "Nick," I gasped out around my semi-hysteria, "Nick, let me talk to you face to face on this, okay?"
He sounded relieved when he agreed to a time and place.
Once Nick explained the assignment to me -- over hot cocoa and muffins at a local coffee shoppe --I decided to accept it. After all, how often do you get to play with such legendary figures as the X-Men? He fixed some things and called in a favour with Charles Xavier, and boom. I was in like fleece on a lamb.
A young man with tousled blond hair answered the door to my knock. He took in my black leather jacket over black jeans and t-shirt with the "I'm a Slayer, ask me how" logo on it (The shirt had been a gift from an old friend of mine. Suffice it to say, Rupert was now Watching a young Slayer by the name of Buffy.) and then spotted my luggage.
I interrupted him before he could ask. "Hi, I'm Marya DeZorga. SHIELD sent me as a liasion. And you would be?" I asked politely, even though I knew from the hair and picture from the file that this was Samuel Guthrie, aka Cannonball.
"Hallo, ma'am, Ah'm Sam Guthrie. C'mon in, I'll fetch the Professor."
He turned and left before I had a chance to respond. I shrugged, grinned and grabbed my bag off the stoop and stepped in. The front hall I stepped into reminded me of those facades on the old shops in Chinatown and other portions of downtown New York. As if it was just what you were supposed to see, that there was something else underneath. I thinned my shields and let little feelers of empathy slip around. They slithered out into other rooms, encountering a few people and plants, then the awareness expanded up above me and below.
Underground. It made sense that the living quarters would be there, my mind agreed. On the edge of my perception, I sensed a mind, searching. For mine? A telepath. Quickly, I pulled back everything and thinned out my shields, pulling the layer that was my public mind up and to the fore. Let whoever it was read that. No way in hell they were getting any deeper into my mind.
A sound came from down the corridor and three people stepped into view, then stopped, blinking at me. The middle one was tall and dark, a tattoo of an 'M' over his right eye. The look he gave me made me almost laugh. It was so blatantly an "I'm a big, badass security guard! You will respect Mah Authoritay!" look. The man to his right was lazily appraising me with red eyes rimmed in black. His hair was longer and curlier, and he was taller, but I knew him.
The third person in the trio was a grinning young man with dark blond hair and blue eyes. He had an air about him as if he was waiting for the next opportunity to crack a joke. My mind automatically labeled them Clown, Guard and Thief before I was able to pull out the relevant file pages (mentally) and call them Bobby, Bishop and Remy.
"Hello, gentlemen." I nodded coolly to them, waiting for their leader to appear. After all, he was the one I really needed to impress. "Marya DeZorga."
"Allo, chere, I'm Remy LeBeau, this here guard-dog is Bishop and yon drooling puppy be Bobby Drake." Remy made the introductions.
I nearly told him I knew who he was, then decided to wait. "Hallo." We all politely shook hands, Remy kissing the back of mine extravagantly.
As he straightened, another movement came from the hall and a bald man in a wheelchair entered. Charles Xavier. World-premiere telepath, Headmaster of the Xavier institute for Higher Learning and leader of the X-Men. He looked at me and held out his hand. "Miss DeZorga, I presume."
"It's Ms," I corrected, taking his hand and smiling charmingly. "And, yes, 'tis I." I tilted my head to the side, mischief getting the better of me. "Actually, it's Marya Louisa Susanna DeZorga, to be precise."
And that didn't cover the myriad titles I'd accrued over the centuries.
The Professor, to his credit, didn't blink at the long rolling list of names. He merely nodded and turned to Bobby. "Robert, if you could please find Scott and Jean, and have them meet me in my study?" As Bobby nodded, looked at me one last time and scampered off, he turned to Bishop and Remy. "And if the two of you might find the rest of the students?"
"Yes, sir," Bishop nodded. Remy winked at me and followed the hulking guard out of the room.
"If you will follow me?" He wheeled around and started down the hall. I silently followed him through a sumptuously decorated house and into a well-appointed study on the ground floor. It was paneled in mahogany and red leather. Er, the seats were red leather, the carpet red and a golden brown to complement the rest of the room. Xavier wheeled himself behind a large cherry wood desk and looked up at me. "Have a seat," he gestured.
I looked at the two leather and wood chairs, shrugged, and flopped into the left-hand one. The one nearest the windows. I have a window fetish, I admit it. I like knowing where they are and being able to get to them and then go through them, if need be. Must be the thief in me.
As he studied me, so I studied him. There wasn't much to see, at first. Just an older man (well, not to me, but...) completely bald, a set of dark, but clear, blue eyes. They were intelligent too. He knew I was looking him over, just as I knew that he was. Distantly, I could feel his mind probing around mine, looking for cracks. He wouldn't find any. I'm a telempath and I'm 1000 years old, give or take a few years -- I've gotten to the point of rounding things like that up, recently. My training and shields are about as high and refined as you can get.
My 'public mind' is the only thing he could possibly read. It's a collection of thoughts and memories that amount to about twenty-five years of life. It's multi-layered, complex, and reads as 'me'. It isn't, but it does. The painstaking layering that had gone into that shield had taken nearly an entire day, and left me exhausted for a week. Don't ever let anyone tell you mind powers don't beg a price. It's just like running a 50k marathon.
Xavier finally broke the silence. "Tell me, Ms. DeZorga," he steepled his fingers and leaned forward, still studying me. "Why are you here?"
"Fury sent me. Said you needed another player -- that there'd been some threats and such against your person." I nodded at him. "As a bodyguard, for you, specifically."
"And you're a mutant."
It wasn't a question. Fury had obviously sent him my file, "Yes. Telempath, partial TK and a dollop of something that promotes the re-knitting of tissue. A healing factor, if you will." One thing I'd learned long ago. Tell them the truth and they always underestimate you.
While I was musing on that lovely fact, the door behind me opened and several people bustled in. The one in the lead was a statuesque redhead with green eyes and a lovely smile. Behind her ranged Bobby, and another man with brown hair and a business-like look. He looked tired, too. I guessed he was the one that handled the leading side of everything.
"Ah, Scott, Jean, Bobby." The Professor nodded at all three in turn and waved at me. "This is Marya DeZorga. She'll be joining us a tactical consultant and as a back-up to Jean."
Scott turned to look at me, his look impersonal. "And she was recommended to us, by?" The man was worried, I could tell from the way his emotions were coloured. He didn't trust me, he didn't trust whoever had sent me, and he was a bit upset that the Professor obviously did.
"Nick Fury," I said, and watched shock and a bit of fear cross his face before he closed down and pulled on his poker face. "And he sent me to help. Hell, once he explained the reason for the forming of the X-Men, I almost volunteered."
"Why?"
"I've seen too much war. Peace is a good thing." For an instant, I thought of telling him how many wars I'd lived through. How often I'd seen people killed for no reason other than that they were different. But I knew he wouldn't believe me. Just like they wouldn't believe that I was old enough to be all of their ancestors. And just might have been.
Bobby snorted and grinned at me. "You sound so serious when you say that. Lighten up, lady."
For an instant I looked at him, the weight of centuries pressing down on me. He flinched. I grinned. "I always do."
"Now that you've finished interrogating the newest memeber of our team, Scott, I'd like you to--" The Professor was cut off as the door swung open again and several more people walked in. In the lead was someone I recognised.
"As you requested, Professor, I have brought--"
I was out of my chair and pouncing Logan before Bishop could finish his statement. I think I startled Logan. I know I startled everyone else. "Logan, luv, haven't seen you in bloody ages!"
"Suzy!" He looked at me, surprised, then chuckled softly, playing along with my exuberance. "I take it you've gotten yourself in trouble again."
"Me?" I stepped back from the hug and attempted to look innocent and sweet. Logan wasn't having any of it, so I grinned and shrugged. "Well, sort of."
He snorted and turned to the Professor. "She's a handful and trouble, but she'll back us unto death."
I felt touched. It was the nicest thing I'd ever heard Logan say about me. "Doing it too brown, m'friend."
"Yes." He looked at me, his eyes suddenly turning serious. "I know you."
Blinking, I stepped back for a second before recovering. I understood what he was saying, since he was projecting it discreetly. Don't mess with his people, and don't screw their lives up and he wouldn't kill me. "Yes, you do," I replied softly, before turning to the rest and sticking out a hand. "Hi, I'm Marya DeZorga, and you all are..?"
It was Braddock who approached me first. Her purple hair was held away from her face by a scrunchy, and her clothing told me she must've been working out. She looked at me neutrally as she shook my hand. "Elizabeth Braddock."
"Nice to meet you."
One by one the others introduced themselves. Ororo Munroe, white hair, gorgeous brown skin. Scott Summers, who nearly got asked if he had any relatives in Sunnydale, CA. Jean Grey, who smiled at me and made sure to flash her engagement ring for my perusal. I was betting it was Scott she'd bagged. Bishop, who shook my hand and tried to break it. Or at least make me cry out. I didn't. Rogue, who shook my hand with hers in a glove and made me almost ask if that white streak in her hair was dyed. Warren Worthington the Third, who shook my hand and flashed that playboy smile and made me wonder why he wasn't off chatting with his stock broker. And then there was Remy.
"Hallo, Ma'amselle, I--"
"Hallo, Remy," I interrupted him, smirking slightly. "Nice to see you again."
The recognition that had surfaced for an instant earlier and then been buried under disbelief came back. "Louisa?"
"Yep." I hugged him, as he stood, frozen. I stepped back and looked at his face in concern. "I'm sorry to have broken it to you this way, but..."
"Non, 'tis okay, ma cherie." He hugged me fiercely for an instant, then let me go and grinned. "Dis could turn out to be a fun gig, neh?"
I snorted. "This isn't a gig. Is it?"
There was more discussion, but it was boring and I tuned it out, since my brain would catch it and I could review it later. Instead, I tried to figure out where the research scientist rumoured to be on the premises, one Dr Henry McCoy, was. According to my sources, the man was a mutant and covered in blue fur. He also was researching the Legacy virus, something that interested me greatly. I wanted Legacy destroyed. Plus, I wondered if he would remember meeting me.
Three days later, I still haven't met the elusive Dr McCoy. I'm beginning to suspect he's a figment of everyone's imaginations. Considering that three-quarters of what everyone considers the 'Chivalry' of the ages is imagination, this wouldn't surprise me.
At the moment, though, what was surprising me was the sight of Ororo Munroe, Weather Goddess, dancing absently to the music over the sound system in the Sam Goody we were in. I stopped remembering the last few days and listened to the music.
~o/Love me, hate me, hurt me and break me.
Want me and take me, but don't ever leave me!/o~
It was techno. Chick techno, and it was British. It was also something I recognised, having gone clubbing in Britain earlier in the year. Republica had finally hit the States.
"Lovely song, innit?" I said conversationally.
"Hm?" Storm looked up from sorting through a stack of cds.
"I said -- never mind. D'you think I should get the new Pet Shop Boys single for someone?" It was the first innocuous question I could come up with.
Ororo blinked at me and for an instant, something flickered in her eyes then was gone. "Actually, I believe Jubilee might like that."
"Good. Thought so." I picked it up, smiling to myself, and wandered off to find a few more small items to make Xavier's charge cards rack up more points.
I will be the first to admit that I think I'm right too much. I'm also wrong, on occasion. Not usually, though. We'd agreed to meet Rogue and Jean in the food court. Now, a food court is one of those places where it is technically impossible to find any members of your party -- until you've bought something to eat. Knowing this, I decided to be the one to break down and spend money at one of the over-priced eating establishments. They were hot dog stands, masquerading as eateries.
As I approached one of the food stands, a burger and fries place, I realised that the head in line in front of me was very familiar. "Hallo, Rogue," I said, slipping into line behind her.
She started and turned to look at me. "Marya."
"You ladies get all your shopping done?" I asked, cordially.
"Ya could say that." Rogue wrinkled her nose. "I keep forgetting that Jeannie's such a perfectionist."
"Is she?" I cocked my head to the side and grinned. "Bet she's an eldest child, then." I winked conspiratorially to Rogue. "They tend to be masochistic perfectionists."
Rogue laughed. "That ain't the half of it, ya know." She leaned in close and whispered. "She stood Scott up -- but he took her back. Man's got it bad for her."
"Stood Scott up?" I raised both eyebrows and leaned closer. "Do tell me more."
"Well," Rogue glanced around. "Look, Jean's coming, I'll tell you later, 'k?"
"Sure." I grinned and gestured. "Your turn."
As Rogue went up to the cashier to order, Jean stepped into line behind me. A minute passed, then her curiosity got the better of her. "What were you two talking about?"
"Later, love. 's my turn." I flashed a smile over my shoulder at her and went up to order.
I was puzzling over why Rogue had decided to gossip with me. Maybe it was the fact that Jean was doing her best to make me out to be scum. I shrugged mentally and paid the cashier.
Storm and Betsy had grabbed us a table and staked it out by putting the shopping on the chairs. Five chairs, gods know how MANY bags. I chuckled under my breath and set the tray down. "Drinks and fries, ladies. Caffeine, sugar and fat."
"Thank you, I think." Betsy inspected the french fries. "Ketchup?"
"Right here, gals." Rogue set her own tray down and smiled. "Y'all find everything?"
As we all settled around the table, Jean arrived and set down her own tray. For a while there was nothing but silence and the occasional request for ketchup, salt, or a napkin. We ate in silence, and my mind roamed over the last few years and further back.
I was born -- if it can be called that -- in the latter part of the 18th century. The first six years of my life are terribly fuzzy, and I've still no idea who my parents/creator/whatever you want to call it were. When I hit six, or thereabouts, a time storm dragged me to the future where I met Meggan Braddock-Askani. And she informed of the whole Chosen One business. I was the backup, in case the Askani'Son failed. I was six at the time, I had no idea what she was talking about.
Six months spent in the future under Apocalypse's rule was enough for me, though. I demanded one day to get sent back to where I belonged. The Mother refused. I threw a huge tantrum and snapped open my mental pathways. I'm embarrassed to remember that I nearly took down the entire Citadel in my rage. It took the Mother knocking me out with the remains of the Phoenix Force to calm me.
Training took over the next period of my life. First, mental, so that I ended up supremely shielded. Then a time storm to give me some sort of normal childhood. With a family of thieves and assassins. Normal. Right.
The next time storm took me to about 1200 AD. I spent the first few months orienting myself and dodging all sorts of institutions. Like religion and rape. And then I ran into this guy with fangs. The bastard had just broken a barmaid's neck and was sucking her blood. I proceeded to kick his ass into the next week and then found myself being approached by an older gentleman. He claimed I was a vampire Slayer. I told him where he could stuff it. Especially when he mentioned more Chosen One crap.
Three weeks later, I was training with the Watcher's Council. Those of us who fight Fate know in the end that it is futile. But the winning is in the fighting. Or some crap like that.
My musings into the past were rudely interrupted by Jean. "So, Marya, who was he?" She gestured at the ring on my left hand. It contained a thin, gold band, inscribed very delicately with a few arcane signals.
The truth was out. They'd never believe it had been my betrothal ring to one of the knights in King Arthur's court. It was the only such ring I'd been able to keep over the years. Although, the Marquis I married in 1787 gave me a lovely garnet in silver one that I still had for those occasions I needed to scare off annoying suitors. 'Oh, yes, this is something my husband bought me recently. Isn't it lovely?'
"An old friend gave it to me." I smiled. "Said it was meant for luck." I knew I was ducking the question, but I was doing it gracefully, and I didn't really want to lie if I could help it.
Jean apparently was realllly curious about the ring. "A friend?" she asked, arching her eyebrow. "Oooo. Do tell."
"His name was Gareth." True. "We thought we were in love, so we decided to get married." I smiled. Also, true. "But we decided it wouldn't work out, so we split." I shrugged. "No loss." Not true and most definitely not true. We had gotten married. And, three months later Gareth went off on a Crusade to find the Holy Grail. I was still doing the whole 'fight Fate' thing at the time, so I didn't go with him. He never returned.
Some of my sudden memory of the loss I'd felt must have shown in my eyes. It was enough for Jean to back off and turn to ask Storm what she'd gotten. I was very glad, as the sudden memories of Gareth had caught me off guard. He'd been my first love and my first lover. He'd been everything kind, gentle, sweet -- well, sort of. Men, in any day and age, tend to be semi-sweet, semi-aggressive, whatever their tendencies.
Gareth had perished the way he'd always wanted -- in battle. And I was left a widow at seventeen. The Queen took me in, seeing as I'd been married to one of her House Knights. The Lady Gwynevere, or however they're spelling it these days, was a lovely woman given to strong passions and irrational hates. We got along quite well, after a few initial run-ins. I joined the castle guard, too.
Almost absently, I got up and helped pick up our trash and bags, disposing of the trash and, almost companionably, chatting with Jean and Ororo. How I got involved in a conversation with them, I'll never know. My mind does weird things to the autonomic functions of my body (which sometimes includes my mouth, unfortunately) when I'm not looking.
We were discussing going dress-shopping. I decided that was a cool idea. After all, I hadn't bought a new dress since I went swing-dancing one evening a few months back with Deadpool. The Merc with a Mouth had been a charming evening companion and we'd been on a job together. Sort of.
"So, we'll hit The Limited, first, then?" Jean looked up at me (I was ever so slightly taller).
"Perfect." I grinned and added mentally, I can have fun muttering about all the teenie-boppers.
To The Limited we trooped, five women on a mission. We made one detour, leaving all of our packages in a locker. Good thing, too...
Flipping through the racks while trying to ignore the little salesgirls in their oh-so-hip tiny little outfits gave me enough energy to try on three dresses. Rogue found this lovely little green number and didn't even bother trying it on.
"It's mah size, sugah." She told me gleefully, looking over my shoulder. "Heah. Try that one."
She was pointing at a gorgeous fuschia monstrosity. I was half-torn between fear and laughter. "I'll add it to the stack."
Unfortunately, none of the dresses I found there suited me. We headed out after a brief consultation, to the nearby Lord and Taylor.
It was while we were there that something happened to Jean. I'm not sure what it was, it just felt like a psychic disturbance, on the periphery of my shields. Whatever it was, it felt oily and cold, and vaguely familiar. Jean herself didn't say anything about it, but as we left the mall later that evening, purchases and dresses in hand, I wondered. Would she tell Scott and Xavier about it?
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End Chapter One
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'I stood at the kitchen sink, my radio playing songs like "Tainted Love" and "Love is Strange"...'
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© 2000 Suzy DeZorga