After the stunning introduction to Peter, and his excited acceptance of their mission, his mission, Logan spoke once again.
"There's one more person we need to visit."
"And who might that be?" Charles asked.
"She'd be a young woman now," he smiled, remembering one of his dearest and oldest friends, "Marilyn Vincent. She's in New Orleans."
"And just how the hell do you expect us to get to New Orleans from DC?!" Charles yelped indignantly, "That's a 17 hour drive!"
"We fly," Charles gave him a strange look, "Yeah, it's not exactly my favourite idea either Bub, but we need her."
Marilyn Vincent, an independent woman on the cusp of being twenty years old, lazed on her couch as her good friend, and roommate, buzzed around her abysmally small apartment, trying to get ready for her night out.
As Marilyn lazed, smoking a bud of something her friend, Linda, was sure was from her stash, admired her friend in a way that a sister admires their clearly more attractive sister.
Marilyn was stunning, and Linda had always said that if Marilyn had been taller that she would've been picked up by a modelling agency the day she had to begin fending for herself. Marilyn's features, that is to say her hair and eye colour, were both on the darker side of brown, her long wavy hair akin to the colour of a hot espresso coffee, sans milk, and her eyes a dark honey brown. Marilyn was every inch the attractive Louisiana French woman she was born to be; her face shaped almost like a diamond, with its angular structure and high cheekbones; her lips, plump and voluminous, if not overly so, making them seem almost too large for her face - and constantly chewed on, a habit that Linda would frequently admit annoyed her; her thick, sophisticated eyebrows over her dark, almond shaped eyes that were topped with long lashes, were always groomed to perfection; her delicate, yet straight nose, where the fine tip tilted slightly upwards; her pale skin, untouched by the Louisiana sun due to her heritage on her mothers side; and her body, though short, standing at only five foot and four inches, was curvy, if not overly so with her hips being wider than her chest, which itself was a healthy 34C, making her body almost resembling the shape of a spoon...
Who was she kidding? Linda had been checking Marilyn out since the day they met, secretly hoping that she had a chance - and she had, but found that their bond was more sisterly than it was romantic. So Linda had settled with having the amazing company of a girl who was far too beautiful to live in such a tiny a rundown apartment in the ghetto of New Orleans.
Just as Linda was getting ready to leave, keys in hand and wallet in pocket, she heard a loud, firm knock on the door. Looking through the peephole she noticed four men, one who looked studious, another resembling the hippies of Woodstock, one who looked like he had serious beef with just about everybody, and another who had silver hair and seemed to be bouncing with energy. Checking her hair in the mirror, making sure her fro was presentable and not uncontrolled as it had been less than an hour ago, she steadied herself and opened the apartment door.
"So," she lent against the doorframe and crossed her arms, "What can I do for you fella's?"
"We're looking for Marilyn Vincent," Mr. Tall and Angry said, "Is she here?"
"Why do you want her?"
"Look, Bub, we just need to talk to-"
"I ain't your Bub, honey-bunch, and I also ain't about to let four strange, potentially dangerous, men into our apartment without knowing what they want with my friend first!"
A tense moment was shared between her and Angry-Man as he lifted his jacket to prove that he had absolutely nothing on him before she heard Marilyn's voice carry over to the front door, "Let 'em in, Lin."
Sighing, Linda stepped aside, letting all four men into the apartment before shutting the front door and following them.
"Uhh, Marilyn..." she spoke, albeit hesitantly, "These guys say they're here for you."
Marilyn looked towards the four men that had entered her domain, however small it was;
"I heard," Marilyn smiled, "Aww Linda, they don't look like the strippers we ordered," she took a puff from the bud in her hand, smirking as she stood, twirling as she did so, from her horizontal position on their couch look at their sudden guests, exhaled, then her eye immediately landing on the attractive silver haired boy.
"They'll do though," she let out a small, silvery laugh, walking towards the group before finally resting her hand on the chest of the silver boy, "I want this one for my private dance though, okay?"
Marilyn walked toward the minute kitchen, taking another puff before slowly exhaling, and turning to face the group and her friend, "Really though, Linda, you shouldn't have; four guys for a little Ol' thing like me?"
"Marilyn, they aren't-"
"Yes!" Hank interjected, "We aren't, I mean, that is to say..."
Marilyn looked at Linda's lingering form in the front doorway, "Don't you have some hot babes to seduce Linda?" her friend gave her a look of concern, "Don't worry about me, I can handle them. Besides, I heard Alice is in town," Linda looked pointedly at her, "She's going to the Swampshore tonight-" Linda turned and hurried to close the apartment door in her haste to run off, "Don't forget to tell me all the juicy details in the morning!"
"I won't! Thank you!" Linda's already fading voice echoed from the hallway.
"Now, Gentleman," she looked pointedly back at the men who were crowding her small living room area, as she summoned her Naginata and allowed it to take on its eerie and unnatural red glow, "What the hell could you possibly want with me?"
A tense, and admittedly somewhat awkward, moment of silence took hold of the room for all of ten seconds before the silver-haired one spoke up;
"Woah, dude - nice weapon ya got there," he smiled, zipping over to view it.
"Peter, don't-!" Logan managed to yell out at him before the pointy end of Marilyn's naginata was at Peter's threat.
"Boy, I don't care how good-looking you are, you better back off or-" before she could finish speaking her weapon was ripped from her hands by the boy, and he was once again on the other side of the room, again in the company of the other men.
"Or you'll what?" Peter smirked, "I like this, it's shiny - I think I'll keep it."
"Peter," Logan growled, "Give the girl her weapon back!"
"Yes, Peter," Marilyn snarled, her light and silvery voice turning dangerous and dark, "Hand over the naginata, and you might make it out with your head still attached to your shoulders."
"Why?"
"Peter-" Logan growled.
"Whatcha think you can do without your weapon, huh? You're, what, five foot four and 120 pounds soaking wet? What're you gonna do?"
Marilyn's eyes thinned as she stared at the handsome boy who, she was sure, in some other life might've been charming, and snarled at him once more.
"This."
A red unfocused, and yet powerful, bolt of something flew at Peter, so he moved swiftly, leaving Marilyn's power to create a hole in her bedroom wall that Peter glanced through.
"Ooh, red and lacy?" He lifted a pair of panties with his index finger, smirking once again at Marilyn, wiggling his brows, and said, "Kinky."
"God-damnit," Marilyn screamed, earning a bang on the wall from their next door neighbour, and a growing ball of red power in her right hand once more.
Charles, seeing the situation could only get worse if he didn't inject himself into it, decided to speak up.
"Alright!" he let out a strangled yell, breaking the pairs' focus on each other, "Calm down; Peter, give the lady her weapon," and quick alright from Peter found Marilyn's weapon safely in her hands once more, "And you-!"
"Marilyn," Logan interjected.
"Marilyn," Charles sighed, "Put your... power, away, please. We just want to talk to you."
The situation having been, for the most part, diffused, Marilyn let the power in her hand diffuse too.
"It's magic by the way," she looked into the stunned eyes of three out of the four men, "Combat magic. So if you try anything funny again," she stared at Peter, "Then you're toast."
"Jesus," Logan muttered, massaging his brow, before deciding to speak up somewhat, "Where I'm from, you two got along a hell of a lot better."
"And where the fuck would that be, 'eh Mutton Chops?"
"Please," Charles spoke up, "Let us explain."
"The future," Marilyn laughed hysterically, "You expect me to believe that Mutton Chops,"
"I told you not to call me that!" Logan spoke up.
"Don't care. You expect me to believe that he," she pointed at Logan, "Is from the future, one where I'm married to Mr. Fucking Quick and Silver over there, and that you need us to help break out someone, who I'm sure deserves his sentence, from the Pentagon?" She laughed again, "Yeah right, fucking likely that is."
"Aw," Peter smirked, "And I thought you liked me?"
"Oh dream on. Just because I think you're fucking stunning," Marilyn sighed, rubbing her hand over her face before perking up and realising what she had just said, "Doesn't mean that I like you. Not yet, and likely not ever."
"Aw, why's that?"
"You took my naginata you asshole-!"
"Enough!" Charles spoke, raising his voice as he did so, "That's enough, fuck!" He rubbed his hand over his own face, "You were married in another time, you act like you are now - get over it." He stared pointedly at Marilyn, "Now, are you willing to help us?"
Marilyn, taking a moment to take in all that was happening, made her decision and sighed.
"Fine, I'll help. Give me the address of wherever the hell I need to meet you, and I'll meet you there. I've got to pack my shit, and say goodbye to Linda." She looked at Peter, "Don't forget, you're going to pay for the whole in my wall!"
Within a second not only was her wall not destroyed, it was completely repaired, old cracks fixed as well as the most recent addition to it.
"Stop showing off, asshole."
"Never," Peter smiled, "I like the name Quick and Silver, by the way. Though I think I'll make it just Quicksilver, if you don't mind. I'll definitely be keeping that at least."
"Buzz off, asshole. And take Mutton Chops and take the rest of the Scooby Gang with you."
My first attempt at an OC... Let me tell you, twelve or fourteen straight hours answering one-hundred questions just so you can develop one character is tiring. Thank god that I write fan-fiction and not actual fiction.
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