author: Lucinda
Series: Eastern Butterfly Story #1 Chrysalis
rating: pg 13
main character: Psylocke mentions the Mandarin/Kwannon pairing
Disclaimer: I do not own Psylocke or any other characters from Marvel
Comics. People with more money & lawyers do.
Distribution: please ask first, Psyknife may have it if she wants it.
please note that this was inspired by a paragraph in a history of
Betsy Braddock (Psylocke) that made me think 'now, what if Marvel had
gone with that...' and should not be considered accurate to cannon.
prolog
They had fought against a terrible foe, one that in some ways
was more powerful than any other that they had faced. It wasn't the
sheer physical power that made him dangerous. They had faced foes
with more physical strength, foes that could throw small tanks at
them, or even ships.
Now was this foe terrifying because of numbers, for they had fought
hordes of sentinels without causing her this sort of reaction. No,
this foe used magic, and she had no idea how to predict what he could
do, how much he could warp things to go according to his wishes. He
had collapsed walls with a gesture, and rebuilt them with another,
thrown bolts of energy, vanished and reappeared, caused them to see
things that weren't real. They had barely escaped from the conflict
with their lives, and they had found their base a smoking ruin,
destroyed while they were gone, eliminating their stronghold, the
place where they could have regained a measure of strength and planned
for a second effort.
There had been no choice but to use the Siege Perilous again, to
hope that they would emerge safely on the other side, that they could
regroup and gather what resources they could. She had looked at the
gleaming silvery frame that contained swirling colors and energies,
it's multihued glow illuminating the still standing corner and casting
strange shadows amidst the rubble. She didn't trust this portal. It
almost seemed to have a mind of it's own, and the colors changed,
sometimes causing strange scents to flow from the portal.
Unfortunately, there wasn't much of a choice. She could see
exactly three possibilities ahead of her. She could stay here, try to
fight the Adversary, and die bravely. She could try to run away, and
most likely be caught and killed by whatever had destroyed their base.
Or she could go through the portal, which was supposed to be safe,
was supposed to take her to a safe location away from here. If she
stayed, it was almost certain death. If she went, it was only her own
suspicion that whispered that there would be trouble.
Her team-mates had already passed through, vanishing into the
glowing lights, which today were in warm hues of gold and orange and
yellow-white. She could no longer sense their minds, no longer feel
the comforting presence of her team. She was once again alone in a
ruined area, somewhere that she could be broken and shattered, her
body ruined. Old memories made her shudder, and she made her decision
in that moment. She would not let her fears paralyze her again.
She stepped into the portal, the bright golden light flooding
her senses, causing the world to dissolve into light and a soft
thrumming noise that reminded her of the ocean tides heard from
underwater. It overwhelmed her, and she felt herself falling, and the
last thing she knew, she screamed into the light, feeling her body
spinning and falling. Darkness seeped in behind the light, and Betsy
knew no more.
end prolog.
The sun had not yet cleared the horizon, although it's nearness
was announced by the soft pinks and lavenders that had crept up into
the sky from the east, reflecting soft hues onto the soft waves that
lapped against the coarse sand. The sea was subtle, and few of those
who admired it's rippling beauty would realize that the sea was a
deceptive and thieving thing, stealing a bit more of the shore with
every season, the beach would slowly shrink, and the sands would move
ahead, eventually encroaching into what was no farmland. But the sea
was beautiful, and so mankind did not want to understand the danger,
the encroachment of the sea's domain, or the way that it could kill.
It reminded him of his precious Kwannon, beautiful, graceful,
and deadly. He could watch her for hours, admiring the grace of her
motions, the sleek rippling of her muscles, the sway of her hips and
her long hair. She was his most valuable person, more dear to him
that his closest blood kin. She was Kwannon, his lover, his
indulgence, and his most skilled assassin.
She was not graceful now. She had been the victim of a terrible
accident, and she was currently in his home, her body shattered,
sustained only by a host of expensive and delicate machines, even her
mind lost to him, claimed by unconsciousness. Modern medicine could
do nothing for her, he had already had the finest and most costly
experts examine her, almost begging in his desperation. They had all
told him the same thing: there was no chance of a recovery, and even
survival, aided by machines, was a chance, possibly only a matter of
days.
Only one voice had said otherwise, that of the demon woman
Spiral, a being from beyond the edge of this world and the next, and a
woman creature not from this earth. Spiral was a ruthless creature,
with few scruples that he had ever known of. She was capable of
making changes in people's form, changes far beyond the ability of the
finest medical experts of this world. He had asked her if there was
anything that could be done for his Kwannon. After a careful exam,
Spiral had frowned, telling him that there were very few things that
she would even be able to try that would permit Kwannon to live again,
even fewer that would permit her to live in her current form.
She had sworn to him that it would be possible to change
Kwannon, to rebuild her broken body using parts of steel and exotic
alloys, taking the broken form of his assassin and returning her as a
cyborg, functional, but no longer the sleek, supple woman whose body
he had so delighted in. She had also said that there was another
possibility, a way to return a living woman of flesh, but it would
require another woman, one whose body was not broken, one whom he
found attractive.
He had not asked what the other woman would be for, if the life
of someone else would be the price of Kwannon's return to him. It
didn't matter. If he could, he would sacrifice a woman, a dozen women
to have his Kwannon back. But there were no suitable women to be
found. If they were anywhere near young enough, they were not
healthy, or attractive. He had gone to the beach, to walk and pray,
asking fate or the ancestors, or any power that would listen to give
him a way to save Kwannon.
There was something on the beach, just at the edge of the tide
line. Some portion of driftwood, or discarded trash perhaps... But
something caused him to move closer, to look at the object carefully.
This was no branch of wood or discarded trash. The form of a woman lay
on the sands, her long hair being occasionally lifted and rearranged
by the water, her curves revealed by a close fitting garment of
purple. Looking carefully, he determined that she still breathed,
that her pulse was steady, and while her features were undeniably
those of Europe, she was actually pretty, in a foreign sort of way.
Nothing appeared to be broken. She was not too young or too
old, perhaps close to the age of his Kwannon. She was attractive,
with richly feminine curves and long hair that would undoubtedly look
better dry. She was perfect, and with the discovery of her half
drowned form, his Kwannon had a renewed chance to live. Spiral could
use this woman for whatever arcane process was required to restore his
Kwannon. Carefully, he lifted her from the water's edge, and began
carrying her back to his home, back to where Kwannon was waiting,
hooked to many machines that were all that kept her from dying.
Spiral could use this woman, could restore Kwannon to health.
She had assured him that it could be done, his lover returned to him,
still soft flesh and blood. As loyal to him as she had been before.
He carried the strange woman into his house, her dangling hair drying
over the walk, revealing its color as a soft lavender. Placing her
on a couch, he began the summons that would bring Spiral to him, would
enable him to ask for Kwannon's life.
For his beloved, he would strike a deal with a far less
attractive and forgiving demon. How fortunate that Spiral could grant
him what he wanted. All it would cost was the life of this lavender
haired woman. He hadn't built his empire by being squeamish.
There was a shimmer in the air, and a figure slowly came into
focus, a pale form dressed in a close fitting jumpsuit of pale blue,
two of her arms gleaming silver, the other four pale flesh. Spiral,
the six-armed witch woman from beyond the edges of the earth had
appeared in his house, answering his summons. She looked at him, her
strange pale eyes, almost as sliver as her arms, looking at him.
"I see you have another woman on your couch. Shall I take that
and this summons to mean you want Kwannon restored to you in health
and flesh? No matter the cost or consequences?" Her voice had a
strange accent, and rang with hints of authority and power, and a
trace of amusement. She was looking at the lavender haired woman, a
faint and calculating smile on her face
He looked at her, standing there, the fading distortion in the
air almost making him dizzy. He took a deep breath, forcing himself
to be calm. Right now, he needed Spiral, and he was certain that she
knew that. "Yes, Spiral. Restore my Kwannon. I do not care what the
price may be, so long as she is returned."
Spiral walked over, looking at the stranger on the couch, and
her expression changed, becoming a smile that hinted at dark pleasure,
and of some blow struck against some being that had angered her in the
past. "I think that with this woman, I can arrange something that
will make you a very happy man, Mandarin.
end part 1.
Spiral looked thoughtfully at the lavender haired woman, before
speaking again. "Pick her up. Then, we will go to the room where you
have Kwannon, and I will transport us to my Body Shoppe. The
procedures that I will be using are demanding, and I will not be able
to give you an exact date for her return, but it shall be done. I
think.. I might even be able to give you a pleasant surprise or two."
They progressed into the room of medical devices, humming and
beeping around Kwannon's unmoving form. The bruises had mottled her
skin to an unflattering mess of blue and purple-red swelling, and
there were numerous cuts and scrapes that had been deemed to small to
bandage. The machines still beeped regularly, she was still alive, or
as much as she could be in that moment. He stood beside her, looking
at her slender body, the grace and strength invisible, all he could
see was her pain.
Spiral began gesturing, and moving in an oddly graceful pattern,
almost like dancing, and the room began to blur, and gradually,
everything outside the small circle of machines blurred into nothing
more than pale light, and slowly resolved itself into something else.
This new place was still brightly lit, although it was a colder bluish
white. Metal and glass gleamed everywhere, and there were large vats
and tanks with tubes, and in one tank, there was a body floating, with
a swarm of tubes going into his body, and a small constellation of
lights monitoring things at the base of the tube.
Immediately, a group of technicians and medical experts swarmed
them, and before Mandarin could offer the faintest objection, they had
removed Kwannon from the hospital bed, and they were lowering her into
a tank filled with a pale fluid, and fitting her with an assortment of
tubes and a few patches, including a fine mesh of wires and electrodes
over her head. The tubes in place, a small mask was fitted over her
mouth and nose, and the tube was placed on a horizontal base, and more
of the pale substance, more of a thick gel than a fluid oozed in from
the end, covering her form, like a fly trapped in amber.
Spiral looked at him, a cold smile flickering over her face. "Do
not worry, Lord Mandarin. You will have your lover and assassin
returned to you when I have finished. I will.. what is the phrase? I
will send you a bill when everything is completed and calculated."
After making certain that both women were properly settled into
tubes and both fitted with the networks of electrodes over their
heads, Spiral returned Mandarin to his home, leaving him to ponder
things, or fuss with his empire of criminal activities, or whatever he
cared to do with his time. That really didn't matter to Spiral. He
was a customer, and if he ceased to have an interest in the options
that she could provide with her shop, there were always others who
would be.
She remembered this one, this lavender haired woman. Betsy
Braddock, a telepath from this earth, or another like it... the
particulars were unimportant. Mojo had found her once before, tried
to use her in a plot to gain himself power. She had escaped from
Mojo, although she couldn't have done it without help. The woman had
displayed unnecessary amounts of ethics, far more than any sensible
person needed. Mojo had been furious about her disappearance.
Mojo had not left a favorable impression on Spiral. He'd had her
created, but he'd made her a freak. He'd trained her so that she
could be his tool, his pawn and willing slave. She would not be
anyone's willing and expendable pawn. Eventually, she had won her
freedom, and had opened her body shop. She rebuilt people, sometimes
merely having flesh repaired, other times altering them, adding
cybernetics or altering the metabolic function. She had just been
given a unique opportunity, not only could she try a few of the more
exotic techniques, she could ensure that Mojo could never use the
Braddock woman again.
Revenge was sweet. She could ruin the woman for future
usefulness to Mojo, and with the same series of procedures, dispense
with the woman's wasteful ethics, essentially remaking her.
"Let me know when the dark haired human's body has regenerated
sufficiently. We will be performing a neural transfer, and remap the
minds of the two onto the other. Dark hair will wake up in the
lavender one's body, and Lavender will have the exquisite experience
of waking up in a body that's been broken. Again. Be sure that they
both survive, the dark haired body is contracted for return, and I
have plans for the other one.
end part 2.
She awoke, and could feel herself immersed in something, her
body entirely surrounded by ... something. It felt like some sort of
fluid, chill and wet and slimy against her skin... her bare skin. Her
eyes opened, and she could feel her heart pounding with confusion and
fear.
There was light, a bluish white light that made its way through
the whatever she was in. She was in some sort of tune, filled with
the slimy feeling whatever that was not water. She could feel
herself, and a faint feeling, almost surprise made her think that
something must have happened, some sort of traumatic injury that had
wounded her terribly. She hurt, although it was a slightly dulled
pain, as if it were far away. She could tell where her limbs were in
relation to each other, and she rubbed her fingers against her thumb,
feeling the wrinkles that had formed on them, wrinkles from being in
this tube full of.. something.
Her head was throbbing, and felt as it had been opened up, and
things had been poured in, and shaken, and then stirred some more, and
possibly emptied out afterwards. She couldn't remember who she was,
or how she had come to this place. Had she been here before? Was
this a place that she should recognize?
There was movement outside the tube, and a figure approached. A
pale form, a woman with white hair and six arms, two of which gleamed
metal. There was a vague feeling, that she should know who this
person was, that this woman's presence should tell her something.. it
troubled her. Six Arms was looking at her, or perhaps at the tube,
and she spoke, although her words were to distorted by the tube and
fluid to have any meaning, there was a sound to them, and then she
felt something warm enter through a tube, and everything went dark
again.
* * * *
When she woke again, she was on a table, and there were bright
lights all around her. Her bones felt strong once again, although her
muscles still ached. She realized after a moments confusion that she
was being given a simple medical examination.
They told her that she was going to be sent home, to be
reunited with her lover, who had been very worried about her. She was
to gradually rebuild her endurance, because she had taken some time
healing, and might have lost some muscle tone. A glance showed that
her limbs were sleek and graceful, supple muscle over bone, no traces
of fat on them, which had once been a great concern to her when... she
groped for the memory, but it's shadow had vanished, leaving her with
nothing more than the feeling that she had worried about her weight.
With one of the people in white clothing assisting her, she managed
to dress herself in the loose fitting clothing, flowing silk in dark
blue. She didn't recognize the clothing, but had no difficulty
putting it on, as if her hands and fingers remembered what her mind
did not...and walked with a minimum of swaying and staggering out the
door, her pride refusing to allow herself to stagger, or to show how
much she was depending on the aide to help her balance.
There was a man there, pacing slightly, handsome, his dark hair
neatly cut, but slightly mussed, as if it had happened while waiting
here. The waiting area was not welcoming, having a dull gray carpet,
stark white walls, and gleaming metal chairs. He was the only thing
in the room that spoke of life and color and a world apart from tubes
and gels and machines... and she didn't know him. He turned, looking
at her and the aid, and his face changed from an expression of
impatience and worry to a delighted smile.
"Kwannon, my love. You are well again. Come, I will take you
home." His voice was a pleasant tenor, and she was positive that he
knew her, that this was the lover that they had mentioned.
end part 3.
She had been taken home with her lover, Mandarin. She couldn't
remember him, but she discovered that her feet knew his home, knew how
many steps and how high, knew which floorboards creaked. There was a
room with lovely furnishings.. she felt no connection to it but the
clothing in the wardrobe fit her perfectly. She found herself looking
into the mirror, and wondering who was the woman staring back at her,
a lovely asian woman with long hair and dark eyes.
She had dyed her hair, rendering it a deep purple that was
almost black, and that had felt better, as if it was something set
right, although her lover had frowned slightly. She had exercised
with him, and he had watched her form as she moved through patterns,
moves that she didn't remember learning. Wherever she had picked them
up, they had been well studied, learned down to her muscles and bones,
and she felt herself moving through the demanding motions gracefully,
with only minimal difficulty.
Those sessions, which would start with him helping to make
certain she didn't over exert herself would often end in passionate
lovemaking. She couldn't deny that he knew her body well, knew
exactly how to bring her great pleasure.. or that her body knew his,
and exactly how to make him wild for her. She could feel him, as her
strength returned, hear the whisper of his thoughts.
She learned that she was his most skilled assassin. He had
given her the title of Lady Mandarin, and with her at his side, there
was nobody that could shake his empire. She found her skills were
there, and a little practice made that perfectly clear. Her lover had
even felt her healed enough to send out for some very simple
assignments, easy kills with nothing particularly difficult about
them. The memories were more difficult, and she had only re-gathered
fragments and pieces, mostly from the time that she had been with her
lover.
They were both startled when she began to show telepathic
abilities, to hear what someone intended to say before the spoke, to
project her words to him across the house. She had never been
telepathic before... at least, her lover had never known her to be
possess such abilities. They could only conclude that it was some
strange benefit to her treatment in Spiral's shop.
The knowledge of how to control these 'new' gifts seemed to flow
out of her shadowy memory as well, as if she merely had to remind
herself of an old skill. She could sense people in her area, 'see'
things with her eyes closed, know if someone spoke the truth or lied
to her. She could also use her power to hurt, and had visualized this
as if she were stabbing a knife into them... and glimmering faintly
around her hand had been a shape of energy, faintly purple and shaped
like a crude knife.
A bit of experimentation proved that if felt almost the same as
if she stabbed a knife into someone, but left no physical marks. Some
practice enabled her to refine her psychic blade into something a bit
less sloppy, a bit more refined. Something as elegant as the knives
and blades that she used in her work.
It was the oddest thing. She was starting to remember her life,
although that could have simply been an effect of her lover and some
of his most trusted people telling her about her past as much as they
had. They spoke of her family, now dead. How she had become an
assassin and worked her way to prominence, and become a trusted aide
to Mandarin. They spoke of the skill and dedication that she had for
her work, telling her theses things over and over until they seeped
into her, and she could tell the stories with them. Occasionally
though, she would have these odd dreams, where she was someone else,
sometimes London, sometimes another place, with a large western style
mansion, talking to people that she knew... only she could never
remember who they were once she awoke. She couldn't remember ever
knowing a kindly bald man in a wheelchair, or a dark skinned woman
with white hair and the bearing of a queen that could summon clouds
with a thought...
Her love was disturbed, she could feel him across the garden.
Something was bothering him, causing him concern and worry. A
person... this one was old trouble, and had been spotted in somewhere
far away, a potential threat to the fringes of his empire. "My love,
who is troubling you? Is it someone that you wish eliminated?"
He looked up at her, startled that she had known what he was
thinking. "He is known by several names. He is in Madripor, and in
that place, he is called Patch. It would bring me great pleasure if
you could remove him for me, my lovely one. I will have the
arrangements made for your travel immediately... or perhaps.. we could
delay the arrangements for a short while?"
Her sensual smile answered his own, and the travel arrangements
were set in motion later.
end part 4.
Madripor felt almost familiar, as if she had been there
during one of the gaps in her memory. There was a blending of elements
from the world of the east and the world of the west. There were
skyscrapers in the respectable district, but the blending of cultures was
strongly evident here, in the west quarter. Many of the faces showed that
cultural blending in their very features, having mixed ancestry from both
the east and the west, or from places where their ancestors had been far
darker, the lands of Africa. There would be an eastern style building,
standing next to a western box building, and both would be edged with
flickering neon lights. There were even a few people whose features looked
entirely European, and to her surprise, she found that she could read their
expressions as easily as those of more eastern ancestry.
Mandarin would not have been pleased with this place. She was
aware, in that way that meant she couldn't quite recall where or how she
had learned something, that her lover was something of a genetic purist,
having a strong distaste for mingled ancestry from the rest of the world.
It didn't seem to bother her, although none of the details that she had
been told of her life gave any indication that she should have such an ease
in dealing with the sight of so many of the west. It seemed that she did
not share her lover's distaste for the western world.
She was here to find the man called Patch. He had been
described, as a short, stocky man with dark hair, not the glossy black of
the east, but a less reflective color, almost like soil made from ashes.
His eyes were pale, although there had been a bit of question if they
were a light blue or if they were gray. He was supposed to have very broad
shoulders, making him very stocky, and she'd been cautioned that he was
a fierce brawler, although he was not known for use of any particular
style. He was of wholly western ancestry, at least as far as anyone could
tell from looking. He wore worn clothing, soft flannel shirts and faded
jeans, and this dreadful… hat. He was also, her sources had firmly agreed,
easily identified by the cigars that he smoked, some sort of imported
monstrosities, thick and particularly pungent.
Once she found him, she was supposed to kill him. She was
cautioned that she would need to be particularly ruthless in this task,
the man had proven himself either very lucky or resistant, and had not
fallen victim to any poison that had been attempted. He also recovered
quickly from attacks, so it was suggested that she hit him hard, and fast,
and make certain that the body was destroyed when she was finished.
She had found herself a temporary residence in a small hotel,
using just a touch of her newfound psychic ability to ensure that the
proprietor would not remember her face. She would be able to search for
this Patch now, to find where he was staying, where he went during the day,
what hours he kept. Once she knew that, it should be a simple matter to
plan his demise.
Eventually, her careful searching paid off, and she caught
sight of the man at a slightly shabby looking establishment named the
Princess Bar. They had said he was of western ancestry, but they hadn't
warned her that he was so hairy. The man's hair had shaped itself or been
shaped deliberately into two peaks, reminiscent of the tufted ears of a
wild cat. He moved something like a wild beast as well, all rolling
muscles and a sense of power and a lazy grace. There was an old battered
hat perched atop his head, slightly displacing the hair. He was pacing
along the bar, apparently thinking about something, and as he walked he
left a trail of smoke from his cigar. The scent of it was very strong, not
quite the same as any cigar that she had encountered before, yet it seemed
oddly familiar to her.
She took a seat along the wall, not actually in a corner, but out
of the main floor area, out of the main light. Something told her that the
dim light should not be a problem, as if some buried part of her thought
she should be able to see in the dark. Well, with her new abilities, she
very nearly could see in the dark, but something insisted that this was not
the same. She watched him, trying to learn the shape of his body as he
moved and paced, so that she would recognize him again, even if she only
glimpsed a sliver of his form around a corner.
There was something about him… something intense and almost
magnetic. It wasn't the shape of his features, because while his face was
not ugly, it was nothing particularly special, he was neither ugly nor
handsome, having features that on any other man would be western and
blandly forgettable, with the exception of that hair. It was the man
himself, his personality and energy that lent him an odd sort of appeal.
She could see the courtesans, the hired companions watching him, their eyes
sliding over his rippling muscles and following his pacing form, could feel
their interest in the sound of their thoughts.
He was entirely male, without the faintest shadow of doubt, and
he carried a sense of power and vitality. This was an alpha male, a
powerful man with an intense energy and a sense of vibrancy and power.
They were wondering if that intensity would carry into the bedchamber, if
he would be as primal a lover. They had little trouble imagining him with
his clothing off, and there was some jealousy and thought as to the nature
of the relationship between him and the girl that had come in with him.
She examined the images of the girl in their minds. A teenager,
perhaps fourteen at the oldest, dressed in worn jeans, a bright pink shirt,
and a yellow coat. The girl was obviously of mixed ancestry, the shape of
her proclaiming the east, her blue eyes speaking of the west. Young, yes,
but wary, watching in the way of someone that knew the streets, someone
that understood the laws and behaviors of the lower classes of society.
She watched the girl carefully, trying to determine what the relationship
between them actually was. The girl didn't watch him as a woman watches
her lover, with longing eyes and soft sighs. If anything, she watched him
as if her were her parent, or some other protector, someone to keep her
safe from the dangers that stalked the streets.
Lord Mandarin would probably want the girl eliminated as well,
simply to be cautious. She looked like she would try to fight. The girl
moved with a small degree o confidence, enough that she probably knew some
measure of fighting, but she didn't have the smoothness of motion that
spoke of intensive training. The girl would be easy enough to take down.
Perhaps if she took the girl down first as a distraction?
She followed them, carefully avoiding drawing attention to
herself. It would be wise to know where they were staying. It might be
simplest to strike while they slumbered, instead of attacking on the
street. Not only that, but it would give her more time to watch them,
more time to form an idea of their abilities.
End part 5.
She had been watching them for several days. They didn't have
much of a pattern, although they tended to sleep during the nights, from
perhaps midnight to near dawn. The man would often accompany the girl,
who seemed to want to see everything, to shop, to see everything. She was
apparently named Jubilee. The girl acted as if the man was some sort of
protective uncle, an older protector, but not her father. If possible,
she wanted to leave the girl alive. Jubilee seemed as if she would be able
to manage on the streets, possibly able to get herself away from Madripor
after her guardian's demise.
Following them, she waited for an opportunity. She wanted the
man, and a quiet moment somewhere fairly isolated. Her opportunity came
that night. He had returned the girl to the small hotel that they were
staying at, and then gone back out. It seemed that he intended to meet
with someone or go somewhere that he thought would be unsafe for the girl.
She followed, waiting for her moment. It came after his meeting, when he
found the main road blocked and detoured through a small alley.
She followed, making her passage as silent as her skill permitted.
When the moment seemed just right, she dropped down, twisting her body so
that the impact would be entirely absorbed by the man patch, and the point
of contact would be her knife. Not the one from her mind, but one of
sharp steel. She felt the impact jarring though her body, even as her
knife sank into his body, caching slightly on his collarbone and shifting,
tearing at the muscles and tendons. He wasn't as stunned as she'd hoped, in
fact, the impact and wound seemed only to anger him, and the next thing she
was aware of was his fist connecting very hard with her jaw, knocking her
off of his body as he heaved himself up from the alley.
There was a deep, rumbling growl filling the alley, causing the
hairs on the back of her neck to rise in a silent warning that this was
danger, this was the sound of a dangerous predatory beast. She looked up,
and realized that the growl was coming from the man, his eyes almost
gleaming in the darkness, and his teeth bared in a feral expression,
showing that his canines were longer than normal, sharp and menacing in the
dull and fragmented light of the alley. She attacked, a flurry of punches
and kicks, most of which he evaded or blocked, and she could not see that
the others even had any effect beyond making him angry.
Frantically trying to think of a way to bring this man down, even
if only long enough to escape, she readied her other blade, the one formed
purely from her will, and as he lunged for her, she stabbed it into his
mind, 'pushing' with her will. She didn't expect what happened next.
She felt 'herself' follow the blade into his mind, felt the cascading crash
of memory fragments that washed over and through him, almost as if she was
this man, Patch/Logan/Wolverine.
She felt herself standing naked in snow, surrounded by pine trees,
aware of everything in the small valley.... Fought some unknown man in
a cage located in some little nothing bar for money... felt searing pain
while trapped in a glass tune... nonono both minds recoiled from that
memory fragment. He was aware of her mental presence now, could feel her
inside of him.
He wasn't a normal man. She could sense everything as he sensed
it right now, caught in this unexpected and unplanned union of minds, he
could hear things happening blocks away, smell everything, his nose almost
painting a picture of what had happened in this alley today, could see
clearly in the darkness, smell her anxiety and confusion, feel the bruises
that she had given him vanishing, the knife in his shoulder itching as the
wound tried to close, prevented by the weapon still lodged, the hilt
catching on the bone. She knew that he could sense what she sensed, feel
the mental presences of the nearby people, the sleeping minds flavored
with dreams, the need/dismay/hopelessness of the nearby whores, the
lust/contempt/need of their costumers ...feel the pattern of his mind/her
mind.....
He knew the touch/flavor/scent of her mind. He knew her and the
identity came screaming into her mind from his BetsyBraddock/Psylocke
images of a woman with lavender hair, friend, teammate, stepping into a
portal where's Betsy didn't she come out? Need to find her... He had been
searching for her, and now he had found her only she didn't know who she
was, looked entirely different, but the touch of her mind was the same...
She jerked herself out of the rapport, feeling the connections snap
and recoil, pain lashing through her mind. He knew who she was, and it
wasn't Kwannon. Something inside her mind knew the truth of his thoughts,
knew that somehow she was Betsy Braddock, knew that this man had been her
teammate, that she had never been an assassin, never been Mandarin's
lover.. not before the glowing portal of golden light.
The woman, Betsy/Kwannon, collapsed to the ground, harsh sobs of
confusion and betrayal wracking her body, as her mind attempted to make
sense of everything. She knew that his recognition of her was accurate,
that she was the telepath Betsy Braddock, upper class Englishwoman and
X-Men. But Betsy had not looked like this, had never worn this face... how
could she have this face if she was Betsy? Why had Mandarin lied to her if
she was Betsy? Who was Kwannon, and why did she have her face?
Dimly, she was aware of Logan helping her to her feet, leaning on
him as they moved away from the alley. Then, there was a bed, soft
blankets and gentle darkness, and she surrendered to exhaustion.
end part 6.
She awoke, fragments of memories drifting through her mind,
memories of herself with lavender hair and blue eyes, living among the
X-men, fragments where she was watching the lavender haired woman,
aware of every scent... For a moment, she couldn't remember where she
was, or how she'd gotten here. Why was she sitting in a small room
on a slightly shaky bed with warm blankets that smelled of a man, and
faintly of cigar smoke?
She remembered, as the sleep cleared from her head. Logan had
brought her back with him. She'd tried to kill Logan, her teammate,
and he'd brought her back to his hotel room, let her sleep in his bed.
She could remember bits and pieces from her life before, her time
among the X-Men and her youth in Britain. She had been gone for a
long time.. had Logan been searching for her all that time?
She pulled the blankets around her, feeling oddly comforted by
them, by the scent of Logan that was on them. What would happen to
her now? She had been an X-man, but.. she had been Mandarin's
assassin, his lover... she could still remember the feeling of his
hands caressing her body.... which was not her own body. How had she
ended up like this, with someone else's body, living another's life?
Would the real Kwannon show up, wanting her life back? Was there even
a real Kwannon? If she had been real, what had happened to her?
She was still sitting there, curled into the blankets when the
door opened. Logan's voice came in, alert and friendly. "I thought
you might be hungry, so I got us both some breakfast."
In his hands was a tray, laden to nearly overflowing with
breakfast. Fruit and juice and eggs... the quantities of food were
substantial. They shared the tray, and between the two of them, there
wasn't anything left over. She had been very hungry.
"What happens to me now? I.. the past few months.. or however
long I was ... away. I haven't exactly been leading the life of an
X-Man. What will they say? How do I explain what happened when I
don't even know...." Her voice faltered, her doubts growing the more
she thought about it.
He looked at her, his hand tilting her chin up so that she met
his eyes. "You don't have to tell them any more than you choose. All
I intend to say is that I found you here, and you seem to be healthy
enough, physically. If you don't know.. hell, I know exactly how that
one feels. Just tell them that you don't know what happened. You
don't have to tell anyone anything about the past five months unless
you want to. But, Bets... I want you to know something. If you need
someone to talk to... about having your memories taken, about being
altered and your life toyed with.... I think I'm qualified to listen."
She considered what she could remember of Logan, what he could
remember of himself. He had been in a brutal program called Weapon X,
a program that had resulted in his past being taken from his memories,
his bones being laced with metal, and terrible nightmares. They had
discovered that many of the fragmentary memories that he had were
artificially created, implanted in his mind for unknown reasons by a
forgotten authority.
Yes, Logan would certainly be able to listen to her if she wanted to
talk. And he would be there, a comforting, silent presence if she
didn't want to talk.
Perhaps, with his help, she could rebuild her life. Or possibly
build a new one from the fragments and ashes of her old life, or
lives. She would at the very least be a better fighter than she had
been before. Logan would help her, he would be there as support for
her if she needed someone, and he would not try to reshape her, to
force her into a set pattern.
end part 7. End Chrysalis.
Series: Eastern Butterfly Story #1 Chrysalis
rating: pg 13
main character: Psylocke mentions the Mandarin/Kwannon pairing
Disclaimer: I do not own Psylocke or any other characters from Marvel
Comics. People with more money & lawyers do.
Distribution: please ask first, Psyknife may have it if she wants it.
please note that this was inspired by a paragraph in a history of
Betsy Braddock (Psylocke) that made me think 'now, what if Marvel had
gone with that...' and should not be considered accurate to cannon.
prolog
They had fought against a terrible foe, one that in some ways
was more powerful than any other that they had faced. It wasn't the
sheer physical power that made him dangerous. They had faced foes
with more physical strength, foes that could throw small tanks at
them, or even ships.
Now was this foe terrifying because of numbers, for they had fought
hordes of sentinels without causing her this sort of reaction. No,
this foe used magic, and she had no idea how to predict what he could
do, how much he could warp things to go according to his wishes. He
had collapsed walls with a gesture, and rebuilt them with another,
thrown bolts of energy, vanished and reappeared, caused them to see
things that weren't real. They had barely escaped from the conflict
with their lives, and they had found their base a smoking ruin,
destroyed while they were gone, eliminating their stronghold, the
place where they could have regained a measure of strength and planned
for a second effort.
There had been no choice but to use the Siege Perilous again, to
hope that they would emerge safely on the other side, that they could
regroup and gather what resources they could. She had looked at the
gleaming silvery frame that contained swirling colors and energies,
it's multihued glow illuminating the still standing corner and casting
strange shadows amidst the rubble. She didn't trust this portal. It
almost seemed to have a mind of it's own, and the colors changed,
sometimes causing strange scents to flow from the portal.
Unfortunately, there wasn't much of a choice. She could see
exactly three possibilities ahead of her. She could stay here, try to
fight the Adversary, and die bravely. She could try to run away, and
most likely be caught and killed by whatever had destroyed their base.
Or she could go through the portal, which was supposed to be safe,
was supposed to take her to a safe location away from here. If she
stayed, it was almost certain death. If she went, it was only her own
suspicion that whispered that there would be trouble.
Her team-mates had already passed through, vanishing into the
glowing lights, which today were in warm hues of gold and orange and
yellow-white. She could no longer sense their minds, no longer feel
the comforting presence of her team. She was once again alone in a
ruined area, somewhere that she could be broken and shattered, her
body ruined. Old memories made her shudder, and she made her decision
in that moment. She would not let her fears paralyze her again.
She stepped into the portal, the bright golden light flooding
her senses, causing the world to dissolve into light and a soft
thrumming noise that reminded her of the ocean tides heard from
underwater. It overwhelmed her, and she felt herself falling, and the
last thing she knew, she screamed into the light, feeling her body
spinning and falling. Darkness seeped in behind the light, and Betsy
knew no more.
end prolog.
The sun had not yet cleared the horizon, although it's nearness
was announced by the soft pinks and lavenders that had crept up into
the sky from the east, reflecting soft hues onto the soft waves that
lapped against the coarse sand. The sea was subtle, and few of those
who admired it's rippling beauty would realize that the sea was a
deceptive and thieving thing, stealing a bit more of the shore with
every season, the beach would slowly shrink, and the sands would move
ahead, eventually encroaching into what was no farmland. But the sea
was beautiful, and so mankind did not want to understand the danger,
the encroachment of the sea's domain, or the way that it could kill.
It reminded him of his precious Kwannon, beautiful, graceful,
and deadly. He could watch her for hours, admiring the grace of her
motions, the sleek rippling of her muscles, the sway of her hips and
her long hair. She was his most valuable person, more dear to him
that his closest blood kin. She was Kwannon, his lover, his
indulgence, and his most skilled assassin.
She was not graceful now. She had been the victim of a terrible
accident, and she was currently in his home, her body shattered,
sustained only by a host of expensive and delicate machines, even her
mind lost to him, claimed by unconsciousness. Modern medicine could
do nothing for her, he had already had the finest and most costly
experts examine her, almost begging in his desperation. They had all
told him the same thing: there was no chance of a recovery, and even
survival, aided by machines, was a chance, possibly only a matter of
days.
Only one voice had said otherwise, that of the demon woman
Spiral, a being from beyond the edge of this world and the next, and a
woman creature not from this earth. Spiral was a ruthless creature,
with few scruples that he had ever known of. She was capable of
making changes in people's form, changes far beyond the ability of the
finest medical experts of this world. He had asked her if there was
anything that could be done for his Kwannon. After a careful exam,
Spiral had frowned, telling him that there were very few things that
she would even be able to try that would permit Kwannon to live again,
even fewer that would permit her to live in her current form.
She had sworn to him that it would be possible to change
Kwannon, to rebuild her broken body using parts of steel and exotic
alloys, taking the broken form of his assassin and returning her as a
cyborg, functional, but no longer the sleek, supple woman whose body
he had so delighted in. She had also said that there was another
possibility, a way to return a living woman of flesh, but it would
require another woman, one whose body was not broken, one whom he
found attractive.
He had not asked what the other woman would be for, if the life
of someone else would be the price of Kwannon's return to him. It
didn't matter. If he could, he would sacrifice a woman, a dozen women
to have his Kwannon back. But there were no suitable women to be
found. If they were anywhere near young enough, they were not
healthy, or attractive. He had gone to the beach, to walk and pray,
asking fate or the ancestors, or any power that would listen to give
him a way to save Kwannon.
There was something on the beach, just at the edge of the tide
line. Some portion of driftwood, or discarded trash perhaps... But
something caused him to move closer, to look at the object carefully.
This was no branch of wood or discarded trash. The form of a woman lay
on the sands, her long hair being occasionally lifted and rearranged
by the water, her curves revealed by a close fitting garment of
purple. Looking carefully, he determined that she still breathed,
that her pulse was steady, and while her features were undeniably
those of Europe, she was actually pretty, in a foreign sort of way.
Nothing appeared to be broken. She was not too young or too
old, perhaps close to the age of his Kwannon. She was attractive,
with richly feminine curves and long hair that would undoubtedly look
better dry. She was perfect, and with the discovery of her half
drowned form, his Kwannon had a renewed chance to live. Spiral could
use this woman for whatever arcane process was required to restore his
Kwannon. Carefully, he lifted her from the water's edge, and began
carrying her back to his home, back to where Kwannon was waiting,
hooked to many machines that were all that kept her from dying.
Spiral could use this woman, could restore Kwannon to health.
She had assured him that it could be done, his lover returned to him,
still soft flesh and blood. As loyal to him as she had been before.
He carried the strange woman into his house, her dangling hair drying
over the walk, revealing its color as a soft lavender. Placing her
on a couch, he began the summons that would bring Spiral to him, would
enable him to ask for Kwannon's life.
For his beloved, he would strike a deal with a far less
attractive and forgiving demon. How fortunate that Spiral could grant
him what he wanted. All it would cost was the life of this lavender
haired woman. He hadn't built his empire by being squeamish.
There was a shimmer in the air, and a figure slowly came into
focus, a pale form dressed in a close fitting jumpsuit of pale blue,
two of her arms gleaming silver, the other four pale flesh. Spiral,
the six-armed witch woman from beyond the edges of the earth had
appeared in his house, answering his summons. She looked at him, her
strange pale eyes, almost as sliver as her arms, looking at him.
"I see you have another woman on your couch. Shall I take that
and this summons to mean you want Kwannon restored to you in health
and flesh? No matter the cost or consequences?" Her voice had a
strange accent, and rang with hints of authority and power, and a
trace of amusement. She was looking at the lavender haired woman, a
faint and calculating smile on her face
He looked at her, standing there, the fading distortion in the
air almost making him dizzy. He took a deep breath, forcing himself
to be calm. Right now, he needed Spiral, and he was certain that she
knew that. "Yes, Spiral. Restore my Kwannon. I do not care what the
price may be, so long as she is returned."
Spiral walked over, looking at the stranger on the couch, and
her expression changed, becoming a smile that hinted at dark pleasure,
and of some blow struck against some being that had angered her in the
past. "I think that with this woman, I can arrange something that
will make you a very happy man, Mandarin.
end part 1.
Spiral looked thoughtfully at the lavender haired woman, before
speaking again. "Pick her up. Then, we will go to the room where you
have Kwannon, and I will transport us to my Body Shoppe. The
procedures that I will be using are demanding, and I will not be able
to give you an exact date for her return, but it shall be done. I
think.. I might even be able to give you a pleasant surprise or two."
They progressed into the room of medical devices, humming and
beeping around Kwannon's unmoving form. The bruises had mottled her
skin to an unflattering mess of blue and purple-red swelling, and
there were numerous cuts and scrapes that had been deemed to small to
bandage. The machines still beeped regularly, she was still alive, or
as much as she could be in that moment. He stood beside her, looking
at her slender body, the grace and strength invisible, all he could
see was her pain.
Spiral began gesturing, and moving in an oddly graceful pattern,
almost like dancing, and the room began to blur, and gradually,
everything outside the small circle of machines blurred into nothing
more than pale light, and slowly resolved itself into something else.
This new place was still brightly lit, although it was a colder bluish
white. Metal and glass gleamed everywhere, and there were large vats
and tanks with tubes, and in one tank, there was a body floating, with
a swarm of tubes going into his body, and a small constellation of
lights monitoring things at the base of the tube.
Immediately, a group of technicians and medical experts swarmed
them, and before Mandarin could offer the faintest objection, they had
removed Kwannon from the hospital bed, and they were lowering her into
a tank filled with a pale fluid, and fitting her with an assortment of
tubes and a few patches, including a fine mesh of wires and electrodes
over her head. The tubes in place, a small mask was fitted over her
mouth and nose, and the tube was placed on a horizontal base, and more
of the pale substance, more of a thick gel than a fluid oozed in from
the end, covering her form, like a fly trapped in amber.
Spiral looked at him, a cold smile flickering over her face. "Do
not worry, Lord Mandarin. You will have your lover and assassin
returned to you when I have finished. I will.. what is the phrase? I
will send you a bill when everything is completed and calculated."
After making certain that both women were properly settled into
tubes and both fitted with the networks of electrodes over their
heads, Spiral returned Mandarin to his home, leaving him to ponder
things, or fuss with his empire of criminal activities, or whatever he
cared to do with his time. That really didn't matter to Spiral. He
was a customer, and if he ceased to have an interest in the options
that she could provide with her shop, there were always others who
would be.
She remembered this one, this lavender haired woman. Betsy
Braddock, a telepath from this earth, or another like it... the
particulars were unimportant. Mojo had found her once before, tried
to use her in a plot to gain himself power. She had escaped from
Mojo, although she couldn't have done it without help. The woman had
displayed unnecessary amounts of ethics, far more than any sensible
person needed. Mojo had been furious about her disappearance.
Mojo had not left a favorable impression on Spiral. He'd had her
created, but he'd made her a freak. He'd trained her so that she
could be his tool, his pawn and willing slave. She would not be
anyone's willing and expendable pawn. Eventually, she had won her
freedom, and had opened her body shop. She rebuilt people, sometimes
merely having flesh repaired, other times altering them, adding
cybernetics or altering the metabolic function. She had just been
given a unique opportunity, not only could she try a few of the more
exotic techniques, she could ensure that Mojo could never use the
Braddock woman again.
Revenge was sweet. She could ruin the woman for future
usefulness to Mojo, and with the same series of procedures, dispense
with the woman's wasteful ethics, essentially remaking her.
"Let me know when the dark haired human's body has regenerated
sufficiently. We will be performing a neural transfer, and remap the
minds of the two onto the other. Dark hair will wake up in the
lavender one's body, and Lavender will have the exquisite experience
of waking up in a body that's been broken. Again. Be sure that they
both survive, the dark haired body is contracted for return, and I
have plans for the other one.
end part 2.
She awoke, and could feel herself immersed in something, her
body entirely surrounded by ... something. It felt like some sort of
fluid, chill and wet and slimy against her skin... her bare skin. Her
eyes opened, and she could feel her heart pounding with confusion and
fear.
There was light, a bluish white light that made its way through
the whatever she was in. She was in some sort of tune, filled with
the slimy feeling whatever that was not water. She could feel
herself, and a faint feeling, almost surprise made her think that
something must have happened, some sort of traumatic injury that had
wounded her terribly. She hurt, although it was a slightly dulled
pain, as if it were far away. She could tell where her limbs were in
relation to each other, and she rubbed her fingers against her thumb,
feeling the wrinkles that had formed on them, wrinkles from being in
this tube full of.. something.
Her head was throbbing, and felt as it had been opened up, and
things had been poured in, and shaken, and then stirred some more, and
possibly emptied out afterwards. She couldn't remember who she was,
or how she had come to this place. Had she been here before? Was
this a place that she should recognize?
There was movement outside the tube, and a figure approached. A
pale form, a woman with white hair and six arms, two of which gleamed
metal. There was a vague feeling, that she should know who this
person was, that this woman's presence should tell her something.. it
troubled her. Six Arms was looking at her, or perhaps at the tube,
and she spoke, although her words were to distorted by the tube and
fluid to have any meaning, there was a sound to them, and then she
felt something warm enter through a tube, and everything went dark
again.
* * * *
When she woke again, she was on a table, and there were bright
lights all around her. Her bones felt strong once again, although her
muscles still ached. She realized after a moments confusion that she
was being given a simple medical examination.
They told her that she was going to be sent home, to be
reunited with her lover, who had been very worried about her. She was
to gradually rebuild her endurance, because she had taken some time
healing, and might have lost some muscle tone. A glance showed that
her limbs were sleek and graceful, supple muscle over bone, no traces
of fat on them, which had once been a great concern to her when... she
groped for the memory, but it's shadow had vanished, leaving her with
nothing more than the feeling that she had worried about her weight.
With one of the people in white clothing assisting her, she managed
to dress herself in the loose fitting clothing, flowing silk in dark
blue. She didn't recognize the clothing, but had no difficulty
putting it on, as if her hands and fingers remembered what her mind
did not...and walked with a minimum of swaying and staggering out the
door, her pride refusing to allow herself to stagger, or to show how
much she was depending on the aide to help her balance.
There was a man there, pacing slightly, handsome, his dark hair
neatly cut, but slightly mussed, as if it had happened while waiting
here. The waiting area was not welcoming, having a dull gray carpet,
stark white walls, and gleaming metal chairs. He was the only thing
in the room that spoke of life and color and a world apart from tubes
and gels and machines... and she didn't know him. He turned, looking
at her and the aid, and his face changed from an expression of
impatience and worry to a delighted smile.
"Kwannon, my love. You are well again. Come, I will take you
home." His voice was a pleasant tenor, and she was positive that he
knew her, that this was the lover that they had mentioned.
end part 3.
She had been taken home with her lover, Mandarin. She couldn't
remember him, but she discovered that her feet knew his home, knew how
many steps and how high, knew which floorboards creaked. There was a
room with lovely furnishings.. she felt no connection to it but the
clothing in the wardrobe fit her perfectly. She found herself looking
into the mirror, and wondering who was the woman staring back at her,
a lovely asian woman with long hair and dark eyes.
She had dyed her hair, rendering it a deep purple that was
almost black, and that had felt better, as if it was something set
right, although her lover had frowned slightly. She had exercised
with him, and he had watched her form as she moved through patterns,
moves that she didn't remember learning. Wherever she had picked them
up, they had been well studied, learned down to her muscles and bones,
and she felt herself moving through the demanding motions gracefully,
with only minimal difficulty.
Those sessions, which would start with him helping to make
certain she didn't over exert herself would often end in passionate
lovemaking. She couldn't deny that he knew her body well, knew
exactly how to bring her great pleasure.. or that her body knew his,
and exactly how to make him wild for her. She could feel him, as her
strength returned, hear the whisper of his thoughts.
She learned that she was his most skilled assassin. He had
given her the title of Lady Mandarin, and with her at his side, there
was nobody that could shake his empire. She found her skills were
there, and a little practice made that perfectly clear. Her lover had
even felt her healed enough to send out for some very simple
assignments, easy kills with nothing particularly difficult about
them. The memories were more difficult, and she had only re-gathered
fragments and pieces, mostly from the time that she had been with her
lover.
They were both startled when she began to show telepathic
abilities, to hear what someone intended to say before the spoke, to
project her words to him across the house. She had never been
telepathic before... at least, her lover had never known her to be
possess such abilities. They could only conclude that it was some
strange benefit to her treatment in Spiral's shop.
The knowledge of how to control these 'new' gifts seemed to flow
out of her shadowy memory as well, as if she merely had to remind
herself of an old skill. She could sense people in her area, 'see'
things with her eyes closed, know if someone spoke the truth or lied
to her. She could also use her power to hurt, and had visualized this
as if she were stabbing a knife into them... and glimmering faintly
around her hand had been a shape of energy, faintly purple and shaped
like a crude knife.
A bit of experimentation proved that if felt almost the same as
if she stabbed a knife into someone, but left no physical marks. Some
practice enabled her to refine her psychic blade into something a bit
less sloppy, a bit more refined. Something as elegant as the knives
and blades that she used in her work.
It was the oddest thing. She was starting to remember her life,
although that could have simply been an effect of her lover and some
of his most trusted people telling her about her past as much as they
had. They spoke of her family, now dead. How she had become an
assassin and worked her way to prominence, and become a trusted aide
to Mandarin. They spoke of the skill and dedication that she had for
her work, telling her theses things over and over until they seeped
into her, and she could tell the stories with them. Occasionally
though, she would have these odd dreams, where she was someone else,
sometimes London, sometimes another place, with a large western style
mansion, talking to people that she knew... only she could never
remember who they were once she awoke. She couldn't remember ever
knowing a kindly bald man in a wheelchair, or a dark skinned woman
with white hair and the bearing of a queen that could summon clouds
with a thought...
Her love was disturbed, she could feel him across the garden.
Something was bothering him, causing him concern and worry. A
person... this one was old trouble, and had been spotted in somewhere
far away, a potential threat to the fringes of his empire. "My love,
who is troubling you? Is it someone that you wish eliminated?"
He looked up at her, startled that she had known what he was
thinking. "He is known by several names. He is in Madripor, and in
that place, he is called Patch. It would bring me great pleasure if
you could remove him for me, my lovely one. I will have the
arrangements made for your travel immediately... or perhaps.. we could
delay the arrangements for a short while?"
Her sensual smile answered his own, and the travel arrangements
were set in motion later.
end part 4.
Madripor felt almost familiar, as if she had been there
during one of the gaps in her memory. There was a blending of elements
from the world of the east and the world of the west. There were
skyscrapers in the respectable district, but the blending of cultures was
strongly evident here, in the west quarter. Many of the faces showed that
cultural blending in their very features, having mixed ancestry from both
the east and the west, or from places where their ancestors had been far
darker, the lands of Africa. There would be an eastern style building,
standing next to a western box building, and both would be edged with
flickering neon lights. There were even a few people whose features looked
entirely European, and to her surprise, she found that she could read their
expressions as easily as those of more eastern ancestry.
Mandarin would not have been pleased with this place. She was
aware, in that way that meant she couldn't quite recall where or how she
had learned something, that her lover was something of a genetic purist,
having a strong distaste for mingled ancestry from the rest of the world.
It didn't seem to bother her, although none of the details that she had
been told of her life gave any indication that she should have such an ease
in dealing with the sight of so many of the west. It seemed that she did
not share her lover's distaste for the western world.
She was here to find the man called Patch. He had been
described, as a short, stocky man with dark hair, not the glossy black of
the east, but a less reflective color, almost like soil made from ashes.
His eyes were pale, although there had been a bit of question if they
were a light blue or if they were gray. He was supposed to have very broad
shoulders, making him very stocky, and she'd been cautioned that he was
a fierce brawler, although he was not known for use of any particular
style. He was of wholly western ancestry, at least as far as anyone could
tell from looking. He wore worn clothing, soft flannel shirts and faded
jeans, and this dreadful… hat. He was also, her sources had firmly agreed,
easily identified by the cigars that he smoked, some sort of imported
monstrosities, thick and particularly pungent.
Once she found him, she was supposed to kill him. She was
cautioned that she would need to be particularly ruthless in this task,
the man had proven himself either very lucky or resistant, and had not
fallen victim to any poison that had been attempted. He also recovered
quickly from attacks, so it was suggested that she hit him hard, and fast,
and make certain that the body was destroyed when she was finished.
She had found herself a temporary residence in a small hotel,
using just a touch of her newfound psychic ability to ensure that the
proprietor would not remember her face. She would be able to search for
this Patch now, to find where he was staying, where he went during the day,
what hours he kept. Once she knew that, it should be a simple matter to
plan his demise.
Eventually, her careful searching paid off, and she caught
sight of the man at a slightly shabby looking establishment named the
Princess Bar. They had said he was of western ancestry, but they hadn't
warned her that he was so hairy. The man's hair had shaped itself or been
shaped deliberately into two peaks, reminiscent of the tufted ears of a
wild cat. He moved something like a wild beast as well, all rolling
muscles and a sense of power and a lazy grace. There was an old battered
hat perched atop his head, slightly displacing the hair. He was pacing
along the bar, apparently thinking about something, and as he walked he
left a trail of smoke from his cigar. The scent of it was very strong, not
quite the same as any cigar that she had encountered before, yet it seemed
oddly familiar to her.
She took a seat along the wall, not actually in a corner, but out
of the main floor area, out of the main light. Something told her that the
dim light should not be a problem, as if some buried part of her thought
she should be able to see in the dark. Well, with her new abilities, she
very nearly could see in the dark, but something insisted that this was not
the same. She watched him, trying to learn the shape of his body as he
moved and paced, so that she would recognize him again, even if she only
glimpsed a sliver of his form around a corner.
There was something about him… something intense and almost
magnetic. It wasn't the shape of his features, because while his face was
not ugly, it was nothing particularly special, he was neither ugly nor
handsome, having features that on any other man would be western and
blandly forgettable, with the exception of that hair. It was the man
himself, his personality and energy that lent him an odd sort of appeal.
She could see the courtesans, the hired companions watching him, their eyes
sliding over his rippling muscles and following his pacing form, could feel
their interest in the sound of their thoughts.
He was entirely male, without the faintest shadow of doubt, and
he carried a sense of power and vitality. This was an alpha male, a
powerful man with an intense energy and a sense of vibrancy and power.
They were wondering if that intensity would carry into the bedchamber, if
he would be as primal a lover. They had little trouble imagining him with
his clothing off, and there was some jealousy and thought as to the nature
of the relationship between him and the girl that had come in with him.
She examined the images of the girl in their minds. A teenager,
perhaps fourteen at the oldest, dressed in worn jeans, a bright pink shirt,
and a yellow coat. The girl was obviously of mixed ancestry, the shape of
her proclaiming the east, her blue eyes speaking of the west. Young, yes,
but wary, watching in the way of someone that knew the streets, someone
that understood the laws and behaviors of the lower classes of society.
She watched the girl carefully, trying to determine what the relationship
between them actually was. The girl didn't watch him as a woman watches
her lover, with longing eyes and soft sighs. If anything, she watched him
as if her were her parent, or some other protector, someone to keep her
safe from the dangers that stalked the streets.
Lord Mandarin would probably want the girl eliminated as well,
simply to be cautious. She looked like she would try to fight. The girl
moved with a small degree o confidence, enough that she probably knew some
measure of fighting, but she didn't have the smoothness of motion that
spoke of intensive training. The girl would be easy enough to take down.
Perhaps if she took the girl down first as a distraction?
She followed them, carefully avoiding drawing attention to
herself. It would be wise to know where they were staying. It might be
simplest to strike while they slumbered, instead of attacking on the
street. Not only that, but it would give her more time to watch them,
more time to form an idea of their abilities.
End part 5.
She had been watching them for several days. They didn't have
much of a pattern, although they tended to sleep during the nights, from
perhaps midnight to near dawn. The man would often accompany the girl,
who seemed to want to see everything, to shop, to see everything. She was
apparently named Jubilee. The girl acted as if the man was some sort of
protective uncle, an older protector, but not her father. If possible,
she wanted to leave the girl alive. Jubilee seemed as if she would be able
to manage on the streets, possibly able to get herself away from Madripor
after her guardian's demise.
Following them, she waited for an opportunity. She wanted the
man, and a quiet moment somewhere fairly isolated. Her opportunity came
that night. He had returned the girl to the small hotel that they were
staying at, and then gone back out. It seemed that he intended to meet
with someone or go somewhere that he thought would be unsafe for the girl.
She followed, waiting for her moment. It came after his meeting, when he
found the main road blocked and detoured through a small alley.
She followed, making her passage as silent as her skill permitted.
When the moment seemed just right, she dropped down, twisting her body so
that the impact would be entirely absorbed by the man patch, and the point
of contact would be her knife. Not the one from her mind, but one of
sharp steel. She felt the impact jarring though her body, even as her
knife sank into his body, caching slightly on his collarbone and shifting,
tearing at the muscles and tendons. He wasn't as stunned as she'd hoped, in
fact, the impact and wound seemed only to anger him, and the next thing she
was aware of was his fist connecting very hard with her jaw, knocking her
off of his body as he heaved himself up from the alley.
There was a deep, rumbling growl filling the alley, causing the
hairs on the back of her neck to rise in a silent warning that this was
danger, this was the sound of a dangerous predatory beast. She looked up,
and realized that the growl was coming from the man, his eyes almost
gleaming in the darkness, and his teeth bared in a feral expression,
showing that his canines were longer than normal, sharp and menacing in the
dull and fragmented light of the alley. She attacked, a flurry of punches
and kicks, most of which he evaded or blocked, and she could not see that
the others even had any effect beyond making him angry.
Frantically trying to think of a way to bring this man down, even
if only long enough to escape, she readied her other blade, the one formed
purely from her will, and as he lunged for her, she stabbed it into his
mind, 'pushing' with her will. She didn't expect what happened next.
She felt 'herself' follow the blade into his mind, felt the cascading crash
of memory fragments that washed over and through him, almost as if she was
this man, Patch/Logan/Wolverine.
She felt herself standing naked in snow, surrounded by pine trees,
aware of everything in the small valley.... Fought some unknown man in
a cage located in some little nothing bar for money... felt searing pain
while trapped in a glass tune... nonono both minds recoiled from that
memory fragment. He was aware of her mental presence now, could feel her
inside of him.
He wasn't a normal man. She could sense everything as he sensed
it right now, caught in this unexpected and unplanned union of minds, he
could hear things happening blocks away, smell everything, his nose almost
painting a picture of what had happened in this alley today, could see
clearly in the darkness, smell her anxiety and confusion, feel the bruises
that she had given him vanishing, the knife in his shoulder itching as the
wound tried to close, prevented by the weapon still lodged, the hilt
catching on the bone. She knew that he could sense what she sensed, feel
the mental presences of the nearby people, the sleeping minds flavored
with dreams, the need/dismay/hopelessness of the nearby whores, the
lust/contempt/need of their costumers ...feel the pattern of his mind/her
mind.....
He knew the touch/flavor/scent of her mind. He knew her and the
identity came screaming into her mind from his BetsyBraddock/Psylocke
images of a woman with lavender hair, friend, teammate, stepping into a
portal where's Betsy didn't she come out? Need to find her... He had been
searching for her, and now he had found her only she didn't know who she
was, looked entirely different, but the touch of her mind was the same...
She jerked herself out of the rapport, feeling the connections snap
and recoil, pain lashing through her mind. He knew who she was, and it
wasn't Kwannon. Something inside her mind knew the truth of his thoughts,
knew that somehow she was Betsy Braddock, knew that this man had been her
teammate, that she had never been an assassin, never been Mandarin's
lover.. not before the glowing portal of golden light.
The woman, Betsy/Kwannon, collapsed to the ground, harsh sobs of
confusion and betrayal wracking her body, as her mind attempted to make
sense of everything. She knew that his recognition of her was accurate,
that she was the telepath Betsy Braddock, upper class Englishwoman and
X-Men. But Betsy had not looked like this, had never worn this face... how
could she have this face if she was Betsy? Why had Mandarin lied to her if
she was Betsy? Who was Kwannon, and why did she have her face?
Dimly, she was aware of Logan helping her to her feet, leaning on
him as they moved away from the alley. Then, there was a bed, soft
blankets and gentle darkness, and she surrendered to exhaustion.
end part 6.
She awoke, fragments of memories drifting through her mind,
memories of herself with lavender hair and blue eyes, living among the
X-men, fragments where she was watching the lavender haired woman,
aware of every scent... For a moment, she couldn't remember where she
was, or how she'd gotten here. Why was she sitting in a small room
on a slightly shaky bed with warm blankets that smelled of a man, and
faintly of cigar smoke?
She remembered, as the sleep cleared from her head. Logan had
brought her back with him. She'd tried to kill Logan, her teammate,
and he'd brought her back to his hotel room, let her sleep in his bed.
She could remember bits and pieces from her life before, her time
among the X-Men and her youth in Britain. She had been gone for a
long time.. had Logan been searching for her all that time?
She pulled the blankets around her, feeling oddly comforted by
them, by the scent of Logan that was on them. What would happen to
her now? She had been an X-man, but.. she had been Mandarin's
assassin, his lover... she could still remember the feeling of his
hands caressing her body.... which was not her own body. How had she
ended up like this, with someone else's body, living another's life?
Would the real Kwannon show up, wanting her life back? Was there even
a real Kwannon? If she had been real, what had happened to her?
She was still sitting there, curled into the blankets when the
door opened. Logan's voice came in, alert and friendly. "I thought
you might be hungry, so I got us both some breakfast."
In his hands was a tray, laden to nearly overflowing with
breakfast. Fruit and juice and eggs... the quantities of food were
substantial. They shared the tray, and between the two of them, there
wasn't anything left over. She had been very hungry.
"What happens to me now? I.. the past few months.. or however
long I was ... away. I haven't exactly been leading the life of an
X-Man. What will they say? How do I explain what happened when I
don't even know...." Her voice faltered, her doubts growing the more
she thought about it.
He looked at her, his hand tilting her chin up so that she met
his eyes. "You don't have to tell them any more than you choose. All
I intend to say is that I found you here, and you seem to be healthy
enough, physically. If you don't know.. hell, I know exactly how that
one feels. Just tell them that you don't know what happened. You
don't have to tell anyone anything about the past five months unless
you want to. But, Bets... I want you to know something. If you need
someone to talk to... about having your memories taken, about being
altered and your life toyed with.... I think I'm qualified to listen."
She considered what she could remember of Logan, what he could
remember of himself. He had been in a brutal program called Weapon X,
a program that had resulted in his past being taken from his memories,
his bones being laced with metal, and terrible nightmares. They had
discovered that many of the fragmentary memories that he had were
artificially created, implanted in his mind for unknown reasons by a
forgotten authority.
Yes, Logan would certainly be able to listen to her if she wanted to
talk. And he would be there, a comforting, silent presence if she
didn't want to talk.
Perhaps, with his help, she could rebuild her life. Or possibly
build a new one from the fragments and ashes of her old life, or
lives. She would at the very least be a better fighter than she had
been before. Logan would help her, he would be there as support for
her if she needed someone, and he would not try to reshape her, to
force her into a set pattern.
end part 7. End Chrysalis.