-1Title: Qi Yuan (Origin)

Summary: This is the origin for Jubilee of Earth-719.

Date: September 2005 re-written in July 2006, revised January 2007

Disclaimer: I don't own Jubilee, and I don't own Marvel. If I did, I certainly would make the whole thing less confusing, and I wouldn't go about decimating species. Or whatever.

Author's Note: This is among my first fictions, but it is my first fan-fiction. I hope you like it. Also, I don't know any Chinese, except stuff that fortune cookies and the internet have taught me, so if you notice awful mistakes in my Chinese (Mandarin) let me know.

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Lai Li (Family History)

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My name is Jubilation Lee, but you can call me Jubilee. I grew up for thirteen years in bright, shiny Californ-I-A with a bright shiny family. Well, not really, but I did grow up in SoCal.

In 1985, my mother gave birth to a little boy that my parents named Victor. Victory, that's what my mama called him. Except she did it in Chinese. 'Cause that's where she was from. My baba too, but he grew up in Hong-Kong, so he said everything with a British accent. I think that's why he was such a good doctor, 'cause everyone loves a cute guy with a British accent. Ugh, not that I thought my own father was cute, but…

Anyway, mama's pregnancy was long and hard, and the doctors told her she shouldn't have anymore children. That really crushed her, and I know what you're thinking, "But, Jubilee, if she couldn't have any children after '85, where did you come from?" The stork dropped me off. Hah. Not really. Right, so, about a year and some months after Victor was born, he died. SIDS. It's a bad, bad thing. Baba says Mama wasn't right for a long time after that.

My father was a doctor, so he didn't want to try having more kids, and she pretended to be on the pill. And poof, 1989, here's baby Jubilee! That's why my name is Jubilation, 'cause my mama and baba were so happy that they had a baby, and that I didn't kill her. She was barren after that. Sometimes I think she kind of blamed Baba, but not in public. And not in front of me, she was like that, y'know? She wanted to pretend everything was always alright, even when it wasn't. She loved me, though, an I loved her too. And my baba.

Now, you might be wondering why I'm talking in past tense. That's 'cause I speak English pretty well, and I know that when someone's dead, they are past tense. As in -ed. And they aren't coming back. I get that now, took me a while, but I got it.

So. You probably want to know what happened in detail. I guess I can shed some light on that.

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It was about a month before my thirteenth birthday…

"Jubes, I'm bored. Y'wanna go to the mall, chica?"

That's Destinee. She was my best friend. When she wasn't yelling at me in Spanish, she was pretty cool. We went to the mall a lot, 'cause we each had one parent who was a doctor. And her father was a college professor. He taught something along the lines of Mexican History. 'Cos he was real proud of being Mexican. Anyway, back to the story.

I looked up at Destinee, thinking about the fifty bucks Baba had given me for the week. "Yah. Let's go."

Let me set the scene for you. Crowded, smelly food court filled with tweens like me who were happy not to be in school.

"Wanna hit Le Rag Bin?" I asked Destinee; she looked at me like I was stupid. And I guess I was, Le Rag Bin had some of the loudest clothes I've ever seen. But then, I was twelve.

I grabbed her hand, and dragged her toward a shop filled with garishly coloured clothes in all materials unnatural and cheap. I let go to pick up this big, big yellow-ish trench coat. When I put it on, it was about a foot too long, but I liked it. I still have it.

"Are you kidding me, Jubes? That coat is so ugly."

"What? No. It's cool."

"Don't be estupida, chica. It's like a mile too big for you, and it's ugly."

I looked at the price tag. "It's only seven bucks. I promise, I'll buy something that you like, but I'm getting this."

Destinee rolled her eyes at me, turned around, and poked her bony little butt in my direction.

"Fine," I said, "I won't buy anything pretty." Grinning, I headed toward the register. Destinee and I giggled a lot, 'cause the clerk was a really pretty boy. Tee-hee.

Later that night, I was at Destinee's, in her bedroom, specifically. I was enjoying my new coat, it has like a kajillion pockets. That's a lot, in case you were wondering. So, I was enjoying my new jacket, and trying not to imagine the heaps of clothing in Destinee's room weren't about to eat me. She was a bigger slob than I have ever been. The pile next to my elbow, I could have sworn it was breathing, but, whatever.

"Hey, Jubes, chica?"

"A-yeah?"

"Didn't you have gymnastics practice today?"

"…" I sat there, thinking, "now, what's the best thing to do?" After I heard Destinee shift irritably, I replied. "Yes. Yes I did."

Gymnastics, you see, is a way of life. You cannot miss practice. Especially if your mama keeps telling you you're going to the Olympics one day.

"That means you're going home, doesn't it?"

"Yeah."

"You know it's, like, after midnight."

"I know. But if Mama finds out I skipped practice, and I spent the night at your house without telling her, she'll do that thing where she smiles."

I never liked it when she did that. She would smile, but it wouldn't get to her eyes. And she wouldn't say anything until I apologised for whatever I did, and said I wouldn't do it again. It was creepy. I guess you had to be there.

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So, there I was, walking up to the front of my house when I noticed the front door standing open a little. That worried me. I walked up to the door, and opened it really slowly. I could hear my parents arguing upstairs. Then I heard a little boy speak.

I crawled up the steps very, very quietly. I was like a little doormouse, or a churchmouse. Some kind of mouse. Anyway, no one heard me.

Before I could see my parents room, I heard my father's voice. He started to yell. Then I heard something go, vshwew! Thump. My mother screamed a little, and the little boy voice told her to shut up.

I didn't want to believe the sound. I peeked into the room, and I saw my mama sitting on the bed crying. I could see my father's legs, and there was a splatter of his blood across my mama and the sheets. It was darker than I thought it would have been.

That was the first time I noticed the smell of blood, too. It's not a smell you forget. It's the smell you smell when you bite a penny.

My mother dropped to the floor and started begging in broken English for him to leave, she wouldn't tell, she wouldn't say a word to anyone. That's when his arm lifted up and smacked her with the gun.

She screamed again, and he yelled to shut up. He asked, "who else lives here?"

Mama pulled herself up to her knees, and crying, she said, "no one. I can't have any babies."

"Goodbye," he said. I saw his arm again, and heard the sound. This time, I felt something hot and sticky hit me on my forehead above left eye. I saw my mother's eyes go blank, and I watched her hit the floor.

That's when he opened the door.

Panicking, I peeled down the stairs, and darted out the front door. I heard heavy footsteps clunking after me. This is when I started screaming like I was going to die.

I remember thinking to myself, "Where is he? Omigod, I'm gonna die… I'm gonna die!" I didn't turn around to listen for the footsteps. I threw myself into an alley and dove behind some trashcans. I would have scraped my knees and elbows if I hadn't been wearing my lucky coat.

I don't usually cry, but I think you can understand I was a little stressed out here. The swet was running into my eyes and they burned, and I could feel something slimy on my forehead. "Blood! Mama's blood! Mama's blood is on me!" Crying harder, I wiped furiously at my forehead until I heard a scraping sound.

Shaking silently, I wrapped my coat around me, and listened.

I heard his feet scrape the cold alley. I saw his shiny black boots. I saw his dark, dark jeans. I could smell the blood smattered on his navy shirt. My parents blood. My parents who died because of him.

I started to shake with fear and anger and adrenaline and confusion and a hundred other emotions all swirling up inside me, and I didn't know what to do.

I watched him get closer. He was tall and lanky, and had red hair and a crooked grin. I didn't like that grin. I had nightmares about it for years.

"Come on out, baby. I can smell you anyway."

My whole body felt like it was burning, and I was terrified he could really smell me. I started shaking violently, and I kicked one of the cans in front of me.

"What's this? Do I hear baby?" He grabbed his crotch and began to rub it, "Want some of this, baby?"

I started to whimper as he unbuckled his belt, and started fumbling with his pants. Kicking aside the can, he said, "Baby's a pretty isn't she?" And he giggled. The fucker giggled like someone farted in church. He giggled like a little girl, and it chilled my soul.

I kicked and threw my hands up in front of me, and I felt like I was exploding. I heard him scream shrilly, and I smelled something like fireworks. I could hear a loud popping noise. I opened my eyes, and I saw fireworks. Then I realised my hands were exploding, and I screamed and they got worse.

The alley was white and I could hear was "PAFF-PAFF-POP-FIZZLE-POP-SIZZLE-SIZZLE!"

I didn't see the man anymore, and I moved my hands, the paffing sound subsided, and it got really dark really quick.

There was the man, on the ground writhing in pain, his stomach was bleeding and smoking. I stood up, and I saw the gun, and picked it up. I held it; it was heavier than I thought it was going to be. I aimed it at his chest.

I could feel the tears burning my eyes again, and the gun slipped out of my hand, clattering loudly on the damp ground.

So, I ran. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me, I ran too hard to hear the trashcans scrape the ground, too fast to hear the man scream with a little boy's voice, too fast to see him pick up the gun and stagger off.

So, this is where I leave you, dear audience, and I let history tell his story. Hah, get it? History, his story… I thought I'd leave you with a joke instead of such a grim picture, but if you don't appreciate it, I'm sorry. Sheesh.