April Witch
(a person able to send her spirit out to possess animals or other people)
disclaimer: not mine. never will be. money made from this: zero dollars.
(brief) author notes: this is a sequel to my previous story une danse ronde. since the new season of evo is starting up real soon, i'm spinning off into a.u. land with this, but here's hoping you enjoy it anyhow. i don't own any of the thieves or the assassins and many of the places in remy's new orleans are real, but since i've never been, i can only guess at what they're really like and so apologize in advance for any error. i may be slower to update since i just started a new job and my time is more limited than it's been previously. as always, god knows i tried my best with the accents.
* * *
Going home's a strange t'ing. Been t'inkin' 'bout it so long wit'out any hope dat it might ever happen. Life's better when you don't 'spect miracles.
Jean-Luc always had de mysterious ways o' findin' me. Remember once when Belladonna an' me out for a night on de town till Theo dropped outta a tree like he was a bat or somet'ing. Took ten years off right dere. Mec's lucky he's my cousin. But de message was from Jean-Luc. Don't shoot de messenger as dey say.
Wasn't Theo dat came wit' de message dis time. De boy's too serious. Quiet. Impassive. Reminds me of Piotr. Never t'ought t' get respect t'rough dat stone persona, not what comes natural t' me, but Theo always seemed t' be working hard at dat.
Rogue's hospital room was too easy t' get to, not just for me either. I'd assigned myself guard duty, balancing on de windowsill wit' de soft curtains tickling across de backs o' my hands. Only when dey were gone. Didn't trust dem not t' hate me for what dey t'ought I'd done in joining wit' Magneto.
Didn't trust myself not t' feel guilty 'bout dat.
During de day, de room was filled. Amused myself in watching dem come and go. Some of dem wanted t' touch her--a brown-haired girl wit' a bubblegum voice, a boy wit' nimble fingers an' a loud mouth, a beautiful black woman wit' eyes cool as polished stones. Some of dem shied away when dey saw de marks of de tattoo on her arm. Dey would inch back, den look around guilty. When dey realized dat no one saw dey would relax again. I saw everyt'ing.
Dat made me t'ink o' my own tattoo. Knew ten people in de Quarter who'd remove it quick an' cheap an' not ask any kinds of questions dat I didn't want t' answer in de first place. But den I t'ought dat I might not want it gone, because de t'ings dat happened weren't so easy t' erase. Touched my fingers lightly t' de tattoo. Liked de idea of a mark t' measure de intensity of de occasion.
After visiting hours were over and dey were gone I could sit in de window for hours. Shuffled de cards an' made dem dance. Sung low under my breath all Tante Mattie's songs I could remember. When I couldn't remember any others I just started over. Made me t'ink of mockingbirds wit' their long, seesawing tails. When dey're happy dey sit in de trees all day and twitter all de songs dey know in a loop.
But despite de comparison and despite de fact dat I could see Rogue breathing at every moment (de shallow rise an' fall was a miracle t' me), I wasn't near t' happy. In those songs I remembered Mattie and de house. De whole Vieux Carre (French Quarter) opened up inside like a strange flower, filled wit' de taste of café au lait and beignets early in de morning at de Café du Monde; de sounds o' de city coming t' life beyond Jackson Square and underneath it all, de brackish tang o' de river. Its strong current was like de blood in my veins. For de first time, I could feel de whole tragedy of being away from home.
Dat's when strong hands pulled me off my perch an' t'rough de air. "Putain (fucking hell)!"
Soft tsk. "Tante Mattie raised you t' use better language den dat."
Looked up: red hair, goatee, blue eyes, light winking off de earring. "Better ways t' get my attention, Emil." He was hanging down de side o' de building and holding me over de ground. Never said dat Jean-Luc didn't raise de best t'ieves in de world.
Emil laughed, made a bahbin (a pouting facial expression). "Dat's no fun."
Was dat twinkle in his eye dat always made Emil a good cousin an' a better friend. "Dis not a fun place, mon ami."
"Who's de girl?"
"Friend."
"Dat's all? No juicy details for de family?"
"Mebbe 'de family' needs t' go out an' find un belle (a sweetheart) himself an' not try t' live t'rough me."
Den he grinned in dat wicked, crooked way of his. Bounced me around. "Allons dancer (let's dance), Remy mon chère!" Spun me a bit. "Hey, dat's even poetry for you!"
"Charming, but why don't you put me down and 'splain what dis about."
Emil seemed t' remember himself den. "Jean-Luc sent me."
"An' Marius." Could see dat much in his guilty face. Some people t'ink dat t'ieves got no conscience, but dat's not true. All in how you read t'ings. Right den, Emil's mouth tugged up in de left corner and showed me his guilt.
"An' Marius. He's as upset dat you're gone as Jean-Luc. You like a son t' him too. He says Julien was only protecting Belladonna dat time."
Couldn't hold back a snort. "Julien's le fou (crazy), everybody knows dat. Boy threatened t' put a knife t'rough me over Belladonna. Y' ask me, he's little too close t' his sister."
Emil wrinkled his nose. "Zeerah (disgusting). I'm not here t' argue wit' you, Remy. And dis isn't about Bella anyways. Etienne wants you t' come back for his Tilling."
"Dat don't make sense. Why can't Henri do it?"
"You know dat Etienne never wanted anyone but you t' sponsor him." Regret an' jealousy pulled at de corners o' Emil's eyes for a moment. "'Sides, Henri's got some girl dat he's busy wit' dese days."
Shook my head. Felt de bands o' family obligations close 'round me. Mebbe I could never get free o' dem. Sometimes I didn't know if I wanted to. Nice t' feel needed somewhere. "How long I been gone?"
Emil pointed his chin in de direction of de exposed tattoo. "Long 'nough."
* * *
Ah never considered th' matter o' my own looks before. As much time as it took ta put on th' makeup in th' mornin', Ah was always able ta look through the mirror. Foundation, powder, eyeliner, lipstick. The makeup kept people from lookin' at me straight on. Their eyes would always slide offa me at the last minute, just like the princes on the tower o' glass in that fairy tale with the ending Ah forget.
The middle was always the most interestin' ta me anyhow: the moment when Rapunzel's prince falls into the thorns an' blinds himself or the wild hedge o' roses growing up around Aurora's castle, that instant when the Beast almost dies on account of Beauty's reluctance ta leave her family. Ah've got plenty o' time ta think 'bout things like that 'cause the x-men have become nomads.
With the institute destroyed, the professor missin' an' our secret revealed ta everyone who ever wondered, it's not like we can go back ta school any time soon. Storm rents rooms. Logan rents rooms. Heck, even Scott an' Jean do. They pose as married couples. Sometimes Jamie pretends he's their son. We sneak in the back way.
Some o' the younger kids seem ta be enjoyin' this. It's a big adventure with room service. It's an extended field trip. Mr. McCoy teaches class best he can with everyone crowded 'round his legs like storytime. Ah cain't pretend ta listen ta more facts 'bout the Battle o' Hastings when there's so much else that might be done.
But the thing is, Ah don't do anythin'. Ah watch my face an' try ta figure out if Ah'm pretty. The shapes fit together the same way, but the picture changes. It's like lookin' out through a window. At first all ya see is the outside, but then somethin' on the window catches your eye--a half- smudged hand-print or a flyspeck--an' then there's nothin' else ta see. Ah look at my face an' most times it's just me, but sometimes it's Jenny starin' back.
Ah catch whispers in my ears. Ah keep 'em ta myself. They fade like smoke. Ah look and look. Ah break mirrors in secret.
It's been eight days since Remy left when Ah get the package. It's not much an' at first Ah cain't think o' who mighta sent it. Everyone's eyes are on me. Even Mr. McCoy stopped in mid-sentence just ta stare at me an' the package.
"This is none o' your business," Ah tell them gruffly an' run outside, clutchin' the small box so hard into my chest that Ah'm sure it left marks.
My fingers shake as Ah rip at the packing tape. Inside Ah find somethin' wrapped in a white paper bag. The time it takes ta remove the bag is almost too horrible ta stand. Ya have ta understand, Ah've never been sent anythin'. The box was my little world apart from the x-men an' the tiny rooms an' the worry over the professor.
Inside, there were two squares o' pastry, smallish with powdered sugar squashed into the tops. Ah put one in my mouth. It was heavy with the fullness o' somethin' fried that's gone cold. Ah chewed it eagerly an' swallowed, welcoming the sensation o' it in my stomach. Sweetness lingered in my mouth, even as Ah heaved a sigh an' turned ta go back ta the overfull motel room.
"Good," came the whisper from behind me. Ah shut my ears an' licked my lips, concentratin' as hard as Ah could on the sweetness o' my mouth.
* * *
(a person able to send her spirit out to possess animals or other people)
disclaimer: not mine. never will be. money made from this: zero dollars.
(brief) author notes: this is a sequel to my previous story une danse ronde. since the new season of evo is starting up real soon, i'm spinning off into a.u. land with this, but here's hoping you enjoy it anyhow. i don't own any of the thieves or the assassins and many of the places in remy's new orleans are real, but since i've never been, i can only guess at what they're really like and so apologize in advance for any error. i may be slower to update since i just started a new job and my time is more limited than it's been previously. as always, god knows i tried my best with the accents.
* * *
Going home's a strange t'ing. Been t'inkin' 'bout it so long wit'out any hope dat it might ever happen. Life's better when you don't 'spect miracles.
Jean-Luc always had de mysterious ways o' findin' me. Remember once when Belladonna an' me out for a night on de town till Theo dropped outta a tree like he was a bat or somet'ing. Took ten years off right dere. Mec's lucky he's my cousin. But de message was from Jean-Luc. Don't shoot de messenger as dey say.
Wasn't Theo dat came wit' de message dis time. De boy's too serious. Quiet. Impassive. Reminds me of Piotr. Never t'ought t' get respect t'rough dat stone persona, not what comes natural t' me, but Theo always seemed t' be working hard at dat.
Rogue's hospital room was too easy t' get to, not just for me either. I'd assigned myself guard duty, balancing on de windowsill wit' de soft curtains tickling across de backs o' my hands. Only when dey were gone. Didn't trust dem not t' hate me for what dey t'ought I'd done in joining wit' Magneto.
Didn't trust myself not t' feel guilty 'bout dat.
During de day, de room was filled. Amused myself in watching dem come and go. Some of dem wanted t' touch her--a brown-haired girl wit' a bubblegum voice, a boy wit' nimble fingers an' a loud mouth, a beautiful black woman wit' eyes cool as polished stones. Some of dem shied away when dey saw de marks of de tattoo on her arm. Dey would inch back, den look around guilty. When dey realized dat no one saw dey would relax again. I saw everyt'ing.
Dat made me t'ink o' my own tattoo. Knew ten people in de Quarter who'd remove it quick an' cheap an' not ask any kinds of questions dat I didn't want t' answer in de first place. But den I t'ought dat I might not want it gone, because de t'ings dat happened weren't so easy t' erase. Touched my fingers lightly t' de tattoo. Liked de idea of a mark t' measure de intensity of de occasion.
After visiting hours were over and dey were gone I could sit in de window for hours. Shuffled de cards an' made dem dance. Sung low under my breath all Tante Mattie's songs I could remember. When I couldn't remember any others I just started over. Made me t'ink of mockingbirds wit' their long, seesawing tails. When dey're happy dey sit in de trees all day and twitter all de songs dey know in a loop.
But despite de comparison and despite de fact dat I could see Rogue breathing at every moment (de shallow rise an' fall was a miracle t' me), I wasn't near t' happy. In those songs I remembered Mattie and de house. De whole Vieux Carre (French Quarter) opened up inside like a strange flower, filled wit' de taste of café au lait and beignets early in de morning at de Café du Monde; de sounds o' de city coming t' life beyond Jackson Square and underneath it all, de brackish tang o' de river. Its strong current was like de blood in my veins. For de first time, I could feel de whole tragedy of being away from home.
Dat's when strong hands pulled me off my perch an' t'rough de air. "Putain (fucking hell)!"
Soft tsk. "Tante Mattie raised you t' use better language den dat."
Looked up: red hair, goatee, blue eyes, light winking off de earring. "Better ways t' get my attention, Emil." He was hanging down de side o' de building and holding me over de ground. Never said dat Jean-Luc didn't raise de best t'ieves in de world.
Emil laughed, made a bahbin (a pouting facial expression). "Dat's no fun."
Was dat twinkle in his eye dat always made Emil a good cousin an' a better friend. "Dis not a fun place, mon ami."
"Who's de girl?"
"Friend."
"Dat's all? No juicy details for de family?"
"Mebbe 'de family' needs t' go out an' find un belle (a sweetheart) himself an' not try t' live t'rough me."
Den he grinned in dat wicked, crooked way of his. Bounced me around. "Allons dancer (let's dance), Remy mon chère!" Spun me a bit. "Hey, dat's even poetry for you!"
"Charming, but why don't you put me down and 'splain what dis about."
Emil seemed t' remember himself den. "Jean-Luc sent me."
"An' Marius." Could see dat much in his guilty face. Some people t'ink dat t'ieves got no conscience, but dat's not true. All in how you read t'ings. Right den, Emil's mouth tugged up in de left corner and showed me his guilt.
"An' Marius. He's as upset dat you're gone as Jean-Luc. You like a son t' him too. He says Julien was only protecting Belladonna dat time."
Couldn't hold back a snort. "Julien's le fou (crazy), everybody knows dat. Boy threatened t' put a knife t'rough me over Belladonna. Y' ask me, he's little too close t' his sister."
Emil wrinkled his nose. "Zeerah (disgusting). I'm not here t' argue wit' you, Remy. And dis isn't about Bella anyways. Etienne wants you t' come back for his Tilling."
"Dat don't make sense. Why can't Henri do it?"
"You know dat Etienne never wanted anyone but you t' sponsor him." Regret an' jealousy pulled at de corners o' Emil's eyes for a moment. "'Sides, Henri's got some girl dat he's busy wit' dese days."
Shook my head. Felt de bands o' family obligations close 'round me. Mebbe I could never get free o' dem. Sometimes I didn't know if I wanted to. Nice t' feel needed somewhere. "How long I been gone?"
Emil pointed his chin in de direction of de exposed tattoo. "Long 'nough."
* * *
Ah never considered th' matter o' my own looks before. As much time as it took ta put on th' makeup in th' mornin', Ah was always able ta look through the mirror. Foundation, powder, eyeliner, lipstick. The makeup kept people from lookin' at me straight on. Their eyes would always slide offa me at the last minute, just like the princes on the tower o' glass in that fairy tale with the ending Ah forget.
The middle was always the most interestin' ta me anyhow: the moment when Rapunzel's prince falls into the thorns an' blinds himself or the wild hedge o' roses growing up around Aurora's castle, that instant when the Beast almost dies on account of Beauty's reluctance ta leave her family. Ah've got plenty o' time ta think 'bout things like that 'cause the x-men have become nomads.
With the institute destroyed, the professor missin' an' our secret revealed ta everyone who ever wondered, it's not like we can go back ta school any time soon. Storm rents rooms. Logan rents rooms. Heck, even Scott an' Jean do. They pose as married couples. Sometimes Jamie pretends he's their son. We sneak in the back way.
Some o' the younger kids seem ta be enjoyin' this. It's a big adventure with room service. It's an extended field trip. Mr. McCoy teaches class best he can with everyone crowded 'round his legs like storytime. Ah cain't pretend ta listen ta more facts 'bout the Battle o' Hastings when there's so much else that might be done.
But the thing is, Ah don't do anythin'. Ah watch my face an' try ta figure out if Ah'm pretty. The shapes fit together the same way, but the picture changes. It's like lookin' out through a window. At first all ya see is the outside, but then somethin' on the window catches your eye--a half- smudged hand-print or a flyspeck--an' then there's nothin' else ta see. Ah look at my face an' most times it's just me, but sometimes it's Jenny starin' back.
Ah catch whispers in my ears. Ah keep 'em ta myself. They fade like smoke. Ah look and look. Ah break mirrors in secret.
It's been eight days since Remy left when Ah get the package. It's not much an' at first Ah cain't think o' who mighta sent it. Everyone's eyes are on me. Even Mr. McCoy stopped in mid-sentence just ta stare at me an' the package.
"This is none o' your business," Ah tell them gruffly an' run outside, clutchin' the small box so hard into my chest that Ah'm sure it left marks.
My fingers shake as Ah rip at the packing tape. Inside Ah find somethin' wrapped in a white paper bag. The time it takes ta remove the bag is almost too horrible ta stand. Ya have ta understand, Ah've never been sent anythin'. The box was my little world apart from the x-men an' the tiny rooms an' the worry over the professor.
Inside, there were two squares o' pastry, smallish with powdered sugar squashed into the tops. Ah put one in my mouth. It was heavy with the fullness o' somethin' fried that's gone cold. Ah chewed it eagerly an' swallowed, welcoming the sensation o' it in my stomach. Sweetness lingered in my mouth, even as Ah heaved a sigh an' turned ta go back ta the overfull motel room.
"Good," came the whisper from behind me. Ah shut my ears an' licked my lips, concentratin' as hard as Ah could on the sweetness o' my mouth.
* * *