Ariesque Presents:
Back in the Day: The Legend of Logan's Kin
Genre: AU/Romance/Drama
Rated: PG-13 for violence, language, and other suggestive parts; I will warn beforehand
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or lyrics of any songs I place in my story, although I do wish I did.
A/N: All right, the line button isn't working but I won't wait for it to get unstuck. And I won't be able to do anymore quick updates since I'm going back to school, but it's not like anyone's holding their breath. So, on with the story, and as always, tell me what you think!
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8. Skunks and Whiskey
Brotherhood Hideout, somewhere along the outskirts of Tennessee: 1877
A mirror. Rogue needed a mirror to see how much destruction she had bestowed upon her head. She ran down the endless corridor, cursing whoever came up with hair bleach in the first place.
Bursting into a random room, she found it had a vanity and rushed over to observe her reflection. Catastrophe was putting it nicely—her blonde streaks looked stark white in the dim candlelight. Rogue knew exactly who to blame for all of this: Remy LeBeau, that bastard. He would get what was coming to him and all in good time, she thought, pulling on her ruined locks.
And just when it couldn't get any worse, Rogue noticed someone staring at her through the mirror. She turned around to find the Scarlet Witch herself sitting on a bed, looking cross and tired, but most of all amused.
Rogue immediately tried to explain herself. "Ah didn't know dis room was occupied."
With a half-empty bottle of whiskey in her hand, Wanda glanced at her unexpected visitor and scrunched up her nose in blatant disapproval.
"Your hair looks like hell," the Witch slurred. Well, it's not like Rogue could've saved the bottle of bleach to continue dyeing her auburn hair. But she didn't say that. "You look like a damn skunk."
"Skunks aren't brown and white," Rogue tried reasoning.
"Yes they are." She realized Wanda was drunk. As if the Witch's glazed-over look didn't give her away already. Rogue just wanted to make sure is all. "Hey, you kinda look like that skunk Fred sat on one time. I swan, that creature screamed before it went under. Fred's pants smelled so bad, we had to burn them along with that goon sucker." She was laughing, but Rogue wasn't enjoying this mockery at all.
Wanda leaned forward, as if to see her companion better. "Hmm. You know, I haven't spoken to a girl in a coon's age. It's been so long." She patted the bed next to her in drunken excitement. "Perhaps you might get away with looking like a skunk, but you probably should change your clothes, honey, unless you wanna look like you murdered somebody all over your dress." Remy's blood, Rogue was sorry to remember, covered her clothes considerably. At least she left that dratted bonnet behind—Rogue was, at the very least, grateful for that.
Wanda pointed to her closet. "I hardly use dresses anyway. Remy always says he likes me in them, but I tell him 'pshaw' and he shoves off like the good person that he is." She laughed again, as if this was the funniest thing she had ever heard herself say.
Rogue was curious; Remy LeBeau was someone she wanted to know more about. "Yah an' Remy ahre friendly?"
Wanda nodded. "We go back. Back to when John absquatulated (1)." She took a swig of her whiskey and gave Rogue a pout. "He was very consoling but he didn't like feeling sorry for me. He said, 'I'll sleep with you if it makes you feel better' but I'd just laugh in his face because he was always joking like that, and I'd hit him hard for it." She tried to demonstrate on herself and missed her head by a mile.
"So what was Remy like then?" Rogue wanted to know.
"What he's always been: a thief. He's a very persuasive and flirty thief, I'll tell you that much. But I've never set my cap for him (2), if you know what I mean." She paused, as if trying to focus her vision. "Interesting. I've heard you can't touch, so what's a philanderer want with someone he can't get his grubby hands on?" Wanda put the bottle to her lips and swallowed some liquor. Rogue hoped it burned as it went down.
"Maybe he just wants tah help."
"Maybe." Even drunk, Wanda wasn't convinced. "But he's much more interested in himself." She noticed the wedding rings on the vanity and her eyes glazed over with tears this time. "Did anyone ever tell you I was married once?"
No, Rogue admitted. Wanda shrugged.
"I'm not surprised. It's a sort of taboo between the Boys and me. We never talk about it because it gets me so upset." She gulped the whiskey again. "Can't you tell?"
It was as obvious as the nose on her face, but Rogue didn't say that. "No, ma'am. Ah cain't."
She gave her an odd grin. "It was a silly fling, but I needed to leave. I needed to get away from my father or else I would've been stuck with a man that can pass as a monkey." Rogue didn't understand a word she was saying, but she decided against asking questions. "We were just friends, John and me. But we fell in love and it was the stupidest thing that could have happened." She said this as if to ridicule herself. "Take it from me: don't ever fall in love. It'll be the death of you." She threw the drink into the fireplace making eager flames engulf the newfound fuel.
"He left you?" Rogue wondered, still trying to put the Witch's story together. She's drunk, Rogue quietly thought to herself. She probably wishes she were married so she could have an excuse for her present situation.
"Actually, nobody knows for sure." She gave Rogue a grievous look. "He took Stallion out before dawn one day and just disappeared. The horse came back without John. They said there were tracks as far as the rails, but trust me: I've been riding those rails for quite some time, and nobody I've ever cornered or robbed has heard of a St. John Allerdyce, that's for damn sure." She let out a quiet breath as if to still her heart. "Don't tell the Boys; they think I'm in this business for the money. But to tell the truth, I'm just looking for John." Wanda smiled then, a lost smile. "Once I went up North for Charles Xavier and even he came up cold."
Rogue sat up in astonishment upon hearing the familiar name. "Yah know a Charles Xavier up North?"
"He was no use to me, that's for sure. I even told him so."
"But yah know where he is?"
Wanda looked at the girl, realizing the cause of her sudden curiosity. "He was no help to me, dammit! He couldn't track John…couldn't find him with his powers…" Rogue realized Wanda was too far gone with the liquor to answer her directly. It was hard to swallow that someone as dangerous and powerful as Wanda Maximoff could be reduced to nothing more than a silly girl drunk with the illusions of love.
Rogue then looked on as Wanda, overwhelmed and wasted enough, collapsed on her bed and drowned her sorrow with bitter tears.
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10. Fear is the Heart of Love (3)
Voight's Ranch, South Dakota: 1873
It was high noon on Voight's Ranch when St. John Allerdyce stepped into the side door of the ranch house during his afternoon break. Mrs. Voight, a rough but kind woman whose territory was the house, looked up from the stew she was stirring and smiled at the hired hand.
"Afternoon, ma'am," he greeted her, not bothering to take off his cowboy hat as he came into the kitchen.
"I was wonderin' when you'd come and pick up your shirt, Mr. Allerdyce." She waddled over and gave him the garment. "Freshly starched, like you asted." The woman gave him a sly smile and John immediately knew what was on her mind. "Going to ast her today, aren't yah?"
The Aussie tried to suppress his smirk. "Reckon I should."
"Well, go on then! And don't get that shirt dirty 'fore yah reach her, yah hear?" she laughed, waving the wooden spoon at him. John ran a hand over his recently shaved chin, checked his reflection in a nearby watering hole, and sauntered into the stables, all the while pulling on his fresh shirt. He was, of course, trying to find Wanda, which was not exactly the easiest task to do. She was always running away on her horse, escaping her chores, pushing cowboys out of their work so she could do it herself. She had only been on the ranch a month and already she was both admired and hated all over the land.
Wanda Maximoff was not at all like other girls. John knew this from the moment he first set eyes on her. She wanted to run away from her life in Texas; John invited her to go with him to Voight's Ranch. Different, she was. Different because she never pleased anyone except herself, different because she could put you in your place and keep you there. It drove him completely mad because he didn't want her but he wanted her, loved yet hated that girl.
It drove him insane because he couldn't have her. She had a way of reeling him in only to leave him hanging on the line.
But John was willing to take a chance because he had to know if she ever felt the same way about him.
Naturally, there were the subtle hints—how she'd wake him up in the middle of the night just to talk, how she'd offer to take his horse in when he was too tired from work, how she would sometimes make him hide between the fig trees with her after she ditched her chores. Maybe it was just her way of being appreciative, but John knew you just couldn't be too sure with a sheila like Wanda Maximoff.
Voices filled the stable as John looked to see if Wanda's horse was still there. It was, but so were two people. The Aussie immediately recognized Wanda in that God-forsaken coat of hers, talking to a Simon Williams, the butcher who once cowboyed but stopped when he got hurt on the job. Some days, John would see them talking together and he knew their conversations never pertained to meat. John kept behind the stable door, listening in, his heart growing colder with every word he heard.
"What is it you wanted to see me for, Simon? I mean, in broad daylight, and on the hottest day…" Wanda's voice carried through the stillness—she sounded both amused and annoyed at Williams and this alarmed John. He clenched the wooden gate until his knuckles turned white.
"I'm sorry if I took you away from your work…" The Aussie snorted at that. The women were always clucking about how Wanda ran away from chores everyday. She was a sore spot on the ranch; they dubbed her Witch Wanda after she ran away from sweeping the stables with the broom still in her hand. The men talked differently about the girl, mostly because she was a sight to see. She worked as a cowgirl every other day, taking the horses out and roping the cattle. Wanda wasn't half-bad with the men—it was, in fact, her saving grace.
"Hodgepodge, Mr. Williams. I was just penning the critters and you just can't get them to do anything without cussing at 'em." Williams laughed a laugh that came from deep within his throat.
"I used to know what that was like." John rolled his eyes. Williams always liked to talk about his cowboy days, trying to get people to pity him. The ladies fell for it, sure, but Wanda wasn't a regular lady. Give her a rope, and she just kept to herself all day. Wanda was like that. "I was thinking about what you said yesterday about seeing the Southwest, and I was wondering if you wanted to come along with me this winter."
The Aussie was struck dumb. He couldn't believe Williams was asking Wanda to go away with him—to the Southwest even! That was just another way of asking a lady to marry him, was what John was thinking. And he almost sputtered when Wanda told him she would.
Allerdyce turned on his heel and was about to slip away discreetly when Wanda noticed him and quietly excused herself from Williams. She strode towards the Aussie who was scowling to himself, her smile so kind that it just about killed him.
"What are you up to, Australia? Spying on me, are you? Woo-hee, can your shirt be anymore stiff?" She was mocking him, and although it was what she always did, he let it get to him.
"Bloody hell, Wanda, yah shouldn't have come after me. Why don't yah go back tah Williams, Sheila? I bet he wants your attention more than I do. " He turned away from her then, but she called after him.
"You whine like a little girl, Australia. Why are you all horns and rattles anyway? I've only seen you once today and you were a helluva lot nicer then…"
He turned on her, blazing with hurt. "Why did yah tell Williams yah'd go with him?"
She eyed him carefully, trying to figure out what he was getting at. "No reason, other than he was willing to take me."
"He asked yah tah marry him, he did!" John was shouting at her—he couldn't help himself.
Wanda glared at him hard. "He asted me to go with him and not to marry him, you gaboon. But what does it matter to you? Williams is a good man, I doubt he'd do me any harm…"
But John shook his head. "He'd never understand you. Once he finds out yah're a mutie…"
"Fucking hell, John! You think that just because you're a mutant you understand me?" She was furious now, her breathing deep and heavy. "You think you own me…"
"I didn't say that…"
"It's not like I'd ever get another chance at this, John. For once, someone's offered me something I want, not like some people who would rather work themselves to death as if that's all the whole purpose of living …"
"What dah hell is dat supposed tah mean?"
"…Forget it, Allerdyce. You're just making it worse when you keep talking." She was shaking with rage, her blue eyes glistening with passion. "Out of all people, I thought you'd understand the most. You've ruined everything." Watching her walk away would've been the death of him, so John turned around and went the opposite direction, half-believing that loving her was the most terrible mistake he had ever made.
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Staring at the wall for a few hours did not, surprisingly, dull the tired throbbing in his chest. The faithful Old Orchard buzz wasn't kicking in as he had hoped it would, but with a vain trust he downed the rest of the whiskey and poured the next shot. John rolled over to his side and knew very well that it was going to be a long night.
Wanda did not knock, so when he heard the door close behind her, John jumped up, his start reflected in the fireplace. Flames shot up, licking the ceiling, but just like most things around the ranch, it quickly died down to a slight flicker among the logs. He swiftly turned his head to take a good look at the intruder. Her sleeping chemise hung loosely on her shoulders—John observed her tousled black hair as evidence that her night wasn't going so well either. She moseyed over to his side and sat down on his bed.
"I saw your fire and I thought you'd like some company." She reached over and plucked the glass from his hand. Putting it to her lips, she took a long sip and coughed.
"Most people just swallow it fast," he said, taking the cup back and finishing the rest. Wanda watched as he poured yet another glass without so much as a second thought. "And who the bloody hell do yah think yah are comin' intah my room like yah did…" He didn't get the chance to finish his jeer for Wanda had pushed him unto his back, her hands pinning him against his bed with frightening strength.
"I didn't come here for your bickering, Johnnie. Hell, I didn't even come here to hint an apology. I just…I just…" And then she was pounding her fists into him, "Why'd you hafta go and make things all-overish (4)!"
He grabbed her wrists and pulled her closer to him. "I can tear you in two, love. Don't provoke me." He tightened his grip. "Don't provoke me," he warned again.
She narrowed her eyes and gave him a hard glare. "I talked to Simon before dinner. He admitted he did want to marry me. And frankly," she paused, as if creating momentum for the impact of her words, "I wanted him to."
She waited for him to say something—anything—but all he did was throw her off and sit up at the edge of his bed. Wanda looked over and saw the long, ghastly scars running across his back, something that gnawed at her with shame.
Finally he spoke, his voice raspy and thin. "Yah know yah can't lie tah me. Yah always said yah didn't want tah be tied down by anyone." He tipped the bottle into his mouth, letting the whiskey run off the sides of his face. And then, sore and streaked and wrathy, John threw the empty bottle at Wanda. She stopped it in midair with a hex and sent it shattering to the floor close to her.
He gave her a dark smirk, eyes glazed with pain and satisfaction. "Damn mutie." He laughed to himself, raking a shaky hand through his shock of orange hair. "So how did I ruin everything, huh? Is it cuz I mentioned yah were a mutant…"
"John…" she whispered, but there was no stopping him now.
"But don't let me keep yah from marrying Williams. Shit, it'll be better when yah go." He turned on her, jealousy bludgeoning his heart into a bloody pulp. "But yah know he won't stay up tah chat or wait for yah in dah rain…or…or…love yah like I do."
He wanted to take it back once he said it. "You don't love me, John." Her voice faltered—she couldn't even convince herself of this. "I mean, you're drunk…"
"'Course I am. Why should yah believe a lousy, wasted bloke like me anyway? Forget I even mentioned it. In the morning, I won't remember a thing…or at least I hope I won't." He lay back on the bed, the scars on his back pricking him uncomfortably.
She leaned over, her hair grazing his shoulder. "You give up too easily, Johnnie. I thought you wouldn't go down without a fight."
He closed his eyes and frowned. "Always have tah beckon me, doncha Sheila?" He finally noticed how close she was and it completely smashed him into pieces. "I know yah want tah brawl, but I'd rather have yah leave now so I don't have tah see yah go."
He tried to look away but he knew she had him where she wanted him and there was no way he could turn around now. Wanda smoothed his hair with her hands. Again, she was so close that all he wanted to do was take her in. He hated her because she made him love her so much—it was that complicated.
"I gave him the mitten, John." Her fingers slid against his cheeks and John simply melted at her touch. "I told him I couldn't marry him because I'm afraid to love. I thought about the fact that he was willing to take me along, but then I remembered you and decided how miserable and pitiful you'd be if I left you here."
He couldn't help but laugh. Ignoring her effort to tease him, John asked what he wanted to reaffirm: "You turned him down?"
She lowered her face so that it rested against his. "Isn't that what I just said?"
"But you are willing to marry?"
"Preferably the right person, yes." He went for a kiss but she jerked her head away from his. Yup, Wanda knew exactly how to drive him mad.
"I can be the right person," he told her, but Wanda shook her head.
"That's what I fear the most," she whispered, truthfully. She remembered there was a curse, a curse on her first love bestowed upon her by a witch. It was said that true love would be the death of him (5). But even as she thought about this, the walls of fear around her heart were coming down, hard and fast. She wanted to stop them from falling, but all she saw was John on the other side, taking hold of her face and kissing her to prove he was the right one for her.
And just like that, Wanda was afraid no more.
They were married two days later.
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3. The Return
Brotherhood Hideout, outskirts of Tennessee: 1877
Rogue heard the shouting first. Somewhere in that horrible hideout something was happening and it did not sound good at all.
Pulling on Wanda's white dress tied at the waist with black ribbons, the girl exited the room, hoping the yelling would not waken the sleeping Witch. Wanda had quit sobbing a few minutes ago and was sleeping quietly with the whiskey bottle still in her hand. Rogue quickly made her way through the long hallway, following the loud voices which echoed through the stillness.
She saw fire and almost panicked. Her first motion was to slip off her gloves and smooth back her ruined hair, dreading the situation up ahead. Then without warning, the goon called Todd flew through the door, slamming into the next wall, just missing Rogue's head by a few inches. She made to check on him but was quickly distracted by a figure standing just a few feet away from them.
Rogue stood her ground, her naked hands coming up in front of her. "What is your business here?" she asked, her voice surprisingly stern. The figure stepped into the light and Rogue was surprised to find the person familiar.
Blue eyes the color of a clear summer morning's sky glittered mysteriously in the pale light. The hat was off; a shock of orange, unruly hair fell over the man's face. It was the person from the iron horse, the man with the beard who knew who she was and yet did not do anything about it. He recognized her as well—a dark smirk appeared on his attractive face and he spoke up without fear.
"Well, hell, if it ain't the Rogue Murderer herself."
"It's just Rogue," she answered, not at all amused. "An' yah aren't expected."
The man put her in her place. "As if yah belong 'ere as well."
"Ah don't go throwin' people around!" she defended herself. The man shrugged and pointed accusingly at the groaning Todd on the ground.
"He deserved it, dah little shit." The man did not go into details and Rogue did not pursue his reasons.
"Ahre yah here tah take me in, then? Ahre yah here tah take us all in?" Rogue saw the sides of his mouth curl up into a smile and she suddenly felt small.
"Nah, love. If anythin', I'm as bad as dis lot yah're with. Actually, I'm only 'ere fer Wanda Maximoff." Rogue stiffened at the way he said her name.
"Yah know Wanda Maximoff?" she asked, almost in a whisper. He laughed in her face.
"Do I know Wanda Maximoff?" he asked, his voice full of mirth, "I'm her bloody husband!"
Rogue couldn't help herself. "Husband! Yah mean yah're…"
"St. John Allerdyce," he introduced himself, all the while smiling wide. He then proceeded to examine her dress, sudden interest igniting his clear blue eyes. "An' I'm quite sure dat's her wedding dress yah're wearin', love."
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Notes:
1. disappeared
2. pursued the guy
3. from Death Cab for Cutie's I Will Follow You into the Dark
4. uncomfortable
5. I will come back to this thought in the afterward if anyone's curious or confused.
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Response to my Wonderful Reviewer!
Ishandahalf: Thank you for the review—I'm just glad I was able to get someone to comment on my story. I thought about Wanda and John's first meeting, and it just seemed natural to have them fight against each other. Perhaps, the fifth footnote could explain some of the tension, but then again, it's pretty vague for now. Gosh, I'm truly glad you're in a western mood because I'm going to have to feed off of that from you—the only country radio station in my area was replaced, so I hope you have enough energy to last us both! (laughs)
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Comments? Thoughts? Please review.