It wasn't the Presidential Suite, Emma thought, throwing herself back onto the impossibly soft bed, but the Prince Edward Suite would have to do for the weekend. Her father, in one of his rare family moods, had brought them to New York for a month while he sat in negotiations with Donald Trump, and rented out the Suite for the duration of July. Emma had tried to get it, but on such short notice, she'd lost it to someone who'd booked in advance. Sadly, the room was smaller, but it would do. The view was nice, the beds were bigger and better than what she'd been subjected to in the Institute, and it was placed it a prime spot for what she had in mind. They'd be catching a quick showing of Chicago at eight, and then... Emma hadn't thought quite that far ahead, but New York never shut down and she'd be damned if she wasn't going to milk every minute of it.
There was the sound of a purse dropping to the ground. Kitty looked around the room in total shock, and Emma had to suppress her laughter at the younger girl's wide eyes and parted lips. "Ohmigod!" Kitty squeaked, looking around. "Emma, this is like, insane!"
"I know, I was hoping to upgrade, but we'll have to make due with what we've got." The extra rooms would have been nice. Maybe she'd be able to convince the concierge to bump them up, maybe move out the top guest. She was still a Frost, after all.
"No, I mean... this is incredible, this is so, like, New York, you know?" Kitty was touching the drapes, staring out the window. She turned. "How much did this cost?"
Emma laughed throatily. "Never you mind," she replied with a wink. Her Platinum Amex was still securely in her wristlet. It would be a big bill to pay, but she was sure she'd find someone who'd be willing to donate. "But you better start getting ready to shop. We've got Broadway at eight."
"Broadway? What am I going to wear?"
"God, don't worry about it. You'll buy something, I'm sure. It's just a show, it's not a gala." So blasé. Emma remembered being about six or seven, when Broadway shows seemed to be the height of entertainment. Years and hundreds of formal events later and some of the sparkle had been replaced by tarnish, but there was still a faint glow of nostalgia that emanated from the concept.
That was what she somewhat envied about Kitty. The girl was jumping on the bed, zooming around the room, staring out the window with the same sense of wonder that Emma had lost by the time she was ten. Sometimes it felt like she was trapped in a jaded cage; little excited her anymore. Joy had been replaced by survivor's instincts so long ago that she could barely remember what excitement felt like. Still, she could not, would not, have survived if her cynicism hadn't been there, living at the forefront of her mind. She'd seen too much in her life, from such a perspective, that she doubted that she'd ever experience wanton abandon. She wasn't foolish enough for optimism, occasionally regretted her bitterness. And yet she was forced to embrace it, take it as yet another evolution of her personality that would lead her to succeed where others would inevitably fail.
She shook herself out of the thought, took a last look at the suite. Less contemplation, she ordered herself. More shopping.
Rogue wandered the hallways of the Institute with no set pattern, barely looking at the gorgeous mid-August day that winked through the tall windows. She couldn't enjoy it. It was altogether too humid for her, too oppressive to match the sunlight. Were she back in Mississippi, she could have handled the weight of the air; it seemed out of place in East-Coast Bayville, sinister, even. It was quieter without Kitty around, though the air remained tense.
Jean was in a Mood. Thought she tried to hide it, Rogue had been inside her head before, and knew to a certain degree the tics the older girl put on when trying to keep calm. She was quieter, there was a certain tilt to the eyebrows, that screamed dejection. Scott seemed to switch between sticking to Jean's side like glue and making himself scarce. Rogue didn't blame him. Sam had managed to wake everyone up with an impressive banging noise. Logan? Well, she thought, nobody could ever call him optimistic, but he seemed to be crankier than usual.
It was a good day to keep her head down and away from the others.
She caught a shadow out of the corner of her eye, maybe thought she saw a flash of red outside the window. Rogue whirled around, confused, walking towards it. There was nothing there. Shaking her head and rubbing pale palms into her eyes, she let out an aggravated sigh and continued her walk. First her head and now her eyesight - was there anything that wasn't wrong with her?
Her plants were happy today. Ororo moved her hand over a fern, watching with serene contentment as a small cloud burst bountifully over it, marvelling at the way the water droplets ran over the leaves and collected at the tips of the fronds before dripping into soil. At least something in the Institute was peaceful - she'd been awoken early that morning by the unmistakeable sound of Sam Guthrie ramming into the ceiling, having been shocked by the sound of Logan banging on his room's door.
She turned to focus her attention on a tiny but determined cactus that she'd affectionately named Evan. Gave it a little more water, but not much. Maybe it was her imagination, but since she'd taken special liking to it, it seemed to be growing at an accelerated rate. Just like its namesake.
There was an interruption in the sunlight coming into the room. Ororo raised her head, but saw nothing; it was back to full August blast, so bright that it lit even the furthest corners of the room. A bird perhaps? But so large as to block out the window? Angel, perhaps, but he had no reasons for visiting, or avoiding the front door.
Strange.
"Pressure getting to you, Cannonball?" Ray teased, jumping over a log and rolling underneath shrubbery while a small robot walked by, its feet just visible in his line of vision. Beside him, Sam's breath was heavy.
"No. Why'd you ask?"
"You're looking a little gray up top."
"Oh for-" Sam sat up, rubbing his scalp with his fingers. Residual dust floated away from his head; the larger chunks flew off and settled happily on the shoulders of his uniform. "Can it."
Ray sniggered, but his mirth quickly turned to business as the robot turned and fixed them with a sensor, making an unsettling clicking noise. Like an alarm. Fuck. He sent a small shockwave towards it, rejoiced silently as it sparked and began to smoke.
"How much time do we have left?" he asked, eyes darting around. He couldn't see much from his vantage point, but it was enough to discern that they were alone.
"Seven minutes," Sam whispered, shuffling closer on his elbows. "Think we can make it?"
"Yeah," Ray answered, "if we can keep quiet, we'll be fine. They've got no clue we're here."
"Sweet," the other boy affirmed, with a sigh of relief. They'd lost Bobby half an hour ago to a trip wire and six Jamies to a ditch. Roberto had been netted under a set of shady trees.
"Hey, is it getting warmer, or is it just me?" He felt a wave of heat wash over his back.
Sam looked at him. "Yeah, you're right. Hotter n' hell now. Crazy summer."
"Brighter, too," Ray said, looking confused. The shade seemed to be lifting.
"Unlike you two," came a voice from above. An all-too-familiar voice. Ray groaned, rolled over, looked up. Jubilee stood over them with a superior grin.
"You didn't even notice that Magma singed off your hiding place," Tabitha laughed, hands on her hips, tilting her head towards a very smug Amara, who shifted back to human form. The sheer heat of her transformation had reduced the leaves to shrivelled and dried shadows of themselves.
"How did y'all even find us?" Sam complained, sitting up.
"Well, Hansel," Rahne said, shifting to human form, "We jest followed the trail of breadcrumbs you left behin', dinnae we?" Her smile was equally spirited.
"Plaster," Sam insisted, face growing redder by the second. "Plaster."
"Either way," Jubilee cut in, "We win." She kicked Ray in the shoulder, not enough to seriously hurt, but enough to wound his pride.
"Which means you get to clean the X-Jet," Amara added, drawing herself up to full, still tiny, height. Ray briefly debated giving her a little shock, but decided against it. Amara had very definite ideas about how a princess was to be treated - she'd improved since she first arrived, but wouldn't take kindly to electrocution. And by "wouldn't take kindly," he meant "burn your hair off at the roots."
Fuck him senseless, it was going to be a long day.
He dragged himself up off the ground, helped haul Sam up, and brushed the dirt from his uniform. The boys started the long, slow, walk of shame towards the garage, where they'd last seen Logan, and knew they'd have to report their failure. Ray wished he'd be assigned two hundred pushups again - the X-Jet would take hours to clean.
The girls bounded ahead, lead by a lupine Rahne, as the boys miserably took up the rear.
"We tried," Sam said with an easy shrug, "We'll get 'em next time."
Ray waved the ensuing cloud of dust away from his face before speaking. "Next time you wake up," he started, "how about climbing out of bed like a normal person? Or showering?"
"I'll keep that in mind next time Jubilee takes over the bathroom," Sam drawled dryly. "It'll end real well." They continued their walk, bickering half-heartedly. Suddenly, Ray's ears perked up to the sound of rustling leaves.
"Dr. McCoy?" he called, peering up at the trees behind him. Nothing. A dead bird fell out of a nearby tree, its neck curiously twisted. But beyond that - eerie, dead silence.
"Ray, will you quit dallyin'? Won't make Logan go any easier on us."
Fuckin' weird.
"I can't believe the manager just gave us these," Kitty said breathlessly as they walked out of the boutique. She clutched the shopping bag containing her new Hermes purse as if it was made of gold. Emma laughed, flicking a strand of long blonde hair over her shoulder, adjusted the strap of her own bag.
"Trust me, Kit," she started, "they just give these things away to people with the right connections. That's their form of advertising - a celebrity gets seen with the new It Bag and everyone wants one. They benefit from this." The tone of her voice was confident, assuring. It should have been - it had been oh-so-easy to convince the manager that they should be given the bags. Too easy, even.
Emma could barely remember when doing something like that was actually difficult. They'd walked in - Kitty walked, Emma strutted - browsed, and incurred the suspicious glares of a couple of shop girls. She'd demanded to speak to the manager, leaned over the counter to look the woman dead in the eyes and... convinced her that the gift would be in their best interest. She'd tripped over her own two feet scrambling to the back to get them.
"Are you serious?" Kitty asked her, raising an eyebrow. The girl was whip smart, but Emma was sure she hadn't caught on.
"Very much so," she insisted in a tone of voice that meant the matter was final. Thankfully, the younger girl didn't press the matter further, and instead seemed content to chatter about the rest of their day. Emma knew she'd been to New York once or twice before as a kid, but hadn't experienced the city yet.
It was a pleasant break from Bayville, and even more so knowing that at the moment, she was stable. They'd only been gone a matter of hours, and already, she felt some of the listlessness give way - granted, that may have also been the morning break from the Adderall. She needed the time off it. Desperately.
It was even nicer that her trip had caused a great deal of anger to resonate from a particular redhead back at the Institute. She'd banked on that, relished in seeing her wave goodbye to Kitty while Emma dismissed her with a curt, "Later, John." Life was looking up, for now, but she still had things to do. This would be a welcome change, but afterwards, when she returned, it would be all about the training.
She couldn't let herself be distracted from her goal.
Kitty would be lying if she said that she wasn't enjoying every second of being in New York. It was a huge city, and she hadn't had the chance to enjoy it as a tourist since she was just a kid. It was beyond nice to be able to relax and walk around without the stigma of her mutation, without everyone recognizing her face or looking at her like she was some kind of freak. She'd had enough of that back in Bayville; at least in New York, nobody cared and nobody looked at her funny.
They looked at Emma, though, and Kitty understood why, or at least thought she did. She was pretty, and tall, and blonde, and she just had the air of being so much older than she actually was. She'd been able to sweet-talk the ticket desk into giving them seats towards the front, towards the centre of the theatre. It was absolutely crazy how well she could charm them. Kitty couldn't think of anyone else she knew who could do that.
And a little weird, too. Not like she was complaining or anything -it was better than being shoved into a locker- but Kitty had never experienced treatment like that. It was so foreign to her that people were practically begging to do things for them. The sales clerk had insisted on giving them half-price on their dresses from the snazzy boutique. Then there was the matter of the purses. She'd never owned anything that expensive, ever, and they'd gotten two of them, plus wallets, for free.
The perks were undeniable. And Emma was really nice, too - it was like having a cool older sister who didn't mind taking you everywhere with her. She didn't feel young, or belittled, around her. They could talk fashion, talk boys, talk music, and Emma never made her feel anything less than welcome. She couldn't understand why Jean had been so annoyed about their trip - they were going to see a movie, but it would still be out for a few weeks more, so they'd be able to see it before school started. Weekend trips to the city were a lot harder to coordinate.
"Ready for the show?" Emma asked. She was wearing the classy white dress she'd bought earlier, and was lazily flipping through the programme. "Curtain's going up in a few more minutes."
"Hell yeah!" Kitty responded with excitement. Chicago was gonna be awesome. Watching Glee had given her way more appreciation for musical theatre, and part of her wanted to be up on that stage, too. Maybe she'd take lessons, or ask Jean what she thought. And Kurt could totally give her an honest opinion on her singing voice.
The lights dimmed, the curtain began to rise. The night was just beginning.
"Quit powdering my food!" Jamie complained, scraping the gravy off his roast beef with a look of disgust in Sam's direction. Sam smiled sheepishly before digging into his own plate with some pain. His shoulders hurt from waxing the X-Jet; lifting his fork to his mouth was a serious effort. They'd finished in record time, Jamie having split into twelve very eager assistants, but it didn't make the punishment any less gruelling.
He'd have taken the mines back home any day over that.
"How ya feeling, Bobby?" he asked his team mate, who gave him a look of wounded pride. It had killed him to lose to the girls. That much was obvious.
"Like someone smashed a truck into my lumbar vertebrae."
"Quit complaining, gentlemen," Kurt cut in, dropping down from the chandelier, grabbing a roll, and popping back to his seat. "Not like you haven't cleaned it before."
Sam had to grudgingly agree with that statement. He could still remember the punishment for their joyrides. Thankfully, they'd smartened up. Now they'd learned to fill up Scott's gas tank afterwards, and that stoplights were more than just suggestions. As long as Bobby steered clear of speed bumps, small animals, and areas with pretty girls, they were guaranteed a smooth ride.
"I wasn't even involved last time, " Roberto muttered under his breath. "Doesn't make it any less humiliating."
"I can't believe we lost to the girls," Bobby said though a mouthful of potatoes.
"Makes us look like a bunch of-"
"Pussies?" Tabitha said acidicly, cutting Ray off before he could finish his sentence. "You know we can hear you, right? Get over it, guys." No matter how much he heard her swear, it never failed to amaze Sam just how foul-mouthed she could actually be.
"Maybe th' next time you'll stand a fighting chance," Rahne said with a laugh. She had nice teeth, though unnervingly sharp. Such a strange thing to notice.
"Yeah," Tabitha added, "Next time, we'll be sure to help you guys out. Wouldn't want you to be left in the dust again."
"This might help you with that," came a louder, significantly calmer voice. Sam turned around to find Dr. McCoy standing behind him, one arm draped over the back of his chair. He dropped a heavy plastic bottle into his lap, and Sam picked it up. It was mostly white, with a dark blue lid that flipped open to reveal a pale blue, viscous, liquid.
Dr. McCoy continued, "Ever since I grew fur, I started to have the same problem as you do. This is a miracle for dandruff."
He turned the bottle around, stared at the label. Head and Shoulders.
"For the last time, it's plaster!"
"That was an awesome show," Kitty enthused as they stepped out into the brightly-lit night. "Alison Blaire was, like, unbelievable!" Emma emerged from the theatre doors a step behind her, looking like a vision in white.
"Agreed," she replied, getting a look of excitement on her face.
"The lighting effects were so crazy," she continued, hoping to coax Emma into further conversation. "I'm surprised they could do something like that."
"Mmmm." Emma looked pensive, mischievous. "So, what shall we do tonight, Kit?" she asked, tapping her bottom lip with her index finger. It sounded like a rhetorical question. A taxi screeched to a halt in front of them, almost as if called, and they got in without hesitation.
"Aren't we going back to the hotel?" she asked, confused. It was 10:30.
"I meant after that,," Emma replied, brushing the bangs out of her eyes. "The city doesn't sleep, so why should we? We should go dancing." She seemed to light up just talking about it.
"Emma-"
"I know a fantastic place. The DJ is wonderful, and bottle service will be excellent -they don't cheap out-"
"Emma," Kitty interrupted again. "How are we even going to get in? We're not legal. And all age clubs seem kind of sleazy." She wrinkled her nose in distaste at the idea. She'd heard horror stories before, and she wasn't interested in having a forty year-old dancing too close to her. Besides, it seemed to be going against Logan's very emphatic 'Stay outta trouble, kid, and don't do anything stupid' parting words.
"Oh, don't worry about it," Emma replied flippantly. She was getting more excited by the second. "We'll be able to get in. I have my ways."
Somehow, Kitty didn't doubt that for a second.
It was loud, crowded, and, if the clientele was any indication, terribly expensive to go to Aléatoire for the evening. Emma had been right about having some sort of connection to the club; she'd just looked the bouncer straight in the eye, smiled, and they'd gotten in. Never mind that Kitty felt so much younger than the rest of the crowd - she knew for a fact that she was significantly so, but rather than worrying her, the idea was thrilling. And she was dressed in some seriously swanky clothes, borrowed from Emma's suitcases. She was wearing a short white dress with a halter neckline and some heavy silver bangles. Her hair was piled up, exposing her neck, and she gripped a small Coach wristlet -expendable, Emma had called it- in one hand. Emma stood tall in white heels, in a stark white bandage dress, cut very short, with long hair flowing straight to the waist.
The music throbbed, enveloping them in its beat as they were shown to the booth that Emma had managed to secure for them. Kitty didn't feel the need to ask why, as she was too busy gawking at some of the other patrons. She was pretty sure that wearing so little clothing could be considered illegal in most states. She was also certain that whatever pills were getting passed around were probably illegal as well. She also became acutely aware with each passing second that she was out of her league in the club. High school parties were one thing, chilling with seniors another, but this was something entirely different than what she'd been used to. These were easily college kids, possibly older - that meant there could be a ten year difference, easily, between her and some of the guys -men- dancing around. And the way they were shooting her looks made her feel increasingly nervous.
They're drunk, she assured herself, they don't know anything. They don't know I'm a mutant, they won't do anything-
"Don't worry about it," Emma said, cutting into her thoughts as if she could read them. She had already mixed together vodka with some of the mixers, and was handing it over seemingly without care. "You'll be fine. I'll keep an eye on you."
She took a sip of her own drink, and Kitty followed suit. She wasn't a stranger to alcohol -though the last time she'd tried, she'd woken up with a splitting headache and Logan's intense disapproval. By disapproval, she meant wrath. This particular drink seemed made strong, and she could taste the alcohol through the cranberry juice. Emma didn't seem to have a problem with hers. Rather, she seemed to be relaxing with each sip, which only made Kitty want to finish her own. She didn't want to seem like a kid, not here, not where they could get into serious trouble for being underage.
Emma's long fingers wrapped around her wrist and Kitty barely had time to place her drink on the table before being bodily dragged onto the dance floor. She was surrounded by people, all gyrating wildly to the music. Emma was right; the DJ was fantastic, and soon Kitty began to lose her sense of worry, and surrendered to it. It was going to be a hell of an experience, and at that point, she couldn't see herself regretting any of it.
It felt like they had been dancing for mere minutes, but Kitty knew that hours had passed. A few tendrils of hair had escaped their bun, and her forehead was warm. She'd been jostled around by the much taller crowd and her feet were just starting to hurt. Emma was there, dancing in front of her, looking as though she had no care in the world, and though she knew that everyone's eyes were upon her.
And then she was gone.
Kitty had turned her eyes away for just a second, a split, tiny, second, just to check the time on her phone. It was nearing two in the morning, and she'd tucked the phone away and looked up, fully expecting to fill Emma in on the time. Where there was once a girl was now a solid mass of people who looked more and more wasted by the second. Even in tall heels, Kitty was unable to see over the throng, and her heart began to thud in her chest. Where did she go?
She couldn't breathe, everyone seemed to be pressing into her as the music grew louder and the DJ switched the song. Kitty tried to fight her way through the wall of people that seemed to be closing in around her, tried to ignore the sticky feeling of sweaty skin pressing against her own as she searched and called for her team mate, phasing through a hand reaching out to grope her. Thankfully, people seemed to drunk to notice, and she finally arrived back at the booth, littered with glasses from when they'd been joined by the cast of a hot new reality show, all of whom seemed to have left at some point earlier in the night.
Where was Emma?
Author's Notes: My apologies for the delay in updating - exams are never pleasant! As always, reviews are encouraged and very welcome.
As a thank you to my readers (and admittedly, a way for me to write something I might not otherwise) I'd like to hold a small contest. You have 500 words maximum, longer than a drabble, but shorter than an epic, to sell me a couple or a character. Your prompt is "snow day" and you can use it however you wish, but be creative! Just publish your story by December 22nd, and I'll have a one-shot written about your character/couple of choice by the New Year.
As a bonus, here's hoping the community traffic increases as well!