So X-men are all © Marvel, the whole movie bit © Fox studios, that sort of thing.
The plot and all the original characters (including but not limited to Cat-Missy, Perry 'Dart' Jephson, Ian 'Drac' Rey, and Nazeela 'Shiva' Hena) belong to me and me only.
Note: This is a continuation of the same day from last chapter.
Also note: Giroux is pronounced "dji-ROH".
Read, enjoy, drink cocoa, review, roast marshmellows, enjoy the snow if you have it, make snow/sand angels. Review again. Give me your cocoa. Put cinnamon in it first. Cheers.
"Yo, Morfeo, hook me up with some of that dope of yours."
"Get a life."
"Get a pair of balls!"
"Fuck off, Petros, I don't have time for this shit." Morfeo took a miniature matchbook out of his Converse hi-tops and struck up a match.
"It's Avalanche, Giraffe."
"Giraffe? What the fuck, man, it's Giroux." The match burned down to Morfeo's fingertips before he dropped it and put it out with his heel.
Avalanche snorted and ran his hand through his brown hair. "Got it, gee-roo."
"You know what? Fuck off."
"Will do." Avalanche sauntered off, flicking his hand behind him. Morfeo tumbled when the ground shuddered, cursing.
"Bastard!" Morfeo bared his teeth at Avalanche's back and pulled out his cigarette pack from his pocket.
Needs a kick to the balls.
Morfeo lit his cigarette and took a drag, eyeing the woods as he trampled up a hill. He stopped when the wind sent a whiff of burnt rubber his way.
"Pyro," he muttered, and rolled his eyes. He understood why the guy was in love with fire, but no one could convince him burnt rubber was a nice smell. He followed the smell to the top of the hill and wrinkled his nose.
He should get some incense.
"This place smells like shit," he said.
"That's no lie."
Morfeo took another drag from his cigarette, and glanced to his right. He recognized Ian Rey approaching, fiddling with his biker's gloves. "Hey, Drac. Sup?"
"Nothin', really. Ah was wond'rin' whether ya wanted ta lend me a smoke."
"What, Fox is out?"
"Yeah."
"I don't have any you like, but I can give you a kick." Ian shrugged. "Whatever, then."
"Whassat?"
Morfeo followed Ian's gaze to a tarp-covered box nestled in the roots of a nearby tree. "Dunno." Ian crouched by the box and untied the rope holding it together. "You sure you wanna do that?"
"Aw, Fireboy ain't here. He won' know, less ya tellim." Morfeo rolled his eyes and pulled the cigarette from his mouth as Ian fumbled with the knot. When it came undone, Ian pulled away the tarp and peered inside, Morfeo looking in over his head.
"Holy shit."
Ian reached in and pulled out an open notebook. "The fuck?" He glanced at Morfeo, who was grinning as he took another drag.
"He's a writer, man. Aren't you?"
"In a journal, yeah. Not a book."
"People've published their journals before."
Ian snorted. "This is— this— this is crazy, though. He's using our names. Fer— Ah dunno what fer."
"For a good time?" Morfeo paused. "Didn't mean that. Everyone's got their thing." He held his cigarette between his teeth and took the notebook from Ian. "And he doesn't really use your name, anyway."
"Ah'm still not happy," Ian muttered.
Morfeo snorted and flipped back through the earlier pages, shaking his hair from his eyes again. "You better keep that to yourself. Look, he mentions that catty girl, you know her, don't you? 'Turning the corner, a wild-eyed girl ran into him. She pushed him aside and leapt straight over the railing to the floor below—' that can't mean anyone else."
"Ah bet it doesn'. First tahme he met her she pounced on him after pickin' on that kid."
"The little one?"
"Yeah."
"Serves him right, pickin' on that kid."
Morfeo ran his eyes across a line and his eyes widened. "Shit."
"What?"
"He talks about the X-men like he knows them." Ian snatched the book from Morfeo and choked on his words.
"He's from the X-men," he whispered. "What the fuck we gonna do?"
"Do? Whaddya mean, do? We can't do anything. Magneto knows, I'm sure."
"How d'ya know that?"
"That Phoenix lady's a psychic, dumbass."
"She's from tha X-men herself, why'd she give him away?"
"She's no spy," Morfeo said. He took back the notebook and put it back in the box. "And Pyro's not either. Hell, he's more into this freedom bid than most of us."
"An' that makes it okay?" Ian moved away, breathing harder than usual. "Ah mean, he don't tell us—"
"Yeah, would you tell? Use your brain, Drac, if you even have one. Phoenix doesn't go around advocating where she's from."
"Ah s'pose." Ian shifted his weight on his feet as Morfeo tied the box back up in its tarp. "Y'all gonna tell anyone?"
"Tell them what? Bout Pyro?"
"Yeah."
"Not worth it. You might tell your sister, hell I'm sure she'd love to know, but don't tell the whole world." Morfeo tossed his cigarette on the ground and ground it out with his heel. "And whatever you do, don't tell her friend, okay?"
"Whose friend?"
"The kid. The catty girl, you know."
"Why naht?"
"Haven't you seen her lately? She's a completely different person. She's not a complete bitch anymore."
Ian snorted and looked away. "She's weird. Did ya know her name's Missy?" Morfeo laughed.
"I don't really know her at all. Her friend stuck me with a dart once, though he'd've thought I deserved it. You were there, with your sister and Fox."
"Oh, rahght, the PMS guy."
"That sounds like the UPS guy, to be honest."
Ian snorted again. "If Ah was really bein' honest, Ah'd say Ah'd love to tell Cat-Missy bout Pyro."
"Hey, if telling her meant I'd get myself a piece of her, I'd to it, too. But do that and you might have your eyes gouged out."
"Ah figgered as much. Least there's other chicks out there."
"So they say."
---
"I need real food, what do you want me to say?"
Pyro leaned against the wall by the bathroom door, amused. He was sick of eating the food from camp, and he didn't understand how she wasn't.
"Why don't you go get take-out, then? You can go by yourself."
"Yeah, right, and get abducted? I don't think so."
"You can't take care of yourself? You're the big bad wolf, Fireboy," Missy laughed. "You're Magneto's confidante— what do you mean, get abducted?"
"Fine, we just won't eat." He pushed off the wall.
Three.
Two.
One—
The bathroom door swung open and Missy came out, looking decidedly stormy. "Fine," she said. "We can go out."
"Great. Here, put this on, we're going somewhere nicer than what you're wearing."
"Where are we going?"
"Magneto made us reservations for six-thirty at some place. And Dr.— the Phoenix gave me this for you."
Missy looked at the dark red sundress with raised eyebrows. "Fine." She took the dress back with her to the bathroom and closed the door behind her.
He sighed, relieved and amused she bought his story.
Riiight. Dr. Grey helping set me up with someone— that's rich.
He pulled off his brown t-shirt and black trousers and into a light blue dress shirt and jeans. He was zipping the fly when Missy came out of the bathroom, looking more uncomfortable than he'd ever seen her in the red dress.
"This don't fit right," she muttered. When she met his eye, she smirked and quickly looked away.
"What?" He looked down at himself and back up at her. "What?"
"You look weird."
"Yeah, well. Does that bother you?"
"Bodda me? No. It's just, y'know, different." She looked down at her dress, frowning. "This doesn't fit."
"No, it does," Pyro said. "It looks good."
It looks great.
She pulled on her flats and ran her hand up to her Buddha necklace before shaking her hair out of her face. "We going?"
"What? Yeah. Let's go." Pyro followed her to the door but stopped her before she opened it. "Call me John, right?"
"I'm not lolo, Pyro." She opened the door. "So don't assume I'm gonna do dumb things."
"Whatever."
He followed her out and they took the elevators down to the ground level. When a woman came on with a small girl in a carriage the floor below them, Missy pushed herself against the wall. John moved back and touched her elbow; she relaxed slightly until they reached the bottom floor where she led him through the lobby outside.
"Why're you so tense?" he asked.
She shrugged and readjusted her dress. "Never really liked people much."
"You never have problems back at the— back home."
Missy raised her eyebrows at him. "Just a'cause you never noticed it don't mean it's not dere."
"I suppose." He grabbed her hand and led her down the street. "The subway's this way."
---
Dart woke up with his head spinning, and when he opened his eyes he almost jumped out of his skin.
"Shit!"
Evaline Rey was hovering over him, a little too close for comfort. "Sahrry, li'l man," she said. "Ah was worried."
"Right." He sat up and pressed his forehead against his hands.
"Whadja do that fahr, Dart?"
"Felt like shit."
"Because of Cat?" Dart didn't answer. "Ah thought so." Evaline played with the collar of her shirt. "Ah'm sorry bout her. It's kinda mah fault."
"It's mine, too."
Evaline watched closely as he climbed over the log-bench. "Ah nevah thaught they'd actually get along, ya know?"
"Mm." Dart pulled the two shots out of his feet and tossed them into the bonfire. "Maybe the X-men'll get him in New York. That's where they're from, right?"
"Yeah." She looked uncomfortable. "She's more likely ta be caught, t'be honest."
"To be honest, they'd never think she was a mutant."
"What about that Wolverine guy?"
The two of them were silent.
"You think he's recovered from what Magneto gave him?"
"That was two weeks ago, Dart. And Shiva said he was a healer."
Dart looked away. "They better not get her."
Evaline laughed. "They won't. And if they do, we'll jus' go getter back. They don' believe in killin' people for the greater good."
"Nothing gets done without people dying," Dart muttered. "S'why Magneto's right."
"Ya thank so?" Evaline smiled sideways at him. "Ah thank he jus' undastands tha majarity bettah. The X-men think they're so haigh 'n maighty."
"Aren't we, too?"
"Naught quite lahke the X-men. Y'all don't see us in leathah jumpsuits."
Dart burst out laughing. "Are they for real?"
"They thank they are, which is the sad pahrt."
---
Morfeo watched Ian Rey wander off back to his sister before turning back to Pyro's box of stuff. He took out a smoke and put it in his mouth, but didn't light it.
Might get on his stuff. Not like he'd notice.
He untied the rope around the tarp and pulled out Pyro's notebook again. He glanced around, saw nothing nor no one else, sat down next to a tree. Morfeo opened the book to the first page but didn't read it yet, just looked at the neat scrawl connected in a convoluted script.
«Shut that book.»
"Ahch!"
He grabbed his head; the woman's voice in his head piercing.
«Shut it. Now.»
The book fell from his lap and he rocked back and forth. His toes curled in his converses; the joints ached and he felt his bones creaking as his eyes squeezed shut.
Stop... Can't breathe...
His eyes flew open and his skin rippled before shreds of his pants unraveled and disappeared.
"Jean!"
His knees were going; there ought to be pain but there wasn't; Morfeo couldn't scream.
"Jean, stop it!"
"Nazeela..."
He opened his eyes and saw his body gone, in patches; with a rush of gratitude he saw Nazeela Hena grab the Phoenix.
Too late, Naz.
At least you tried.
---
The subway was busy, and John might have minded if it didn't mean Missy was pressed against him, desperate to stay away from everyone else. He was leaning against a pole with one hand curled around it and the other hand wrapped around Missy's.
"Act natural," he said to her in a low voice. "They're not going to hurt you."
"How d'you know?" she shot back, but she loosened her grip on his hand. "Are we getting off soon?"
"Yeah, just two stops."
She leaned against the pole and huffed. "We couldn't've walked?"
"No, we'd be late. You were being difficult, or we mighta."
"Hmm."
---
The sudden rip of Morfeo's powers from her conscious made Nazeela cry out; never had someone in her range so utterly disappeared.
Usually they fade. Does that mean he's gone? Shit, he's gone. He dead.
"Why won't you kill me?"
Nazeela looked back at the Phoenix, shocked at the detatchment in her voice. "Because killing is wrong."
"So it's okay for me to do it? Don't you understand this won't be the last time?" Jean Grey grabbed Nazeela's shoulders, her eyes blackened and her red hair wild around her shoulders
"You can't know what you're doing! You care about people, you're human—"
"I'm human, what's human? Just a diagnosis. A malady!"
"A pinnacle in evolution!"
"Do you mean human, or mutant?"
Nazeela floundered long enough for Jean to turn away.
"This book, get rid of it." Jean tossed a small notebook at Nazeela, who caught it awkwardly.
"You." Nazeela tossed it back but it stopped in midair and flung itself back at her.
"You don't care about how he thinks of you."
Nazeela had nothing to say to that, and so she let the Phoenix walk away, head high, eyes black.
Murderer.
---