I was a guest in Erich's home for about a week before I was handed a set of
keys that unlocked the doors to a flat in downtown Berlin; he insisted that
people would get the wrong idea if I didn't have my own residence, and so
he'd arranged for the rent until I could draw my own salary. As with
everything else he's lavished on me, Erich made sure I had stylish but
comfortable furniture throughout the apartment, pretty decorations
scattered here and there, and a nice view out of each of my windows. I was
granted three days to settle in, and then I started my job at the Ministry
of Intelligence.
I didn't expect to be given access to anything requiring a security clearance and I was not to be surprised -- the bulk of my work consisted of answering Erich's phone calls, transferring memos to the office or internal post, filing documents, typing letters . . . it was interesting enough, but it didn't tell me exactly what it was he did for the Code-breaking Division. All I could gather was that he was a manager of sorts, an overseer, and that some of the people working under him were in English- speaking areas -- my bilingualism came in very handy here, as I was also responsible for translating back and forth. I worked at things for several weeks, my dull sense of unease growing by the day. He'd said he also wanted my company as an escort when he went out after work, but he'd not called on me for that. Waiting constantly for the other shoe to drop was keeping me on edge.
I was in Germany for just over a month when Erich called me into his office for a private meeting. I swallowed nervously, fretted over an imaginary wrinkle in my skirt, and answered his request. I'd been in his office before, but only briefly as I deposited a report or a handful of notes on his desk. Now I was sitting in one of the chairs before that desk and watching Erich pour himself a drink.
"Are you sure you wouldn't like something, Miriam?" he smiled at me with an expression that probably made most women swoon.
"Ice water would be nice," I buckled. He handed me the requested beverage and I murmured my thanks.
"How are you enjoying your work?" He leaned against a corner of his desk. "Is it stimulating enough for you?"
"Yes," I sipped at my water, "it's a good position. Do I need improvement?"
"No, you're doing just fine," he smiled. "I'm quite pleased with you. You're courteous, discreet, organized . . ." He regarded me thoughtfully. "But also reserved, perhaps sad. Is everything okay for you?"
"It's all a big change for me, that's all." I tried to smile. "It's a different world from what I'm used to."
"Is there anything I can do to ease your adjustment?" Erich swallowed some of the amber liquid in his glass.
I blushed. "Well, you did mention that you want me to go to public functions with you. I must say it makes me nervous to not know when this will happen."
"I apologize, my dear. I was postponing those engagements because I didn't want to overwhelm you!" He chuckled and set his drink down on the blotter. "I did receive an invitation to have lunch with some family friends later this week. I think that would be a good way to make your introduction, actually."
"I don't think I understand . . ." I swallowed another sip of water.
"Oh, it's a bit stupid, really," Erich sighed and gestured dismissively. "One does not simply show up to formal events with someone unknown to the other attendees. It's improper, so anyone from outside needs to be introduced in an informal setting to create the right impressions and get the right gossip going."
"Is that possible given the difference in our backgrounds?" It seemed like an obvious question to me -- it wasn't like it would be easy to ignore a string of numbers ending in a large blue star should anyone see my arms. Then I remembered that all of my formal gowns included long sleeves or gloves in their design. My informal clothes were a different matter though . . .
"Certain perceived inequalities can be glossed over," he answered with the same ease. "To do so is my responsibility; you don't need to worry about that."
Translation: I'm his property, so as long as I'm pretty and proper no one will say anything rude.
I resisted the urge to vomit.
"Shall I block out that time for you?" I smiled sweetly at him.
"Yes, please. We will be taking lunch at my father's house on Thursday afternoon. Free up our schedules between the hours of eleven and one."
I nodded and scratched this down on the little notepad I'd learned to keep with me -- Erich frequently had things for me to jot down on a second's notice, and I'd grown used to it. "Is there anything else, Erich?"
"No, you're free to go." He smiled again.
I blushed, although I'm not sure why, and rose from my seat. I'd turned the doorknob and was half-way into the hall when he called me back in.
"Miriam? Why don't you wear that adorable green dress on Thursday, the one with the white accents? It brings out your eyes so well." He swirled his drink so that it made a miniature whirlpool in his glass.
"Certainly," I said, blushing deeper before retreating to my desk.
When I got home that night I pulled out the dress to which Erich had made reference, laid it flat on the bed, and stared at it as though it were the enemy. It wasn't that Erich was wrong about the dress, it did flatter me, but the fact that he'd requested this one specifically meant he'd be eying me more so than usual as soon as he saw me in it. He was still a perfect gentleman; he never leered at me or made inappropriate comments, but I could feel his eyes on me when he knew I couldn't see him. I was especially self-conscious about the way my hips swayed as I walked in my heels because I knew he was watching appreciatively. I shuddered, closed my eyes, and turned my back on my bed and the dress to walk into the kitchenette and wash my dishes from dinner. My eyes stung as I rinsed the plates under the tap; I hated feeling like a piece of meat. I hated that I was in Berlin, and I hated that I was trapped inside this gilded cage. A car passed by in the street, its headlamps shining through the darkness outside to twinkle on my windows; I looked up with a quickening of my pulse, for I was reminded instinctively of Nightcrawler's eyes. I realized my mistake and wilted even more, my tears heavy on my lashes. Oh God, I missed him. It was the worst at night; I'd sometimes sit at the window and look up at the stars as I recalled our time together and the direction things had begun to turn. I felt relatively sure that he'd try to find me; he'd possibly have gone inside the Westchester compound if he had enough to track me. But Berlin? I tried to weed out that hope each time it took root. There was simply too much against it . . . he'd have to know I was taken away and not killed. He'd have to know where in Berlin to start looking -- the city was sprawling and very crowded. Then there was the matter of getting across the Atlantic somehow. All of that was contingent, of course, on whether or not I was worth that much to him. I had my doubts . . . it was one thing to kick someone's ass to bail me out of trouble. It was entirely something else to face a very real threat of death to rescue me when we barely knew each other.
I set some water to boiling and got out a cup, saucer, and tea bag. As the water heated I went back to my bedroom to hang up the dress and change into my nightclothes. I blindly grabbed the first slip I could find and covered myself with my robe, padding through the apartment in bare feet. I sank into the armchair with my steaming cup of tea resting on the table beside me and picked up the novel I was reading. I couldn't focus on the words though and finally laid it pages-down on my knee, head bowed in sorrow. I felt hopeless, trapped, and completely forsaken. I talked to God as I wept, asking for some sign of hope or meaning beyond being an aristocrat's meat puppet. I was answered by silence and a deeper feeling of being a hollow shell; I fell asleep in the chair with salty tracks drying on my face and a full cup of cold tea next to me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The lunch date with Erich's family went well enough, I suppose. No one asked me any awkward questions about my tattoos, although I was the focus of a lot of attention. The ladies present commented on my dress, complimented me on my purse, and claimed to admire my dusky skin. I smiled nicely and made similar comments on their appearances, taking mental notes on who each of them were and any importance and connections they had. The men congregated together to have a drink and talk about whatever it was they bonded over; I wasn't able to hear much but I gathered that they were following some sort of sporting event. Lunch was served outside on a screened-in porch, with ceiling fans lazily stirring the air about so that the scent of Mrs. Heidelmann's flowers permeated every breath we took. I ate sparingly because I was so nervous I was afraid I wouldn't be able to keep much of it down; after dessert was finished I excused myself to use the water closet because I felt like I would scream if I didn't have a moment to myself to string my facade back together.
"Miriam, dear?" one of the ladies called through the door as she rapped softly on the wood. "Are you well?"
I glared wide-eyed at the reflection of the door, my painted lips pressed tightly together in exasperation. Really, it had been less than five minutes! Surely cultured ladies occasionally required time for the baser bodily functions the same as anyone else! Not that I was so engaged, but still . . .
"Yes, I'm fine, thank you. I'll be out in just a moment." I capped my lipstick tube and stuffed it back into my purse, fluffed my curls, and tried to calm down. I hoped she was still outside -- I wanted to add to my mental notes which of the ladies it was so that I made sure to never use the facilities in her presence again.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Elizabeth," I apologized for nothing as nicely as I could and tried to make my way back to the porch; I stopped in my tracks when Elizabeth gently touched my left arm, the one with the marks.
"Be careful," she said in a very low voice, her eyes serious.
"About what?" I blinked and tried to stay just vapid enough to fit in.
"He gets bored easily. As soon as he loses interest in you, your life will be forfeit," she let go of me but stayed where she was.
I turned to face her fully. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but I get the impression that such concerns are not yours."
We stared into each others eyes for a moment before she broke the silence between us. "I've seen the look behind your eyes before, you know. It burns, doesn't it? To know that there's nothing but walls around you, and that there's nowhere to go even if you could escape?"
I felt my jaw trembling and checked my desire to launch a punch at her. What the Hell did she know about that?
"How would you like to stick it to him for every time he sticks it to you?" Elizabeth's smile had slowly grown a bit cold around the edges, her eyes hardening so slowly that I didn't see it until now.
"Go on . . ." My eyes narrowed as I regarded her shrewdly.
"There you two are!" Mrs. Heidelmann's voice trilled through the house, her heels clicking loudly on the hardwood floors as she neared us.
"So sorry Margaret," Elizabeth went from ice queen to twittering pixie in .2 seconds. "We lost track of ourselves; do forgive us."
"Of course!" Margaret cried, escorting us back to the party.
"But as I was saying, Miriam dear," Elizabeth picked up where she'd never left off, "I'll be more than happy to send over a sample of that facial masque."
"Oh yes, Elizabeth finds the most wonderful things, doesn't she? You'll love it; I always have such a glow when I use it," the elder woman beamed at us both before we resumed our seats. Erich and the other men had lit cigars and their wives were inhaling from cigarettes, chatter going in all directions. I was offered a cigarette but declined politely, citing an imaginary case of bronchitis that always seemed to flare up when I smoked; that got me off the hook nicely and bypassed an explanation of the real reason that undoubtedly would have come out the wrong way -- the Torah admonishes to preserve our bodies and not knowingly do harm to ourselves. We were brought out a pot of coffee and a tray loaded with sugar, cream, and enough cups for everyone; I sipped at my coffee and listened carefully to everyone around me, providing answers to their questions when I was addressed directly. Erich smiled at me from above the lip of his mug, his eyes twinkling happily as he regarded me.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked me once we were in his car and heading back to the Ministry.
"No," I smiled demurely, "it wasn't. Your parents seem very nice, and I enjoyed the other ladies."
"Good." Erich attacked me with the swoon-inducing smile again and reached across the seat to caress my jaw with the backs of his fingers. "Everyone was rather taken by you, you know. My father especially liked you, and he's a hard man to please."
"I take it all the right gossip will be making the rounds now?"
"I should say so."
A lump formed in my throat when Erich moved closer, his eyes never leaving mine. Elizabeth's words haunted me and I decided it was time to take some sort of control over my fate; I decided I wasn't going to lose his interest and took a gambit. My fingers traced over his as I shifted so that we were closer still, and I darted my tongue over my lips.
"Hmmmm . . ." He seemed pleased that my lips were pressing against his and he kissed me back, his thumb brushing against my cheek. He nipped gently at my lower lip and quickly kissed the same spot, moving his attention to my jaw and down my neck.
I sighed and pulled away, apologizing for being so forward as I straightened my dress. I lowered my eyes and had the good grace to blush deeply as I said that we should try to remain professional while in public. Erich agreed reluctantly, his eyes betraying that he had other things besides work on his mind, but he was straightening his clothes and removing all trace of my lipstick from his skin. Moments later he was back in his office and I was back behind my desk, contemplating the magnitude of what I'd just started.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
velvetine*rose: Here's a special note just for you. Please enjoy responsibly.
Koryne: I'm glad you're enjoying the story. If you're interested in learning more about Nightcrawler, I recommend getting hold of some of the older X-Men comic books or the Excalibur series. The version you're seeing is a rarity -- an alternative version of the character showcased in only four comic books as part of a story arc titled The Age of Apocalypse. As you learn more about Kurt you'll see that while some things stayed the same, some things for him were quite different.
Beryl: I know just what you mean. The last comics I read actually were the Age of Apocalypse and maybe one or two issues of X-Men after that. The last thing I remember is Bishop getting back home and trying to kill Scott and Hank because he thought he was still in the AoA world. Now I go into the shops and flip through, and Kurt's a priest . . . *does double take* Huh?? *laugh* I'm glad you're enjoying seeing things from Kurt's POV. There's some really good stuff coming up with that. As for going by his given name -- no, not really. He struck me as being a very shuttered, very secretive person in this version, and so it would seem odd to me if he just went about giving out his name to people now that he has virtual anonymity. In addition is the fact that being Nightcrawler is different from being Kurt Darkholme . . . it's a mask for him in a place where he still has to be as strong and as hardened as he is capable of in order to not only keep himself alive, but now to rescue someone else against some staggering odds. He'll completely drop the mask and take off the armor eventually, but not for a while yet. As for what's going on with Miriam . . . *glances meaningfully down at the chapter* "Und" = "And" in German. I'm going to go back and clean that up when I get a moment -- I realize I've not been consistent in changing that only during Kurt's dialogue.
Missa Rhiannon: *bows* Well, thank you m'dear!
Colleen: I'm glad the revisions worked for you, too. Miriam's a giant Barbie doll, eh? *turns up "Barbie Girl" by Aqua*
MG: Thanks for the feedback, and stay tuned. You liked McMurray, huh? Cool!
Apteryx: Glad to see you on board, and good to know you're enjoying the story. :)
I didn't expect to be given access to anything requiring a security clearance and I was not to be surprised -- the bulk of my work consisted of answering Erich's phone calls, transferring memos to the office or internal post, filing documents, typing letters . . . it was interesting enough, but it didn't tell me exactly what it was he did for the Code-breaking Division. All I could gather was that he was a manager of sorts, an overseer, and that some of the people working under him were in English- speaking areas -- my bilingualism came in very handy here, as I was also responsible for translating back and forth. I worked at things for several weeks, my dull sense of unease growing by the day. He'd said he also wanted my company as an escort when he went out after work, but he'd not called on me for that. Waiting constantly for the other shoe to drop was keeping me on edge.
I was in Germany for just over a month when Erich called me into his office for a private meeting. I swallowed nervously, fretted over an imaginary wrinkle in my skirt, and answered his request. I'd been in his office before, but only briefly as I deposited a report or a handful of notes on his desk. Now I was sitting in one of the chairs before that desk and watching Erich pour himself a drink.
"Are you sure you wouldn't like something, Miriam?" he smiled at me with an expression that probably made most women swoon.
"Ice water would be nice," I buckled. He handed me the requested beverage and I murmured my thanks.
"How are you enjoying your work?" He leaned against a corner of his desk. "Is it stimulating enough for you?"
"Yes," I sipped at my water, "it's a good position. Do I need improvement?"
"No, you're doing just fine," he smiled. "I'm quite pleased with you. You're courteous, discreet, organized . . ." He regarded me thoughtfully. "But also reserved, perhaps sad. Is everything okay for you?"
"It's all a big change for me, that's all." I tried to smile. "It's a different world from what I'm used to."
"Is there anything I can do to ease your adjustment?" Erich swallowed some of the amber liquid in his glass.
I blushed. "Well, you did mention that you want me to go to public functions with you. I must say it makes me nervous to not know when this will happen."
"I apologize, my dear. I was postponing those engagements because I didn't want to overwhelm you!" He chuckled and set his drink down on the blotter. "I did receive an invitation to have lunch with some family friends later this week. I think that would be a good way to make your introduction, actually."
"I don't think I understand . . ." I swallowed another sip of water.
"Oh, it's a bit stupid, really," Erich sighed and gestured dismissively. "One does not simply show up to formal events with someone unknown to the other attendees. It's improper, so anyone from outside needs to be introduced in an informal setting to create the right impressions and get the right gossip going."
"Is that possible given the difference in our backgrounds?" It seemed like an obvious question to me -- it wasn't like it would be easy to ignore a string of numbers ending in a large blue star should anyone see my arms. Then I remembered that all of my formal gowns included long sleeves or gloves in their design. My informal clothes were a different matter though . . .
"Certain perceived inequalities can be glossed over," he answered with the same ease. "To do so is my responsibility; you don't need to worry about that."
Translation: I'm his property, so as long as I'm pretty and proper no one will say anything rude.
I resisted the urge to vomit.
"Shall I block out that time for you?" I smiled sweetly at him.
"Yes, please. We will be taking lunch at my father's house on Thursday afternoon. Free up our schedules between the hours of eleven and one."
I nodded and scratched this down on the little notepad I'd learned to keep with me -- Erich frequently had things for me to jot down on a second's notice, and I'd grown used to it. "Is there anything else, Erich?"
"No, you're free to go." He smiled again.
I blushed, although I'm not sure why, and rose from my seat. I'd turned the doorknob and was half-way into the hall when he called me back in.
"Miriam? Why don't you wear that adorable green dress on Thursday, the one with the white accents? It brings out your eyes so well." He swirled his drink so that it made a miniature whirlpool in his glass.
"Certainly," I said, blushing deeper before retreating to my desk.
When I got home that night I pulled out the dress to which Erich had made reference, laid it flat on the bed, and stared at it as though it were the enemy. It wasn't that Erich was wrong about the dress, it did flatter me, but the fact that he'd requested this one specifically meant he'd be eying me more so than usual as soon as he saw me in it. He was still a perfect gentleman; he never leered at me or made inappropriate comments, but I could feel his eyes on me when he knew I couldn't see him. I was especially self-conscious about the way my hips swayed as I walked in my heels because I knew he was watching appreciatively. I shuddered, closed my eyes, and turned my back on my bed and the dress to walk into the kitchenette and wash my dishes from dinner. My eyes stung as I rinsed the plates under the tap; I hated feeling like a piece of meat. I hated that I was in Berlin, and I hated that I was trapped inside this gilded cage. A car passed by in the street, its headlamps shining through the darkness outside to twinkle on my windows; I looked up with a quickening of my pulse, for I was reminded instinctively of Nightcrawler's eyes. I realized my mistake and wilted even more, my tears heavy on my lashes. Oh God, I missed him. It was the worst at night; I'd sometimes sit at the window and look up at the stars as I recalled our time together and the direction things had begun to turn. I felt relatively sure that he'd try to find me; he'd possibly have gone inside the Westchester compound if he had enough to track me. But Berlin? I tried to weed out that hope each time it took root. There was simply too much against it . . . he'd have to know I was taken away and not killed. He'd have to know where in Berlin to start looking -- the city was sprawling and very crowded. Then there was the matter of getting across the Atlantic somehow. All of that was contingent, of course, on whether or not I was worth that much to him. I had my doubts . . . it was one thing to kick someone's ass to bail me out of trouble. It was entirely something else to face a very real threat of death to rescue me when we barely knew each other.
I set some water to boiling and got out a cup, saucer, and tea bag. As the water heated I went back to my bedroom to hang up the dress and change into my nightclothes. I blindly grabbed the first slip I could find and covered myself with my robe, padding through the apartment in bare feet. I sank into the armchair with my steaming cup of tea resting on the table beside me and picked up the novel I was reading. I couldn't focus on the words though and finally laid it pages-down on my knee, head bowed in sorrow. I felt hopeless, trapped, and completely forsaken. I talked to God as I wept, asking for some sign of hope or meaning beyond being an aristocrat's meat puppet. I was answered by silence and a deeper feeling of being a hollow shell; I fell asleep in the chair with salty tracks drying on my face and a full cup of cold tea next to me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The lunch date with Erich's family went well enough, I suppose. No one asked me any awkward questions about my tattoos, although I was the focus of a lot of attention. The ladies present commented on my dress, complimented me on my purse, and claimed to admire my dusky skin. I smiled nicely and made similar comments on their appearances, taking mental notes on who each of them were and any importance and connections they had. The men congregated together to have a drink and talk about whatever it was they bonded over; I wasn't able to hear much but I gathered that they were following some sort of sporting event. Lunch was served outside on a screened-in porch, with ceiling fans lazily stirring the air about so that the scent of Mrs. Heidelmann's flowers permeated every breath we took. I ate sparingly because I was so nervous I was afraid I wouldn't be able to keep much of it down; after dessert was finished I excused myself to use the water closet because I felt like I would scream if I didn't have a moment to myself to string my facade back together.
"Miriam, dear?" one of the ladies called through the door as she rapped softly on the wood. "Are you well?"
I glared wide-eyed at the reflection of the door, my painted lips pressed tightly together in exasperation. Really, it had been less than five minutes! Surely cultured ladies occasionally required time for the baser bodily functions the same as anyone else! Not that I was so engaged, but still . . .
"Yes, I'm fine, thank you. I'll be out in just a moment." I capped my lipstick tube and stuffed it back into my purse, fluffed my curls, and tried to calm down. I hoped she was still outside -- I wanted to add to my mental notes which of the ladies it was so that I made sure to never use the facilities in her presence again.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Elizabeth," I apologized for nothing as nicely as I could and tried to make my way back to the porch; I stopped in my tracks when Elizabeth gently touched my left arm, the one with the marks.
"Be careful," she said in a very low voice, her eyes serious.
"About what?" I blinked and tried to stay just vapid enough to fit in.
"He gets bored easily. As soon as he loses interest in you, your life will be forfeit," she let go of me but stayed where she was.
I turned to face her fully. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but I get the impression that such concerns are not yours."
We stared into each others eyes for a moment before she broke the silence between us. "I've seen the look behind your eyes before, you know. It burns, doesn't it? To know that there's nothing but walls around you, and that there's nowhere to go even if you could escape?"
I felt my jaw trembling and checked my desire to launch a punch at her. What the Hell did she know about that?
"How would you like to stick it to him for every time he sticks it to you?" Elizabeth's smile had slowly grown a bit cold around the edges, her eyes hardening so slowly that I didn't see it until now.
"Go on . . ." My eyes narrowed as I regarded her shrewdly.
"There you two are!" Mrs. Heidelmann's voice trilled through the house, her heels clicking loudly on the hardwood floors as she neared us.
"So sorry Margaret," Elizabeth went from ice queen to twittering pixie in .2 seconds. "We lost track of ourselves; do forgive us."
"Of course!" Margaret cried, escorting us back to the party.
"But as I was saying, Miriam dear," Elizabeth picked up where she'd never left off, "I'll be more than happy to send over a sample of that facial masque."
"Oh yes, Elizabeth finds the most wonderful things, doesn't she? You'll love it; I always have such a glow when I use it," the elder woman beamed at us both before we resumed our seats. Erich and the other men had lit cigars and their wives were inhaling from cigarettes, chatter going in all directions. I was offered a cigarette but declined politely, citing an imaginary case of bronchitis that always seemed to flare up when I smoked; that got me off the hook nicely and bypassed an explanation of the real reason that undoubtedly would have come out the wrong way -- the Torah admonishes to preserve our bodies and not knowingly do harm to ourselves. We were brought out a pot of coffee and a tray loaded with sugar, cream, and enough cups for everyone; I sipped at my coffee and listened carefully to everyone around me, providing answers to their questions when I was addressed directly. Erich smiled at me from above the lip of his mug, his eyes twinkling happily as he regarded me.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked me once we were in his car and heading back to the Ministry.
"No," I smiled demurely, "it wasn't. Your parents seem very nice, and I enjoyed the other ladies."
"Good." Erich attacked me with the swoon-inducing smile again and reached across the seat to caress my jaw with the backs of his fingers. "Everyone was rather taken by you, you know. My father especially liked you, and he's a hard man to please."
"I take it all the right gossip will be making the rounds now?"
"I should say so."
A lump formed in my throat when Erich moved closer, his eyes never leaving mine. Elizabeth's words haunted me and I decided it was time to take some sort of control over my fate; I decided I wasn't going to lose his interest and took a gambit. My fingers traced over his as I shifted so that we were closer still, and I darted my tongue over my lips.
"Hmmmm . . ." He seemed pleased that my lips were pressing against his and he kissed me back, his thumb brushing against my cheek. He nipped gently at my lower lip and quickly kissed the same spot, moving his attention to my jaw and down my neck.
I sighed and pulled away, apologizing for being so forward as I straightened my dress. I lowered my eyes and had the good grace to blush deeply as I said that we should try to remain professional while in public. Erich agreed reluctantly, his eyes betraying that he had other things besides work on his mind, but he was straightening his clothes and removing all trace of my lipstick from his skin. Moments later he was back in his office and I was back behind my desk, contemplating the magnitude of what I'd just started.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
velvetine*rose: Here's a special note just for you. Please enjoy responsibly.
Koryne: I'm glad you're enjoying the story. If you're interested in learning more about Nightcrawler, I recommend getting hold of some of the older X-Men comic books or the Excalibur series. The version you're seeing is a rarity -- an alternative version of the character showcased in only four comic books as part of a story arc titled The Age of Apocalypse. As you learn more about Kurt you'll see that while some things stayed the same, some things for him were quite different.
Beryl: I know just what you mean. The last comics I read actually were the Age of Apocalypse and maybe one or two issues of X-Men after that. The last thing I remember is Bishop getting back home and trying to kill Scott and Hank because he thought he was still in the AoA world. Now I go into the shops and flip through, and Kurt's a priest . . . *does double take* Huh?? *laugh* I'm glad you're enjoying seeing things from Kurt's POV. There's some really good stuff coming up with that. As for going by his given name -- no, not really. He struck me as being a very shuttered, very secretive person in this version, and so it would seem odd to me if he just went about giving out his name to people now that he has virtual anonymity. In addition is the fact that being Nightcrawler is different from being Kurt Darkholme . . . it's a mask for him in a place where he still has to be as strong and as hardened as he is capable of in order to not only keep himself alive, but now to rescue someone else against some staggering odds. He'll completely drop the mask and take off the armor eventually, but not for a while yet. As for what's going on with Miriam . . . *glances meaningfully down at the chapter* "Und" = "And" in German. I'm going to go back and clean that up when I get a moment -- I realize I've not been consistent in changing that only during Kurt's dialogue.
Missa Rhiannon: *bows* Well, thank you m'dear!
Colleen: I'm glad the revisions worked for you, too. Miriam's a giant Barbie doll, eh? *turns up "Barbie Girl" by Aqua*
MG: Thanks for the feedback, and stay tuned. You liked McMurray, huh? Cool!
Apteryx: Glad to see you on board, and good to know you're enjoying the story. :)
