Disclaimer thingie: Marvel owns the X-Men and all of their relatives. BBC/Lionheart own Doctor Who and Ms. Sam-Jones. Highlander is, iirc, owned by Rysher Entertainment. Buffy is owned by Joss Whedon (all hail the Master) and Fox/WB.
Marya, otoh, is mine. Borrow her without asking and I'll have my lackeys get medieval on your roody-poo candy ass.
PG13/R for swearing and some nastiness.
Author's notes: I've been tricked into rewriting a ton of X-history, so bear with me.
Dedication: To Lynxie, because she's half-co-plotter, or something. And because she wouldn't let me stop writing -.- To Acetal for betaing this monster, it ain't over yet, bub. To KayJay and Mitai and Alicia for the origin of the crazy idea. And to Tapestry for helping Lynxie kick me and get it finished.
The Rise and Fall of the House of DeZorga, 2
Ferret Dreams
by Suzy DeZorga
It is without a doubt a fact that life is fun. Hell, when they say that life is for the living, they're right. The vampire in front of me didn't agree, apparently. His victim, a young girl in her teens, lay on the ground, dead. Drained of her life's blood so that he could live. If living as a demon-possessed body was living. "Bastard," I hissed softly, stepping into the alley and closer to him.
He looked at me for a moment, then smiled and bared his blood-caked fangs. "Victim."
"Not," I said calmly, straightening as a blonde fury appeared behind him, stake in hand. He didn't even hear her as the stake slid into his chest. Dying with that sort of "Oh, shit" look is common among vampires as they dissolve into a pile of dust.
I ignored the pile as I knelt next to the body of the girl. She couldn't have been more than fifteen. "All that wasted potential," I whispered, my mind for a moment feeling the full horror of it. "I'm sorry."
"Toaster-caked him! Yes!" The Slayer cheered from above me. "Chalk one more up for the Slayer."
She said it so swaggeringly, so naively. As if the title itself was her protection and she would never die. I stood swiftly and snorted. "Yeah. One more vamp killed. Too bad we can't borrow his life-energy to revive this little girl." I looked down at the body and sighed. "Let's get out of here before the cops decide we did it."
Buffy Summers, resident Slayer of Sunnydale blinked at me. "Morbid and depressed-sounding, much."
"Whatever," I sighed. Buffy and her father were in New York for the Christmas holidays. Apparently, his new girlfriend's family was there. I grimaced. Unfortunately, Buffy HATED being away from Sunnydale and her duties there. So she trivialised it all and tried not to think about it.
As we walked away from the scene, I thought about what could have happened if Buffy's father hadn't gotten hotel rooms with sealed windows. We might have been earlier. We might have been in time. I closed my eyes and turned back. "Go in peace," I whispered softly. And we went on in silence for a time.
"I'm sorry," Buffy said abruptly, as we exited the street and slipped into another. "It's just, things with dad, and I'm--" She looked down for a moment, then blinked, "Vampire."
I didn't take that to mean she was a vampire. I took it as it was meant and silently melted backwards, waiting. Buffy had perfected the 'lost and alone little girl' trick ages ago. She pulled it off well as four vamps came strolling around the corner ahead of us. I could almost here her muttering, "Oh no, whatever shall I dooo?" in a squeaky falsetto.
The vamps spotted her and halted for a second, then chuckled as one and sauntered towards her. She waited till the last minute, then looked at them startled. "Hello, I'm kind of lost. Do you think you could tell me where Fifth and Monroe is?"
"Oh, sure we can, little girl." They swiftly surrounded her. "But, first, we'll take our--" They all shifted into the demon-feeding-face, "payment."
"Do you take stake credit?"
"What?" The one that asked that died before he had an answer to that question. Although the death was an answer in and of itself. The other three quickly dove in, two grabbing Buffy's arms and attempting to hold her as the third leaned in for the kill. He stopped abruptly, his face paling. Slowly, he folded.
"I've always wanted to try that," Buffy noted, as she slammed a foot into his face and began twisting away from the other two.
"I thought you had?" I asked, staking the one on the right.
She staked the one on her left, then reflexively snapkicked the one moaning on the ground. "True. But it's always fun to recheck your data."
"Ah, yes," I grinned, as she dropped down and staked the last one. "Now, where were we?"
"I was just about to ask how your new gig was going," she replied, standing and dusting off her hands.
I let her change the subject. "Not too bad. Par normal, everyone's very wary of me." I grinned at her.
"Yeah, well, you're not the easiest person to get a handle on, Ms I'm an ex-Slayer, and I've been alive for a thousand years," Buffy smiled. "You're good, though. What else?"
"Well, I'm hoping they'll get to liking me, maybe," I said with irony. "After I save a few lives they'll decide I'm good people."
"Ya think?" she snickered. "So, who is he?"
"What? Who is who?" I tried for innocence. It didn't work.
"Who is he. There is a he in all of this, I can tell. Men just have this... pull." She flashed a look at me as we wandered down another street. "And it's not always a good one, either."
I almost asked her why she had that saddened look, then decided listening to her complain about Angel again wouldn't do me any good. Sometimes, I wanted to hit the two of them over the head very badly. "His name's Scott."
"Scott?" she asked, teasingly. "Sounds pretty nice. Stable guy?"
"Yeah." I grinned and scampered ahead a bit so I could look at her face. "Scott Summers, aka Cyclops of the X-Men."
Her jaw dropped. "You're JOKING."
"Nope. He's apparently got this thing going with Jean Grey, but," I shrugged. "I don't see that happening, and, apparently, she left him at the altar, then he took her back, later."
"Screwy." She frowned and glared at me. "You realise that you're now topping me in the twisty-angst spot?"
"Yessss." I drew out the 's' grinning evilly. "Besides, you don't deserve that angst spot. It should be mine by right," I declaimed sententiously.
"Oh, stuff it." She snickered. "So, other than the guy with my last name, other troubles are?"
"Jean."
"The X-fiance."
I coughed. "Sort of. The engagement's back on, wedding date unset."
"Ahhh, so, you still have a chance." Buffy looked up at the street sign and checked her watch. "Either kill her, or get her to leave the team."
"Neither." I shook my head as we headed back in the direction of the Hyatt. "Actually, I'm more nervous about the entire X-Clan descending on us for Christmas."
"All of them? Shouldn't that be, like, bad? I mean the saturation of such pure hero-ness ought to implode, or something."
I laughed, my voice sounding odd in the quiet of the street. Relatively quiet, since there were cars zooming around somewhere nearby. "Yeah, right."
"Anyway, what is it they always say when you're in front of a large audience?" Buffy looked up at the hotel in front of us and sighed. "Just imagine them all in their underwear."
"Oh, thanks. Appealing thought, much." I reached out and impulsively hugged her. "Take care, kiddo. Yell for me again, if you want, I don't get enough excercise. Yet."
She hugged back and smiled tiredly. "I will. You take care, lady, you hear?"
"Do I ever not?" I didn't wait for her to answer that, the momentary flash of memory in her eyes more than enough for me. Hell, *I* didn't want to remember it. "I'm gone, blondie."
"See ya, rainbow." And she was gone, flittering into the huge building and disappearing into a shimmering reflection as it swallowed her up.
I swallowed the memories of our first meeting and turned back into the night. A good idea was getting to bed before 6 AM. Apparently, that was the mandatory training hour at the Mansion. And I'd been allowed to sleep through my first two.
----
Blood. Red, thick, viscous, it surrounded me, pulling me under, trying to fill my mouth as I fought not to scream, to give in. There was a flash and it shifted, becoming lava, hot, burning. Fire.
Sound. A child's scream rang out somewhere near me. NO! My mind screamed. Children. Dying. All around me, consumed. Flames licked at my arms, face, hair. I smelled the skin on my bare feet burning off as I walked across a tin roof.
Pain. It slammed into me, knocking me over, I was falling. Down, down to happy land, where they would do things to my teeth and let gerbils talk to my toes.
An alarm rang out. Fire engine, I thought muzzily, then woke. It's annoying as hell to be able to jerk awake like that. You'd think being as elderly as I felt sometimes I'd be able to wake more gradually. No such luck. The room around me spun for a moment, then stopped. The clock radio on my right blared out some morning news program. Irritating me, since the announcer sounded not at all upset that five thousand people had just died in a flood in Guatemala.
I was tired, the clock found itself smashed against the wall with a light burst of TK.
"Oops," I mumbled, reaching up and rubbing my eyes as I slowly lurched vertical. I vaguely recalled setting the alarm as I staggered back through the window about three that morning. It was now 5:45. I am not at my best on three hours of sleep. Someone would hurt for this. Very. Badly.
----
Two hours later, I was regretting that mental promise, as poor Bobby Drake gamely tried to not flinch around me. I'd accidentally broken his arm when he tried to hug me during that morning's training session. One thing the team had now learned about me; DON'T sneak up behind me in a combat situation, when it's everyone against me. Okay, so I shouldn't have grabbed and twisted. But I had a bit of a good excuse.
Being tired sends me immediately into a combat-readiness state. I've become so ingrained to fighting, that not fighting is more difficult. Plus, add in the nervousness about everything, and you have a mondo recipe for disaster. The state I settle into has only three of the lower functions; dodge, parry, attack.
The excercise had been a work in frustration-release for me. People I could beat on and not get in trouble for. Of course, I should have shaken off the battle fugue before breaking Bobby's arm. I felt terribly guilty about that. Guilty enough that I was considering breaking one of my own rules and Healing it.
Everyone against the Newbie was how the excercise was played. I was nice and let them win. After much hassle, of course. They took me down with a fairly good combination, actually. I'd felt nearly proud, as if I'd trained them myself. Cyclops and Braddock. With me dodging in and out of the trees they'd so thoughtfully provided, Braddock and Scott went into a two-pronged attack. One fighting me physically, the other blasting at me. Pretty effective, really. It forced me out of the trees where a take-down was much easier. And came fast.
Reflecting on the fight brought me back to gazing at Bobby as he accidentally banged his arm on the counter. I winced with him and gave in. "Bobby?"
He flinched and tried to smile at me, "Are you going to break my other arm?"
"Actually, no." I smiled placatingly. "I'm going to try to fix the broken one."
He blinked at me. Around us, the kitchen abruptly stilled. Being the center of attention has never bothered me. I flashed a dry smile at everyone and gestured to a chair. "Sit down, love, this may take a bit."
He sat tentatively and looked at me as I dragged a chair closer to him and sat, too. "What are you going to do."
"Well," I nervously shoved a hank of the annoying rainbow hair out of my eyes. "I'm going to try something I haven't tried in a while. Just -- give me a moment, okay?"
I didn't wait for him to answer, just gently laid a hand on his shoulder and closed my eyes. The light trance I dropped into pulled open the energies I had stored and began preparing me. I opened my inner eyes, the ones that could actually look *through* people and stared at his arm. It was a clean break, I'd done that right, at least. Tendrils of energy coalesced around the hand on his shoulder and gently began seeping into his arm.
Bobby stiffened. I didn't blame him, the healing energies tingle. They spread downwards and found the break, which looked like an ugly red line. For an instant they glowed with the same red, then they melted into the crack, filling it over and bubbling. A flash of light and the bone reknit itself back together.
For an instant, I felt light-headed, the energy expended having drained my reserves some. Then the world reset itself and I pulled out of the trance. I gasped in, released the breath and drew in another and opened my eyes. Bobby was staring at me, his gaze a bit surprised. He looked down at his arm, then back up at me.
"Wow. That was...That felt really wierd."
"I'm sure," I shifted, wincing as my body protested the use of the energy by tensing muscles up and down my back, "it did. I can tell you it still feels very strange from this side, too."
"What did you do?" Scott leaned against the counter near us and crossed his arms.
It was the pose I'm sure had been dubbed the 'Picard Leader Pose' or something similar. I shrugged, "Simplest explanation? Healed him." I leaned back in the chair and winced, trying to stretch. "If you want a more detailed one, can it wait until I've eaten? Healing always makes me famished."
They left it at that, even though I could tell they wanted to know more. As everyone returned to the business of creating and then eating breakfast, I watched them. They were intrigued by me, worried by me, and, in a few cases, tolerating me like normal.
Breakfast was shaping up wonderfully, and I even decided to pitch in. In the interests of making it cook and be prepared faster. I'm a splendid cook, if I do say so myself. Pancakes being a specialty. I can make them from scratch anywhere -- even over an open campfire in the middle of a campaign. I once made some in 1582 while running errands for a local Baron in the Netherlands. Not that it was the Netherlands, then. It was a collection of tiny little patchwork kingdoms and dukedoms.
Adria was the main country's title, but the was the little Barony of Aurverelle, on the edge of the lovely and dense Malvern forest. It was there I met a group of what history will call witches and heathens, but what I'd definitely call Elves. Not that it matters, they're gone now. Hunted unto the last and all burnt at the stake. A few were tortured in the name of the Inquisition.
Jean was upset. It hit me, suddenly, as I handed her the spatula and went to help set the table. Not visibly, but resonating on some plain that I could feel. I nearly hit myself when I realised. She was resonating on the psychic plain, which had been disturbed for *months*. Which meant that she was projecting the worry and fear there, and keeping herself tightly shielded from the rest of us. Even, I suspected, the Professor.
I'd felt it by touch -- my hand to hers. Flesh always deepened emotional projection. Dodging around Remy as I laid out the spoons, I decided not to ask. Not yet, anyway.
"Hey, Suzy, catch."
"What?" I looked up just in time to snap a hand up and catch the orange Logan had tossed. "Thanks," I said, dryly. "I've always liked getting oranges in the face for breakfast."
He chuckled and tossed one to Remy, then to Scott. "Suzy, you always were a whiner about breakfast."
"I hate mornings, dearie, remember?" I snorted and began peeling the orange as Jean brought a platter of pancakes to the table. Bobby, Scott and Remy had fetched the condiments, including the blueberry syrup.
"Ah, t'ank you, chere." Remy smiled sweetly at me as I passed him the aforementioned syrup. Bobby had set it next to my plate, instead of Remy's.
The rest of the X-Men sat, some stiffly, some flopping. All hungry, by the way they began passing the platters of food and pitchers of coffee. Bishop had one whole pot of coffee all to himself, and tended to growl softly if it was taken away. I refrained from TKing it down to me, since I adored coffee.
Betsy sat to my right, Warren next to her. His wings were carefully set over the back of his chair, all fluffy and white. I'd nearly asked how he got them a bit ago, then decided not to. Reaching for my mug, I stopped and frowned at it. There was a suspiciously frosty look to the outside, and the contents were no longer steaming. In fact, when I picked it up, the contents didn't even slosh.
My eyebrow shot up and I glanced at Bobby. "Pancakes being frozen, I can understand, but coffee? 's the drink of the gods, mate. That's like poisoning the world's chocolate supply."
"And that would be bad?" Bishop looked dark and brooding and unhumourous.
"Yes." I raised an eyebrow at Betsy. "What would you do if there was no chocolate left in the world?"
"Well," She took a swallow from her unfrozen coffee and leaned back in her chair. "I think I'd have to find the person and torture them. Slowly."
"Indeed." Ororo nodded regally, having scorned the pancakes in favour of a grapefruit and some cottage cheese. "A dearth of chocolate would require great fortitude."
"In women, anyway," Bobby said with a grin. "Considering it--"
"Hush, Bobby." Jean gave him a minatory glare.
I chuckled and finished his statement. "Because in women it produces the same hormone that causes sexual orgasm?"
There were gasps and chuckles around the table and we all went on to other things. Like actually finishing our breakfast.
The other X-Teams were due to arrive later that day and the next day. I was looking forward to it. Sort of. As I'd told Buffy, it made me nervous. I can handle a large crowd. But only when they're mindless sheep. Given what I'd seen of Xavier's so far, the X-ers were anything but.
---
The prospect of seeing all these new people on my lack of sleep nearly made me cry. Not. It made me worry I'd be short-tempered, which on top of the other worries made me a bit sarcastic.
"So, Marya, would you like a tour of the Mansion?"
"Again?"
Bobby blinked at me and shrugged. "Well, at least something must be better than staring at that computer screen all day."
In point of fact, I was boredly playing FreeCell. An excuse to get up and do something that might occupy me was welcome. I sighed and stood, stretching. "Sorry, Bobby. I'm just a bit tired."
"Not a morning person."
"Nope." I grinned ruefully. "In fact, I tend to stay away from mornings as often as possible."
"You sound like Cable. The man can't even eat until he's had three pots of coffee in the morning." With that, he turned and began leading the way around the Mansion.
I didn't tell him I'd known that.
"...And, this is the foyer, where we first met you." Bobby grinned at me. "And here I thought you were an insurance salesman."
"Salesman?" I glared at him in mock-horror. "I'd die before I stooped so low. Which," I admitted dryly, "is the point of insurance, isn't it?"
He laughed.
I laughed with him, then stiffened. The feelers I'd gently laid about the Mansion as an early mental warning system were tingling. Someone was out there.
The doorbell rang before I could deepen the contact to decide on whether they were hostile or not.
"Maybe this is our insurance salesman?" Bobby quipped, as he stepped to the door.
"Yeah, maybe," I muttered, cracking a smile as he opened it to reveal several teenagers, a hulking silver-haired man and a slim dark-haired woman.
"Ah, Cable, kids, Domino, welcome back to the Mansion," Drake gestured, and backed away from the door.
They filed in, the blonde girl in the lead snapping her gum as she looked at me. "So, who are ya?"
"The new girl," I said dryly, restraining myself from spewing out my full name, including titles.
She shrugged. "Uhuh. I'm Tabitha."
"Now, Tabby, don't be so rude." The redhaired young woman behind Tabby smiled wearily at me. "I'm sorry for tha'. I'm Theresa Cassidy." She held out a hand.
I shook it and grinned. "Really, it's okay. And It's Marya DeZorga. Call me Marya, though."
The rest of the team came to surround me, curious. One young man glowed a dark black, almost shining with an oily sheen. I guessed it had to do with his mutation. I hadn't thought about doing homework on X-Force, even though I should have.
I looked over their shoulders and raised an eyebrow at the dark-haired woman. "Dom."
"Dez." She nodded at me and turned to the man next to her. "Nate, I really think the kids need better manners. Standing there gawking can't be good for their first impressions."
I laughed and turned to the dark man I'd noticed and held out my hand. "Marya."
"Roberto DaCosta." He nodded to me and ignored the hand.
Rolling my eyes and repressing a sigh, I grinned at the strawberry-blond one next. His hair was fantastic looking, longer than my legs, it cascaded down his back in a flowing tail. If the swords he was sporting were anything to go by, it was a bitch to fight in, too. A star-shaped tattoo decorated his left eye.
"Shatterstar." He shook my hand and looked to his left where a young Latino man stood. "This is the correct way to greet a lady, yes?"
I saw the mischief in his companion's eyes before he turned to me and replied, "No, 'Star, this is." He reached for my hand and turned it over, gazing deeply into my eyes. I stifled a snicker and waited. "Hallo, Senorita Marya, I'm enchanted to meet you. My name is--"
"Inigo Montoya?" I interjected dryly, unable to resist.
His female companions and even DaCosta, chortled at the shock on his face. He recovered quickly, though. "No, actually, it's Ricter." He completed his greeting by leaning over and kissing the back of my hand.
"Oh, so receiving laughter is the best way to greet a lady?" Shatterstar nodded. "I shall endeavor to remember that."
I coughed and looked at the young man, expecting to see cajolery. And then realised he was serious. "Actually, 'Star -- may I call you that?" He nodded. "Anyway, actually, laughter is not the object." I glanced around and spotted Bobby, looking amused. "Here. I shall demonstrate."
Quickly, I slipped out of the semi-circle and approached Bobby. I reached out my hand to him, "Hello, sir." My voice had deepened slightly. He blinked and accepted my hand. I turned his over in my hands. "I'm Marya," I drew out the syllables a little breathily then bent over, still keeping eye contact and kissed the back of his hand. I let my lips linger ever so slightly, then straightened and slowly stepped back. I let his hand slip out of mine ever so gently.
There was a moment of silence and then Bobby laughed. The others followed suit. Dom slid over next to me and snickered. "You haven't lost your touch, have you, Dez?"
"No," I answered her, out of the side of my mouth. "I haven't."
She snorted. "Well, wipe the self-satisfied smirk off your face."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Susanna, you don't do meek well," a voice commented dryly from behind me.
I turned and grinned impishly up at Cable. "Aw, Naaaate. I don't?" Dom and I were the only ones, to my knowledge (except Logan on rare occasions) who could get away with calling the man in front of me Nate. He hated the name, and much preferred being called Cable.
---
It wasn't until later that afternoon, with X-Force all settled in (surprise, surprise) their old rooms, that I got to actually sit down and chat companionably with Dom and Nate.
"So, how'd you get roped into this?" Dom tossed a can of Guinness at me. I caught it and popped the top, then shrugged. "Oh, c'mon, Dez, you never let yourself get on a team before."
Nate snorted and opened the beer Dom handed him. "Hell, that's why you never joined up with us in the Six Pack." He winced, suddenly. Old pain about some of those events, I guessed.
"Well," I said, drawling slightly. "Ya see, Fury, he has a few of them thar prognosticator-types on his crew." I stopped and sipped from the can, wincing at the lack of fresh flavour. "Something big is coming."
"Have you told Xavier?" Dom raised an eyebrow when I shook my head and frowned at me. "Why not?"
"Need to know. Sorta."
"Which means, Fury doesn't trust Xavier." Nate supplied dryly.
I checked the mental wards on the room and then nodded. "Exactly." I stood and began pacing in the small room. Oddly enough, since the excuse I'd given was to be Xavier's bodyguard. But no one else needed to know that. "I don't think he even wanted to trust me. And he hasn't warned anyone else either."
"Big fucking mistake," Dom noted. "Without anyone prepared--"
"Whatever it is will shatter the defenses we have." Nate looked at Dom, then back at me, his eyes serious. "I'm going to tell the kids."
"Go ahead. I'm systematically going to tell the team -- Logan already knows." We'd had a chat the first night I'd gone patrolling in New York.
Creeping out of the Mansion grounds had been simple. On my way back, I was followed. I knew who it was, and why he was doing it. After all, I'd known him for longer than he thought I had. For a moment I felt sorrow that it wasn't my place to tell him the truth.
I shook that thought off and waited when I reached the base of the room just below my window. "Suzy."
"Yeah?"
"Do you have a death wish?"
"No, not really. I've never been one for my own death. Wishing death on others, yes."
He snorted and stepped into the moonlight. "There a reason--" he paused and sniffed, stepping closer to me. "Vamps."
"Yep. The new Slayer's in town. Thought I'd pop in and help some."
"Long way to New York from here."
A ghost of a smile crossed my lips, "I've got a fast cycle."
He grunted and lit a cigar, and, shock of all shocks, leaned against the side of the house next to me.
"Lovely stars up there." I wasn't looking at them.
"Probably," he grunted.
"So, what's with the nose?" It was something I'd noticed, the first time I'd seen him again, but, so far, I'd fought my curiosity. Or was it rampant gossipyness?
"I've gone feral."
A statement of fact, and it covered a world of meaning. I sighed. "Any way to fix it?"
"Not really."
"The nose is bloody annoying to look at, you know. Might wanna see a plastic surgeon about it."
"Tried dyeing your hair lately?"
My hair will always be a sore point. It sucks to try and go undercover with hair that can be recognised from low Earth orbit. "Can I go to bed now?"
"Any idea why there's such a prevalent vamp population in New York?"
"It's New York, you have to ask?"
"Go to bed, Suzy."
"Yes, Dad." I turned and jumped up, catching the bottom lip of my windowsill. A little TK and I was up and through the open window. I was asleep a few minutes later.
---
To some, I was Susanna DeZorga. To others, I was her sister, Marya DeZorga. To a very few, Louisa. Three names are useful in my line of work. Infiltration at its easiest, especially when you're used to being called by any of them.
As these thoughts flitted through my brain, I hacked the Mansion's computer system. It was a thoroughly protected system, but nothing had ever been able to keep me out for long. Apparently, the latent memories of the programmers get stored in the programs in some way. I've never understood that part, I just know it works. Because I can read the memories and that's how I knew exactly that the last time Kitty Pryde had put a lockout on the systems, she'd used 'chocolate' as the keyword to the password encryption.
Pryde, according to the file I pulled up, was currently a member of the British team, Excalibur. the young girl -- all of nineteen -- was capable of altering her molecular state to walk through walls. It sounded like a fun thing to do. I'd have to try it some time when really awake and well-rested energy-wise.
There were other bios and dossiers, including one that made me grin even more devilishly than I had in a while. But that would wait for later. Now I knew who I could trust.
---
"Braddock?"
The lovely ninja looked up at me, eyes neutral once again. "Yes?"
"Had any dreams lately?"
She blinked, the question startling her from her composure for a moment, then it reappeared. "Yes."
I leaned against the wall of the Danger Room, which was currently in the shape of a Dojo. Prying delicately wasn't my strong suit. I was much more the torture type. I sighed and dove in. "Have they been...frightening?"
Betsy bent over, her purple hair scattering around her face, and stretched languidly. When she straightened she was looking at me with that same neutral expression, but with a spark of curiosity underneath. For an instant, the red slash over her eye seemed to glow. I shook my head, and it stopped.
"I've had frightening dreams for every night of my existence since I took the Crimson Dawn."
So matter of fact and calm. I marveled at her for a moment, then nodded and turned to go. "Thank you."
"Wait."
"Yes?" I looked at her. She looked back at me, then shuddered.
"For about the last week, I've had dreams...of blood and death and fire -- children screaming." She shook her head, her eyes darkening with distress. "These are all different -- usually they're about darkness and the Crimson Dawn."
"Children and fire," I whispered. I had a sudden flash to smashing my alarm that morning. Right after waking out of the living nightmare of children perishing in a fire. I closed my eyes and opened them again to find her staring at me intently.
"What do you know?"
"I..." I turned away and started pacing, reaching tendrils of energy out, deadening recording sensors, walls, everything so nothing said or thought would leave the room. "I'm not quite sure." I turned to face her and continued, "I was sent by Fury to watch over you, prepare the X-Men for -- something. He's not sure what."
"Sounds wonderfully vague," she noted dryly, crossing her arms over her chest and straightening. "What does it have to do with my dreams?"
"I had the same one this morning." Every Slayer has minor precognitive abilities. In my case, you combined those with my natural telepathy, and you had someone tapped into the way the world worked. Which sounds horribly pretentious.
Did our dreams have a meaning? I wasn't sure, but I was betting that I was going to find out soon. Dreams are always supposed to mean things.
I once dreamt I was a ferret. It was the strangest thing, seeing the world in the strange planes and colours that came with ferret eyes. Crawling through mazes of duct work and chattering with the mice, that's how I spent the night. When I awoke, I discovered a ferret living in the aparment under mine. Telepathy does work on animal minds. Just at a more basic level.
---
End Chapter Two
=====
'I stood at the kitchen sink, my radio playing songs like "Tainted Love" and "Love is Strange"...'
__________________________________________________
© 2000 Suzy DeZorga
Marya, otoh, is mine. Borrow her without asking and I'll have my lackeys get medieval on your roody-poo candy ass.
PG13/R for swearing and some nastiness.
Author's notes: I've been tricked into rewriting a ton of X-history, so bear with me.
Dedication: To Lynxie, because she's half-co-plotter, or something. And because she wouldn't let me stop writing -.- To Acetal for betaing this monster, it ain't over yet, bub. To KayJay and Mitai and Alicia for the origin of the crazy idea. And to Tapestry for helping Lynxie kick me and get it finished.
The Rise and Fall of the House of DeZorga, 2
Ferret Dreams
by Suzy DeZorga
It is without a doubt a fact that life is fun. Hell, when they say that life is for the living, they're right. The vampire in front of me didn't agree, apparently. His victim, a young girl in her teens, lay on the ground, dead. Drained of her life's blood so that he could live. If living as a demon-possessed body was living. "Bastard," I hissed softly, stepping into the alley and closer to him.
He looked at me for a moment, then smiled and bared his blood-caked fangs. "Victim."
"Not," I said calmly, straightening as a blonde fury appeared behind him, stake in hand. He didn't even hear her as the stake slid into his chest. Dying with that sort of "Oh, shit" look is common among vampires as they dissolve into a pile of dust.
I ignored the pile as I knelt next to the body of the girl. She couldn't have been more than fifteen. "All that wasted potential," I whispered, my mind for a moment feeling the full horror of it. "I'm sorry."
"Toaster-caked him! Yes!" The Slayer cheered from above me. "Chalk one more up for the Slayer."
She said it so swaggeringly, so naively. As if the title itself was her protection and she would never die. I stood swiftly and snorted. "Yeah. One more vamp killed. Too bad we can't borrow his life-energy to revive this little girl." I looked down at the body and sighed. "Let's get out of here before the cops decide we did it."
Buffy Summers, resident Slayer of Sunnydale blinked at me. "Morbid and depressed-sounding, much."
"Whatever," I sighed. Buffy and her father were in New York for the Christmas holidays. Apparently, his new girlfriend's family was there. I grimaced. Unfortunately, Buffy HATED being away from Sunnydale and her duties there. So she trivialised it all and tried not to think about it.
As we walked away from the scene, I thought about what could have happened if Buffy's father hadn't gotten hotel rooms with sealed windows. We might have been earlier. We might have been in time. I closed my eyes and turned back. "Go in peace," I whispered softly. And we went on in silence for a time.
"I'm sorry," Buffy said abruptly, as we exited the street and slipped into another. "It's just, things with dad, and I'm--" She looked down for a moment, then blinked, "Vampire."
I didn't take that to mean she was a vampire. I took it as it was meant and silently melted backwards, waiting. Buffy had perfected the 'lost and alone little girl' trick ages ago. She pulled it off well as four vamps came strolling around the corner ahead of us. I could almost here her muttering, "Oh no, whatever shall I dooo?" in a squeaky falsetto.
The vamps spotted her and halted for a second, then chuckled as one and sauntered towards her. She waited till the last minute, then looked at them startled. "Hello, I'm kind of lost. Do you think you could tell me where Fifth and Monroe is?"
"Oh, sure we can, little girl." They swiftly surrounded her. "But, first, we'll take our--" They all shifted into the demon-feeding-face, "payment."
"Do you take stake credit?"
"What?" The one that asked that died before he had an answer to that question. Although the death was an answer in and of itself. The other three quickly dove in, two grabbing Buffy's arms and attempting to hold her as the third leaned in for the kill. He stopped abruptly, his face paling. Slowly, he folded.
"I've always wanted to try that," Buffy noted, as she slammed a foot into his face and began twisting away from the other two.
"I thought you had?" I asked, staking the one on the right.
She staked the one on her left, then reflexively snapkicked the one moaning on the ground. "True. But it's always fun to recheck your data."
"Ah, yes," I grinned, as she dropped down and staked the last one. "Now, where were we?"
"I was just about to ask how your new gig was going," she replied, standing and dusting off her hands.
I let her change the subject. "Not too bad. Par normal, everyone's very wary of me." I grinned at her.
"Yeah, well, you're not the easiest person to get a handle on, Ms I'm an ex-Slayer, and I've been alive for a thousand years," Buffy smiled. "You're good, though. What else?"
"Well, I'm hoping they'll get to liking me, maybe," I said with irony. "After I save a few lives they'll decide I'm good people."
"Ya think?" she snickered. "So, who is he?"
"What? Who is who?" I tried for innocence. It didn't work.
"Who is he. There is a he in all of this, I can tell. Men just have this... pull." She flashed a look at me as we wandered down another street. "And it's not always a good one, either."
I almost asked her why she had that saddened look, then decided listening to her complain about Angel again wouldn't do me any good. Sometimes, I wanted to hit the two of them over the head very badly. "His name's Scott."
"Scott?" she asked, teasingly. "Sounds pretty nice. Stable guy?"
"Yeah." I grinned and scampered ahead a bit so I could look at her face. "Scott Summers, aka Cyclops of the X-Men."
Her jaw dropped. "You're JOKING."
"Nope. He's apparently got this thing going with Jean Grey, but," I shrugged. "I don't see that happening, and, apparently, she left him at the altar, then he took her back, later."
"Screwy." She frowned and glared at me. "You realise that you're now topping me in the twisty-angst spot?"
"Yessss." I drew out the 's' grinning evilly. "Besides, you don't deserve that angst spot. It should be mine by right," I declaimed sententiously.
"Oh, stuff it." She snickered. "So, other than the guy with my last name, other troubles are?"
"Jean."
"The X-fiance."
I coughed. "Sort of. The engagement's back on, wedding date unset."
"Ahhh, so, you still have a chance." Buffy looked up at the street sign and checked her watch. "Either kill her, or get her to leave the team."
"Neither." I shook my head as we headed back in the direction of the Hyatt. "Actually, I'm more nervous about the entire X-Clan descending on us for Christmas."
"All of them? Shouldn't that be, like, bad? I mean the saturation of such pure hero-ness ought to implode, or something."
I laughed, my voice sounding odd in the quiet of the street. Relatively quiet, since there were cars zooming around somewhere nearby. "Yeah, right."
"Anyway, what is it they always say when you're in front of a large audience?" Buffy looked up at the hotel in front of us and sighed. "Just imagine them all in their underwear."
"Oh, thanks. Appealing thought, much." I reached out and impulsively hugged her. "Take care, kiddo. Yell for me again, if you want, I don't get enough excercise. Yet."
She hugged back and smiled tiredly. "I will. You take care, lady, you hear?"
"Do I ever not?" I didn't wait for her to answer that, the momentary flash of memory in her eyes more than enough for me. Hell, *I* didn't want to remember it. "I'm gone, blondie."
"See ya, rainbow." And she was gone, flittering into the huge building and disappearing into a shimmering reflection as it swallowed her up.
I swallowed the memories of our first meeting and turned back into the night. A good idea was getting to bed before 6 AM. Apparently, that was the mandatory training hour at the Mansion. And I'd been allowed to sleep through my first two.
----
Blood. Red, thick, viscous, it surrounded me, pulling me under, trying to fill my mouth as I fought not to scream, to give in. There was a flash and it shifted, becoming lava, hot, burning. Fire.
Sound. A child's scream rang out somewhere near me. NO! My mind screamed. Children. Dying. All around me, consumed. Flames licked at my arms, face, hair. I smelled the skin on my bare feet burning off as I walked across a tin roof.
Pain. It slammed into me, knocking me over, I was falling. Down, down to happy land, where they would do things to my teeth and let gerbils talk to my toes.
An alarm rang out. Fire engine, I thought muzzily, then woke. It's annoying as hell to be able to jerk awake like that. You'd think being as elderly as I felt sometimes I'd be able to wake more gradually. No such luck. The room around me spun for a moment, then stopped. The clock radio on my right blared out some morning news program. Irritating me, since the announcer sounded not at all upset that five thousand people had just died in a flood in Guatemala.
I was tired, the clock found itself smashed against the wall with a light burst of TK.
"Oops," I mumbled, reaching up and rubbing my eyes as I slowly lurched vertical. I vaguely recalled setting the alarm as I staggered back through the window about three that morning. It was now 5:45. I am not at my best on three hours of sleep. Someone would hurt for this. Very. Badly.
----
Two hours later, I was regretting that mental promise, as poor Bobby Drake gamely tried to not flinch around me. I'd accidentally broken his arm when he tried to hug me during that morning's training session. One thing the team had now learned about me; DON'T sneak up behind me in a combat situation, when it's everyone against me. Okay, so I shouldn't have grabbed and twisted. But I had a bit of a good excuse.
Being tired sends me immediately into a combat-readiness state. I've become so ingrained to fighting, that not fighting is more difficult. Plus, add in the nervousness about everything, and you have a mondo recipe for disaster. The state I settle into has only three of the lower functions; dodge, parry, attack.
The excercise had been a work in frustration-release for me. People I could beat on and not get in trouble for. Of course, I should have shaken off the battle fugue before breaking Bobby's arm. I felt terribly guilty about that. Guilty enough that I was considering breaking one of my own rules and Healing it.
Everyone against the Newbie was how the excercise was played. I was nice and let them win. After much hassle, of course. They took me down with a fairly good combination, actually. I'd felt nearly proud, as if I'd trained them myself. Cyclops and Braddock. With me dodging in and out of the trees they'd so thoughtfully provided, Braddock and Scott went into a two-pronged attack. One fighting me physically, the other blasting at me. Pretty effective, really. It forced me out of the trees where a take-down was much easier. And came fast.
Reflecting on the fight brought me back to gazing at Bobby as he accidentally banged his arm on the counter. I winced with him and gave in. "Bobby?"
He flinched and tried to smile at me, "Are you going to break my other arm?"
"Actually, no." I smiled placatingly. "I'm going to try to fix the broken one."
He blinked at me. Around us, the kitchen abruptly stilled. Being the center of attention has never bothered me. I flashed a dry smile at everyone and gestured to a chair. "Sit down, love, this may take a bit."
He sat tentatively and looked at me as I dragged a chair closer to him and sat, too. "What are you going to do."
"Well," I nervously shoved a hank of the annoying rainbow hair out of my eyes. "I'm going to try something I haven't tried in a while. Just -- give me a moment, okay?"
I didn't wait for him to answer, just gently laid a hand on his shoulder and closed my eyes. The light trance I dropped into pulled open the energies I had stored and began preparing me. I opened my inner eyes, the ones that could actually look *through* people and stared at his arm. It was a clean break, I'd done that right, at least. Tendrils of energy coalesced around the hand on his shoulder and gently began seeping into his arm.
Bobby stiffened. I didn't blame him, the healing energies tingle. They spread downwards and found the break, which looked like an ugly red line. For an instant they glowed with the same red, then they melted into the crack, filling it over and bubbling. A flash of light and the bone reknit itself back together.
For an instant, I felt light-headed, the energy expended having drained my reserves some. Then the world reset itself and I pulled out of the trance. I gasped in, released the breath and drew in another and opened my eyes. Bobby was staring at me, his gaze a bit surprised. He looked down at his arm, then back up at me.
"Wow. That was...That felt really wierd."
"I'm sure," I shifted, wincing as my body protested the use of the energy by tensing muscles up and down my back, "it did. I can tell you it still feels very strange from this side, too."
"What did you do?" Scott leaned against the counter near us and crossed his arms.
It was the pose I'm sure had been dubbed the 'Picard Leader Pose' or something similar. I shrugged, "Simplest explanation? Healed him." I leaned back in the chair and winced, trying to stretch. "If you want a more detailed one, can it wait until I've eaten? Healing always makes me famished."
They left it at that, even though I could tell they wanted to know more. As everyone returned to the business of creating and then eating breakfast, I watched them. They were intrigued by me, worried by me, and, in a few cases, tolerating me like normal.
Breakfast was shaping up wonderfully, and I even decided to pitch in. In the interests of making it cook and be prepared faster. I'm a splendid cook, if I do say so myself. Pancakes being a specialty. I can make them from scratch anywhere -- even over an open campfire in the middle of a campaign. I once made some in 1582 while running errands for a local Baron in the Netherlands. Not that it was the Netherlands, then. It was a collection of tiny little patchwork kingdoms and dukedoms.
Adria was the main country's title, but the was the little Barony of Aurverelle, on the edge of the lovely and dense Malvern forest. It was there I met a group of what history will call witches and heathens, but what I'd definitely call Elves. Not that it matters, they're gone now. Hunted unto the last and all burnt at the stake. A few were tortured in the name of the Inquisition.
Jean was upset. It hit me, suddenly, as I handed her the spatula and went to help set the table. Not visibly, but resonating on some plain that I could feel. I nearly hit myself when I realised. She was resonating on the psychic plain, which had been disturbed for *months*. Which meant that she was projecting the worry and fear there, and keeping herself tightly shielded from the rest of us. Even, I suspected, the Professor.
I'd felt it by touch -- my hand to hers. Flesh always deepened emotional projection. Dodging around Remy as I laid out the spoons, I decided not to ask. Not yet, anyway.
"Hey, Suzy, catch."
"What?" I looked up just in time to snap a hand up and catch the orange Logan had tossed. "Thanks," I said, dryly. "I've always liked getting oranges in the face for breakfast."
He chuckled and tossed one to Remy, then to Scott. "Suzy, you always were a whiner about breakfast."
"I hate mornings, dearie, remember?" I snorted and began peeling the orange as Jean brought a platter of pancakes to the table. Bobby, Scott and Remy had fetched the condiments, including the blueberry syrup.
"Ah, t'ank you, chere." Remy smiled sweetly at me as I passed him the aforementioned syrup. Bobby had set it next to my plate, instead of Remy's.
The rest of the X-Men sat, some stiffly, some flopping. All hungry, by the way they began passing the platters of food and pitchers of coffee. Bishop had one whole pot of coffee all to himself, and tended to growl softly if it was taken away. I refrained from TKing it down to me, since I adored coffee.
Betsy sat to my right, Warren next to her. His wings were carefully set over the back of his chair, all fluffy and white. I'd nearly asked how he got them a bit ago, then decided not to. Reaching for my mug, I stopped and frowned at it. There was a suspiciously frosty look to the outside, and the contents were no longer steaming. In fact, when I picked it up, the contents didn't even slosh.
My eyebrow shot up and I glanced at Bobby. "Pancakes being frozen, I can understand, but coffee? 's the drink of the gods, mate. That's like poisoning the world's chocolate supply."
"And that would be bad?" Bishop looked dark and brooding and unhumourous.
"Yes." I raised an eyebrow at Betsy. "What would you do if there was no chocolate left in the world?"
"Well," She took a swallow from her unfrozen coffee and leaned back in her chair. "I think I'd have to find the person and torture them. Slowly."
"Indeed." Ororo nodded regally, having scorned the pancakes in favour of a grapefruit and some cottage cheese. "A dearth of chocolate would require great fortitude."
"In women, anyway," Bobby said with a grin. "Considering it--"
"Hush, Bobby." Jean gave him a minatory glare.
I chuckled and finished his statement. "Because in women it produces the same hormone that causes sexual orgasm?"
There were gasps and chuckles around the table and we all went on to other things. Like actually finishing our breakfast.
The other X-Teams were due to arrive later that day and the next day. I was looking forward to it. Sort of. As I'd told Buffy, it made me nervous. I can handle a large crowd. But only when they're mindless sheep. Given what I'd seen of Xavier's so far, the X-ers were anything but.
---
The prospect of seeing all these new people on my lack of sleep nearly made me cry. Not. It made me worry I'd be short-tempered, which on top of the other worries made me a bit sarcastic.
"So, Marya, would you like a tour of the Mansion?"
"Again?"
Bobby blinked at me and shrugged. "Well, at least something must be better than staring at that computer screen all day."
In point of fact, I was boredly playing FreeCell. An excuse to get up and do something that might occupy me was welcome. I sighed and stood, stretching. "Sorry, Bobby. I'm just a bit tired."
"Not a morning person."
"Nope." I grinned ruefully. "In fact, I tend to stay away from mornings as often as possible."
"You sound like Cable. The man can't even eat until he's had three pots of coffee in the morning." With that, he turned and began leading the way around the Mansion.
I didn't tell him I'd known that.
"...And, this is the foyer, where we first met you." Bobby grinned at me. "And here I thought you were an insurance salesman."
"Salesman?" I glared at him in mock-horror. "I'd die before I stooped so low. Which," I admitted dryly, "is the point of insurance, isn't it?"
He laughed.
I laughed with him, then stiffened. The feelers I'd gently laid about the Mansion as an early mental warning system were tingling. Someone was out there.
The doorbell rang before I could deepen the contact to decide on whether they were hostile or not.
"Maybe this is our insurance salesman?" Bobby quipped, as he stepped to the door.
"Yeah, maybe," I muttered, cracking a smile as he opened it to reveal several teenagers, a hulking silver-haired man and a slim dark-haired woman.
"Ah, Cable, kids, Domino, welcome back to the Mansion," Drake gestured, and backed away from the door.
They filed in, the blonde girl in the lead snapping her gum as she looked at me. "So, who are ya?"
"The new girl," I said dryly, restraining myself from spewing out my full name, including titles.
She shrugged. "Uhuh. I'm Tabitha."
"Now, Tabby, don't be so rude." The redhaired young woman behind Tabby smiled wearily at me. "I'm sorry for tha'. I'm Theresa Cassidy." She held out a hand.
I shook it and grinned. "Really, it's okay. And It's Marya DeZorga. Call me Marya, though."
The rest of the team came to surround me, curious. One young man glowed a dark black, almost shining with an oily sheen. I guessed it had to do with his mutation. I hadn't thought about doing homework on X-Force, even though I should have.
I looked over their shoulders and raised an eyebrow at the dark-haired woman. "Dom."
"Dez." She nodded at me and turned to the man next to her. "Nate, I really think the kids need better manners. Standing there gawking can't be good for their first impressions."
I laughed and turned to the dark man I'd noticed and held out my hand. "Marya."
"Roberto DaCosta." He nodded to me and ignored the hand.
Rolling my eyes and repressing a sigh, I grinned at the strawberry-blond one next. His hair was fantastic looking, longer than my legs, it cascaded down his back in a flowing tail. If the swords he was sporting were anything to go by, it was a bitch to fight in, too. A star-shaped tattoo decorated his left eye.
"Shatterstar." He shook my hand and looked to his left where a young Latino man stood. "This is the correct way to greet a lady, yes?"
I saw the mischief in his companion's eyes before he turned to me and replied, "No, 'Star, this is." He reached for my hand and turned it over, gazing deeply into my eyes. I stifled a snicker and waited. "Hallo, Senorita Marya, I'm enchanted to meet you. My name is--"
"Inigo Montoya?" I interjected dryly, unable to resist.
His female companions and even DaCosta, chortled at the shock on his face. He recovered quickly, though. "No, actually, it's Ricter." He completed his greeting by leaning over and kissing the back of my hand.
"Oh, so receiving laughter is the best way to greet a lady?" Shatterstar nodded. "I shall endeavor to remember that."
I coughed and looked at the young man, expecting to see cajolery. And then realised he was serious. "Actually, 'Star -- may I call you that?" He nodded. "Anyway, actually, laughter is not the object." I glanced around and spotted Bobby, looking amused. "Here. I shall demonstrate."
Quickly, I slipped out of the semi-circle and approached Bobby. I reached out my hand to him, "Hello, sir." My voice had deepened slightly. He blinked and accepted my hand. I turned his over in my hands. "I'm Marya," I drew out the syllables a little breathily then bent over, still keeping eye contact and kissed the back of his hand. I let my lips linger ever so slightly, then straightened and slowly stepped back. I let his hand slip out of mine ever so gently.
There was a moment of silence and then Bobby laughed. The others followed suit. Dom slid over next to me and snickered. "You haven't lost your touch, have you, Dez?"
"No," I answered her, out of the side of my mouth. "I haven't."
She snorted. "Well, wipe the self-satisfied smirk off your face."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Susanna, you don't do meek well," a voice commented dryly from behind me.
I turned and grinned impishly up at Cable. "Aw, Naaaate. I don't?" Dom and I were the only ones, to my knowledge (except Logan on rare occasions) who could get away with calling the man in front of me Nate. He hated the name, and much preferred being called Cable.
---
It wasn't until later that afternoon, with X-Force all settled in (surprise, surprise) their old rooms, that I got to actually sit down and chat companionably with Dom and Nate.
"So, how'd you get roped into this?" Dom tossed a can of Guinness at me. I caught it and popped the top, then shrugged. "Oh, c'mon, Dez, you never let yourself get on a team before."
Nate snorted and opened the beer Dom handed him. "Hell, that's why you never joined up with us in the Six Pack." He winced, suddenly. Old pain about some of those events, I guessed.
"Well," I said, drawling slightly. "Ya see, Fury, he has a few of them thar prognosticator-types on his crew." I stopped and sipped from the can, wincing at the lack of fresh flavour. "Something big is coming."
"Have you told Xavier?" Dom raised an eyebrow when I shook my head and frowned at me. "Why not?"
"Need to know. Sorta."
"Which means, Fury doesn't trust Xavier." Nate supplied dryly.
I checked the mental wards on the room and then nodded. "Exactly." I stood and began pacing in the small room. Oddly enough, since the excuse I'd given was to be Xavier's bodyguard. But no one else needed to know that. "I don't think he even wanted to trust me. And he hasn't warned anyone else either."
"Big fucking mistake," Dom noted. "Without anyone prepared--"
"Whatever it is will shatter the defenses we have." Nate looked at Dom, then back at me, his eyes serious. "I'm going to tell the kids."
"Go ahead. I'm systematically going to tell the team -- Logan already knows." We'd had a chat the first night I'd gone patrolling in New York.
Creeping out of the Mansion grounds had been simple. On my way back, I was followed. I knew who it was, and why he was doing it. After all, I'd known him for longer than he thought I had. For a moment I felt sorrow that it wasn't my place to tell him the truth.
I shook that thought off and waited when I reached the base of the room just below my window. "Suzy."
"Yeah?"
"Do you have a death wish?"
"No, not really. I've never been one for my own death. Wishing death on others, yes."
He snorted and stepped into the moonlight. "There a reason--" he paused and sniffed, stepping closer to me. "Vamps."
"Yep. The new Slayer's in town. Thought I'd pop in and help some."
"Long way to New York from here."
A ghost of a smile crossed my lips, "I've got a fast cycle."
He grunted and lit a cigar, and, shock of all shocks, leaned against the side of the house next to me.
"Lovely stars up there." I wasn't looking at them.
"Probably," he grunted.
"So, what's with the nose?" It was something I'd noticed, the first time I'd seen him again, but, so far, I'd fought my curiosity. Or was it rampant gossipyness?
"I've gone feral."
A statement of fact, and it covered a world of meaning. I sighed. "Any way to fix it?"
"Not really."
"The nose is bloody annoying to look at, you know. Might wanna see a plastic surgeon about it."
"Tried dyeing your hair lately?"
My hair will always be a sore point. It sucks to try and go undercover with hair that can be recognised from low Earth orbit. "Can I go to bed now?"
"Any idea why there's such a prevalent vamp population in New York?"
"It's New York, you have to ask?"
"Go to bed, Suzy."
"Yes, Dad." I turned and jumped up, catching the bottom lip of my windowsill. A little TK and I was up and through the open window. I was asleep a few minutes later.
---
To some, I was Susanna DeZorga. To others, I was her sister, Marya DeZorga. To a very few, Louisa. Three names are useful in my line of work. Infiltration at its easiest, especially when you're used to being called by any of them.
As these thoughts flitted through my brain, I hacked the Mansion's computer system. It was a thoroughly protected system, but nothing had ever been able to keep me out for long. Apparently, the latent memories of the programmers get stored in the programs in some way. I've never understood that part, I just know it works. Because I can read the memories and that's how I knew exactly that the last time Kitty Pryde had put a lockout on the systems, she'd used 'chocolate' as the keyword to the password encryption.
Pryde, according to the file I pulled up, was currently a member of the British team, Excalibur. the young girl -- all of nineteen -- was capable of altering her molecular state to walk through walls. It sounded like a fun thing to do. I'd have to try it some time when really awake and well-rested energy-wise.
There were other bios and dossiers, including one that made me grin even more devilishly than I had in a while. But that would wait for later. Now I knew who I could trust.
---
"Braddock?"
The lovely ninja looked up at me, eyes neutral once again. "Yes?"
"Had any dreams lately?"
She blinked, the question startling her from her composure for a moment, then it reappeared. "Yes."
I leaned against the wall of the Danger Room, which was currently in the shape of a Dojo. Prying delicately wasn't my strong suit. I was much more the torture type. I sighed and dove in. "Have they been...frightening?"
Betsy bent over, her purple hair scattering around her face, and stretched languidly. When she straightened she was looking at me with that same neutral expression, but with a spark of curiosity underneath. For an instant, the red slash over her eye seemed to glow. I shook my head, and it stopped.
"I've had frightening dreams for every night of my existence since I took the Crimson Dawn."
So matter of fact and calm. I marveled at her for a moment, then nodded and turned to go. "Thank you."
"Wait."
"Yes?" I looked at her. She looked back at me, then shuddered.
"For about the last week, I've had dreams...of blood and death and fire -- children screaming." She shook her head, her eyes darkening with distress. "These are all different -- usually they're about darkness and the Crimson Dawn."
"Children and fire," I whispered. I had a sudden flash to smashing my alarm that morning. Right after waking out of the living nightmare of children perishing in a fire. I closed my eyes and opened them again to find her staring at me intently.
"What do you know?"
"I..." I turned away and started pacing, reaching tendrils of energy out, deadening recording sensors, walls, everything so nothing said or thought would leave the room. "I'm not quite sure." I turned to face her and continued, "I was sent by Fury to watch over you, prepare the X-Men for -- something. He's not sure what."
"Sounds wonderfully vague," she noted dryly, crossing her arms over her chest and straightening. "What does it have to do with my dreams?"
"I had the same one this morning." Every Slayer has minor precognitive abilities. In my case, you combined those with my natural telepathy, and you had someone tapped into the way the world worked. Which sounds horribly pretentious.
Did our dreams have a meaning? I wasn't sure, but I was betting that I was going to find out soon. Dreams are always supposed to mean things.
I once dreamt I was a ferret. It was the strangest thing, seeing the world in the strange planes and colours that came with ferret eyes. Crawling through mazes of duct work and chattering with the mice, that's how I spent the night. When I awoke, I discovered a ferret living in the aparment under mine. Telepathy does work on animal minds. Just at a more basic level.
---
End Chapter Two
=====
'I stood at the kitchen sink, my radio playing songs like "Tainted Love" and "Love is Strange"...'
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© 2000 Suzy DeZorga