Beep beep beep beep
Stephanie opened one eye, focusing on the digital clock she placed on the beside table before passing out. For the life of her she wished she could remain half buried in the soft mattress and pillows, but she decided against it. This was her first night in her temporary home, no need to make enemies early on. Sighing, she sat up, stretched, and padded into the bathroom. 7:30 had come entirely too soon for her liking.
She reached blindly for a light switch, and not finding one walked further into the room. At about a foot from the door the lights came on automatically. Blinking to adjust her eyes to the light, Stephanie too a quick look around, and smiled. Xavier certainly hadn't lied about going overboard. Soaps, shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste, a new toothbrush, manicure set, and almost anything else she could think of were placed neatly around the bathroom. Two large, fluffy bath towels, hand towels, and wash cloths sat waiting on a stand. All were dark blue, her favorite color. The shampoo and conditioner were lemon verbena, her favorite scent, as were the soaps and bath salts. He even knew the brand of toothpaste she preferred.
He is a telepath, she told herself as she filled the sink with cold water, turning to look out the large window. Twilight had descended on the grounds, turning the sky a deep purple that was crimson at the horizon. Stars were barely visible, and she made a mental note to take a walk along the grounds later. This far away from the city she was sure the night sky would be spectacular.
The lap of cold water against her fingers, and she turned the water off. Ice cold, she noted. Bracing herself, Stephanie took a large handful and splashed the frigid water on her face, repeating the process until she was sure she was awake. A quick pat down with one of the towels and she found herself staring into the cabinet mirror, comparing her face to the mental image she now had of her fathers. They shared the same slashing dark eyebrows, stubborn chin, and the lobe-less, slightly pointed ears that made her believe for the first few years of her life that she was an elf. The same eyes, she noted, the same cool, crystal blue eyes. That was where the similarities ended, the rest of her coming directly from her mother.
"Come on girl," she said to herself, " We still have to comb out this bush we call hair." In reality, her hair was far from a 'bush'. Wispy, silky, it fell down her back in slight waves, and was infinitely difficult to handle. More often than not she simply put it back in a bun or a ponytail to save time. Her mother's hair in contrast was a thick, curly black mane that would hold any style with relative ease. "Guess I inherited his hair genes," she said, while her mind chanted, That doesn't mean we'll lose our hair too.
At about the same time she finally finished her hair and slipped on her shoes, a soft but insistent knock came from her door. Moment of truth, Steph.
She opened the door, and fought the urge to slam it shut again and lock herself inside. Two of the most gorgeous women she'd ever seen were standing on the other side. One had flaming red hair that fell thickly down her back, deep green eyes, and was slightly taller than her. The other had catlike blue eyes, white hair (white, she repeated to herself) that Stephanie doubted had been achieved with bleach cut at chin level with two long streamers that ran beyond her waist, and milk chocolate skin. Stephanie guessed her to be almost if not six feet tall. Both women wore simple jeans and tee-shirts that mirrored her own. Almost without thinking she knew that the redhead was Jean, and the white haired woman was Orroro.
"Glad to see you're up and about," Jean said. "Im Jean Grey, and this lovely lady standing here is Orroro Munroe."
"Nice to meet you," Stephanie said, calling up every ounce of bravado she had. It was one thing to face people she didn't know with her father near, quite another to do so alone.
"Charles asked us to show you around a bit before heading down to dinner." Orroro said. Stephanie took in the rich accent, mentally placing it in her mind. It reminded her of Professor Hafez, her microbiology professor from Egypt, but with something even richer behind it.
Without warning, Jean grabbed her hand and pulled her gently but firmly from her room, "Come on, we're not going to bite. Well," she added, looking thoughtful, "Remy might, but only if you ask him nicely."
Stephanie laughed, the sound bringing a smile to the two women, "See, we're not all that bad. Trust me, I know how weird it can be staying in this place for the first time. You'll get used to it eventually."
"Sooner rather than later, I hope," Stephanie said.
"Some of us are easier to know that others," Orroro added, and Stephanie could almost hear the 'child' she'd cut off at the end of that sentence. "But for the most part, everyone here is quite friendly."
Over the next ten minutes Stephanie learned a great deal about her guides and her new home in general. Jean, she learned, had been at the institute since she was twelve years old after a terrible accident. Orroro had joined much later, though she admitted that she'd met Charles Xavier years before when she tried to pick his pocket.
Stephanie laughed at that, and found herself standing at the door to the dining room. Several people were already there, setting the table and brining steaming platter of food from what she suspected was the kitchen. The room was dominated by a large oak table surrounded by chairs.
"So, what's for dinner?" she asked her two guides.
Jean smiled, "My husband, Scott, is on dinner patrol tonight with Bobby. He refused to tell me, but I wouldn't worry too much, he's a really good cook."
Before she could answer, a blonde man appeared in front of her, "You must be the Professor's daughter," the man said, extending a hand, "I'm Sam Guthrie, ma'am."
"Nice to meet you, Sam. I'm Stephanie." She said, taking his proffered hand. He blushed, and was gone before she could ask him anything.
Stephanie grinned, turning to her new friends, "Do all the men here act like nervous children?" she asked with mock sincerity.
Jean laughed outright, "Only the nice ones. Don't mind Sam, he's still getting used to living here full time. No one knows what went wrong with Bobby, and as for the others" Jean trailed off, turning to Orroro.
" Let us say that this will be a rather interesting experience." Was all the woman said before heading to the table.
"Heads up, coming through!" Stephanie barely had time to react before a slide materialized out of thin air, and several pitchers were slid down it, landing on the table with an audible 'thunk' . The liquid in them never sloshed out, however, since it was frozen solid.
"Wow," Stephanie whispered, reaching out a hand to touch one of the frosted pitchers. Before she could, though, a large, blue hand closed gently over her wrist. It took a supreme act of will to react calmly on her part.
"I would suggest that you not continue on that coarse of action," a deep, baritone voice said, and Stephanie looked around, only to find it had no accompanying body. " My esteemed colleague Mr. Drake cools objects to below freezing temperatures. If you come in contact with them, you will no doubt receive a rather painful burn."
The hand released her, and Stephanie followed it up to where a large, blue man was hanging quite comfortably from the ceiling, several plates in hand. Or, at least, she though he was a man. Covered from head to toe with blue fur, the figure leaped nimbly down from the ceiling a slight distance away from her, almost as if to keep her from panicking. Something about him tickled the back of her mind, but she couldn't place it. Stephanie noticed that the other occupants of the room, her two guides, Sam, and a woman with short braids, were watching her expectantly.
Setting the plates down, he started forward, and Stephanie noticed the slight forward tilt of his pelvis, almost like a gorilla or other primate, she noted off handedly.
"Allow me to introduce myself." He said, extending a hand, and she remembered.
"Henry McCoy," Stephanie said, taking the hand. " I remember now. You did a seminar at Harvard about chromosome disparity in extreme cases of mutation." The breath that the room had taken was released.
McCoy smiled, " Yes, two years ago. I take it you were in attendance."
Stephanie smiled back, "Yes, I based my thesis loosely on that topic, though it was more concerned with how the genetic disparity adds to the likely hood of contracting the Legacy virus in both humans and mutants."
Henry's eyes lit up, "We shall have much to discuss then, Ms Tarrington."
"I'm looking forward to it." She answered truthfully. "And please call me Stephanie." Working with a scientist of McCoy's caliber would be a dream come true.
Stephanie's senses were already on alert from her strange meeting with Henry, so when she felt a large someone coming up behind her, she whirled swiftly, shifting her weight to the balls of her feet.
There was only one word to describe the man standing in front of her. Huge. She was used to the relatively security her height gave her, but he dwarfed her by at least a foot. Instincts screaming, Stephanie backed up slightly, trying to give herself room to maneuver, but came up short against the solid bulk of Henry McCoy.
"I would not worry if I were you, Stephanie. This large if somewhat overprotective man is Bishop, our resident paranoid male. Bishop, this is Stephanie Tarrington, Professor Xavier's daughter." There was practically a "behave" warning in those words. Added to the waves of hostility that seemed to waft from him only served to make her more cautious. He gave her the distinct feeling of being examined and found wanting.
Before either could answer another new voice joined in, followed quickly by a man that she automatically categorized as 'walking sex'. That's just how he struck her. He was dressed in ripped jeans and a tee-shirt that had seen better days. Shoulder length dark auburn hair, lightly tanned skin, five o'clock shadow that she just knew was always there no matter the time of day, and the most intense eyes she'd ever seen, black sclera with red pupils that seemed to burn.
"Lightn' up, Bishop. De lady is new." He laid a hand on the black mans shoulder, and he turned, heading back into the kitchen.
Stephanie exhaled, " That man definitely needs to take anger management courses." With him gone, the room reverted back to its cheerful, relaxed feel, conversation continuing as places were set and food brought out.
"Don' take Bishop pers'nally, cher." The man said, "He dat way wit ev'one."
Stephanie smiled, holding out her hand, " Pity. By the way, thanks for the save. I'm Stephanie."
Instead of shaking her hand, he bent over it, kissing it lightly before looking at her with those eyes, "Enchanté, mademoiselle. Je m'appelle Remy."
"Enchantéde faire votre connassiance, Remy. Que font vous faites?"
Remy laughed, surprised, "You speak bette' fraincais dan Remy, cher."
Definitely a charmer, she thought, "Blame it on Madame Laigne, my French professor. So, you're the one who bites?"
The question brought a guffaw from Henry, and several sniggers from the others. Remy, however, wasn't put off. "Vraitment, cher. Mais, only if ya ask me nice."
" That's what I was told. I'll try remember." This man relaxed her, so she went further, "So, what exactly do you term as nice?" she asked, giving him a once over that had made several men blush in the past.
It didn't work, instead, he returned the measuring stare before answering, "I t'ink I tell you lata'. Might burn some inn'cent ears."
Hank coughed discreetly, and Remy's eyes focused on a point over her shoulder, and Stephanie didn't need to be told that her father had entered the room. Well, that puts an end to my fun, Stephanie thought as she turned to face him. He was watching her with a look that said, 'Yes, I heard everything', and she blushed.
Before anyone could say anything, Scott came out of the kitchen, tray in hand, "Soups on!" he announced, heading to the table.
Thank God for small miracles.
Dinner was, she learned, an extremely informal affair, but the general rule was, get their early. There was enough food set out to feed a small army, and Jean hadnt lied, her husband was a good cook. Grilled steak, baked potatoes, salad, garlic bread, grilled chicken, steamed broccoli, and any condiment one could ask for were spread down the center. Food was passed, levitated, and slid down the table, bringing another wow to Stephanie, though this time it was silent.
She met several other people as well. An auburn haired woman named Rogue, who seemed to brim with southern hospitality. Cecilia, the woman she had seen earlier, who turned out to be a medical doctor. Elizabeth, a strange Japanese woman with purple hair and a British accent. Logan, a gruff, short man who spared her a curt, "Hello" before starting in on his food. And Warren, who was called Angel, and with good reason, she thought, taking in his blond hair and large white wings.
Almost immediately she found herself drawn into several conversations, ranging from her trip up from Virginia to her views on recent rashes of anti-mutant violence. Everyone treated her as if they'd known her for years instead of just a few minutes. It was warm, comforting, and it made her want to cry.
For the first time in twenty years, she knew what being part of a family felt like.
