Heres my first Rogue fic! Well, mainly Rogue fic. I hope you guys like it!
PLEASE r/r! Thanks!
*
Scenes flashed past her eyes, too fast for her to comprehend; too slow for her to care. An hour ago they had been in the traffic jams of New York City, now they were in the lonely, desolate waster somewhere in between the City and her new home in Bayville.
Bayville, New York.
A Place of new beginnings; a place to start over. But for how long?
That was always the question. How long before the angry phone calls, the protest signs...how long before she would be forced to leave?
The memories were still fresh in her mind like they were Yesterday's. They still haunted her both day and night. She still didn't know which one was longer... the days where she faced the world, hiding her skin, her soul, behind protective shields, or the nights, where the dreams, the memories kept her up all night. Afraid, alone, forsaken.
It was irrelevant. Who cared if the nights were longer? Nobody. The point was, she couldn't be touched. Ever. And if she was...
Somewhere between an old wheatfield and her new school, Emma Jonnasaint fell asleep, the side of her head pressed against the tinted glass of the car. The next thing she knew, her aunt was telling her to wake up. She shook her head groggily and sat up, unbuckling her seatbelt. She stared at the sad, depressing school in front of her, looking to be deserted.
"Looks just like your old one," her aunt placed her designer sunglasses on top of her elaborate hairdo and stared at the school, surrounded by trees, benches, and a flagpole.
"No, the last one had people," Emma snorted.
"They're all in class," her aunt replied with a small, faint laugh. "Do you have your gloves?"
"Right here," Emma wiggled a few of her covered fingers.
"Good. And the emergency number?"
"Of course,"
"Good." her aunt started walking towards the front office and motioned for Emma to do the same. They entered the empty halls, her aunt's high-heels clicking against the floor.
"Hello," she said to the secretary. "I am Rachael Blossil, and I'd like to enroll my niece at your school,"
"Fine. Just fill out this form," the secretary handed her a few papers, not even looking up from her book.
Her aunt did so, with her fancy handwriting and pretty gold pen. Emma watched over her shoulder at the section that read " SPECIAL MEDICAL NEEDS" her aunt checked the box that said "NO."
She finished the forms, handed them in, and Emma got her schedule and locker.
"You didn't tell them." Emma stated once they were out in the hall.
"Of course not," Her aunt replied. "Why should I?"
Idiot. Selfish bitch! I hate you! Trying to pretend I don't have it?! What, you think you can catch it?! Don't get to close, Aunt! You might catch it...
"Just wondering," Emma shrugged. "So I guess I'll see you after school."
"Yes dear," her aunt sighed. "And remember, no touching..." she said the last words as if it were a threat.
"You don't need to worry about that," Emma said once her aunt was out of earshot. She looked at her schedule. They were now in 2nd period...English. Great. She started to walk towards the other end of the school, the paper clutched under her trembling hand.
She had been to over 15 schools in her life, but every time it just got more frightening. Who would be the first to find out? her bet now was on the cheerleaders. Nosy little snobs, they usually found out everything first.
Emma opened the door to the classroom, where tall, slender white-haired boy was reading a very comical version of what Emma immediately recognized as "the Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe.
"NEVER MORE!" He shrieked, making a few of the preppie girls jump.
"Thank you, Pietro.." The teacher said, sounding very tired.
"But I was just getting started!" The boy protested.
"Excuse me," Emma said, and the teacher looked over at where she stood, along with every other student in the class. "Um, I'm new."
"That's obvious," The white haired boy smirked, and half the class laughed.
"Shud up, Pietro," A Goth. girl with a Southern Accent, brown hair and two white streaks put in.
"Anything for you, Roguey," the white boy winked and walked to his seat.
"Shud up," she repeated.
"Well, why don't you introduce yourself to the class?" the teacher asked.
"I'm Emma Jonnasaint. I came from Pennsylvania,"
"With the Quakers!" The white boy shouted. "Are YOU a Quaker!" The class sniggered.
"No," she said, glaring.
"Hey! Try being a little nicer!" he shouted.
"Go screw yourself," she replied.
"How?" he retaliated.
"Yer a smart boy, Pietro, figure it out!" the Goth. girl shouted at him.
"Calm down, Rogue," the teacher said. "Emma, why don't you pick up where Pietro left? Second to last paragraph,"
"Fine," Emma said, taking the book the teacher handed her.
"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend! I shrieked, upstarting.
Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- Quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore'."
"Thank you, Emma, you may take a seat next to Rogue," the teacher said. "Chris, please read where she left off..."
"Hi," the Goth. girl said to Emma when she sat next to her. "Ah'm Rogue."
"I gathered as much," Emma said. "Emma."
"Hey look, jus' ignore Pietro--" she jabbed a finger at the white haired boy, who winked in their direction. "He's a big jerk. Cocky, too,"
"Yeah, he reminds me of a guy in California named Chazz," Emma said.
"I thought you were from Pennsylvania?"
"Oh, I am. But I lived in Cali for awhile."
"Ah. Move around a lot?"
"Guess you could say that." she shrugged.
The bell rang just as Rogue noticed Emma's gloves, and before she could ask her about them, she was gone.
"Hey, Evan," Rogue said, catching up to her friend. "Did you see that girls hands?"
"Who? Nah, I was too busy tryin ta shut up Maximoff. Why?" Evan asked.
"She had gloves, just like me," Rogue said.
"Wow, you really are a trendsetter," Evan winked.
"No!" Rogue protested. "No, what ah mean is, what if..."
"What if ah'm madly in love with Pietro?" Pietro mocked her Southern voice. "Howzit going, Roguey?!"
"What ah'm sayin is that maybe...maybe she's like me," Rogue said, shoving Pietro away.
"Rogue..." Evan began tenderly. "Rogue, nobody is like you. Maybe she just likes gloves?"
"But.." Rogue started. "I mean...Ah, yer right, Evan. Nobody could ever be like me," and she hurried off down the halls, tears threatening to spill down her gothic cheeks.
*
Scenes flashed past her eyes, too fast for her to comprehend; too slow for her to care. An hour ago they had been in the traffic jams of New York City, now they were in the lonely, desolate waster somewhere in between the City and her new home in Bayville.
Bayville, New York.
A Place of new beginnings; a place to start over. But for how long?
That was always the question. How long before the angry phone calls, the protest signs...how long before she would be forced to leave?
The memories were still fresh in her mind like they were Yesterday's. They still haunted her both day and night. She still didn't know which one was longer... the days where she faced the world, hiding her skin, her soul, behind protective shields, or the nights, where the dreams, the memories kept her up all night. Afraid, alone, forsaken.
It was irrelevant. Who cared if the nights were longer? Nobody. The point was, she couldn't be touched. Ever. And if she was...
Somewhere between an old wheatfield and her new school, Emma Jonnasaint fell asleep, the side of her head pressed against the tinted glass of the car. The next thing she knew, her aunt was telling her to wake up. She shook her head groggily and sat up, unbuckling her seatbelt. She stared at the sad, depressing school in front of her, looking to be deserted.
"Looks just like your old one," her aunt placed her designer sunglasses on top of her elaborate hairdo and stared at the school, surrounded by trees, benches, and a flagpole.
"No, the last one had people," Emma snorted.
"They're all in class," her aunt replied with a small, faint laugh. "Do you have your gloves?"
"Right here," Emma wiggled a few of her covered fingers.
"Good. And the emergency number?"
"Of course,"
"Good." her aunt started walking towards the front office and motioned for Emma to do the same. They entered the empty halls, her aunt's high-heels clicking against the floor.
"Hello," she said to the secretary. "I am Rachael Blossil, and I'd like to enroll my niece at your school,"
"Fine. Just fill out this form," the secretary handed her a few papers, not even looking up from her book.
Her aunt did so, with her fancy handwriting and pretty gold pen. Emma watched over her shoulder at the section that read " SPECIAL MEDICAL NEEDS" her aunt checked the box that said "NO."
She finished the forms, handed them in, and Emma got her schedule and locker.
"You didn't tell them." Emma stated once they were out in the hall.
"Of course not," Her aunt replied. "Why should I?"
Idiot. Selfish bitch! I hate you! Trying to pretend I don't have it?! What, you think you can catch it?! Don't get to close, Aunt! You might catch it...
"Just wondering," Emma shrugged. "So I guess I'll see you after school."
"Yes dear," her aunt sighed. "And remember, no touching..." she said the last words as if it were a threat.
"You don't need to worry about that," Emma said once her aunt was out of earshot. She looked at her schedule. They were now in 2nd period...English. Great. She started to walk towards the other end of the school, the paper clutched under her trembling hand.
She had been to over 15 schools in her life, but every time it just got more frightening. Who would be the first to find out? her bet now was on the cheerleaders. Nosy little snobs, they usually found out everything first.
Emma opened the door to the classroom, where tall, slender white-haired boy was reading a very comical version of what Emma immediately recognized as "the Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe.
"NEVER MORE!" He shrieked, making a few of the preppie girls jump.
"Thank you, Pietro.." The teacher said, sounding very tired.
"But I was just getting started!" The boy protested.
"Excuse me," Emma said, and the teacher looked over at where she stood, along with every other student in the class. "Um, I'm new."
"That's obvious," The white haired boy smirked, and half the class laughed.
"Shud up, Pietro," A Goth. girl with a Southern Accent, brown hair and two white streaks put in.
"Anything for you, Roguey," the white boy winked and walked to his seat.
"Shud up," she repeated.
"Well, why don't you introduce yourself to the class?" the teacher asked.
"I'm Emma Jonnasaint. I came from Pennsylvania,"
"With the Quakers!" The white boy shouted. "Are YOU a Quaker!" The class sniggered.
"No," she said, glaring.
"Hey! Try being a little nicer!" he shouted.
"Go screw yourself," she replied.
"How?" he retaliated.
"Yer a smart boy, Pietro, figure it out!" the Goth. girl shouted at him.
"Calm down, Rogue," the teacher said. "Emma, why don't you pick up where Pietro left? Second to last paragraph,"
"Fine," Emma said, taking the book the teacher handed her.
"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend! I shrieked, upstarting.
Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- Quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore'."
"Thank you, Emma, you may take a seat next to Rogue," the teacher said. "Chris, please read where she left off..."
"Hi," the Goth. girl said to Emma when she sat next to her. "Ah'm Rogue."
"I gathered as much," Emma said. "Emma."
"Hey look, jus' ignore Pietro--" she jabbed a finger at the white haired boy, who winked in their direction. "He's a big jerk. Cocky, too,"
"Yeah, he reminds me of a guy in California named Chazz," Emma said.
"I thought you were from Pennsylvania?"
"Oh, I am. But I lived in Cali for awhile."
"Ah. Move around a lot?"
"Guess you could say that." she shrugged.
The bell rang just as Rogue noticed Emma's gloves, and before she could ask her about them, she was gone.
"Hey, Evan," Rogue said, catching up to her friend. "Did you see that girls hands?"
"Who? Nah, I was too busy tryin ta shut up Maximoff. Why?" Evan asked.
"She had gloves, just like me," Rogue said.
"Wow, you really are a trendsetter," Evan winked.
"No!" Rogue protested. "No, what ah mean is, what if..."
"What if ah'm madly in love with Pietro?" Pietro mocked her Southern voice. "Howzit going, Roguey?!"
"What ah'm sayin is that maybe...maybe she's like me," Rogue said, shoving Pietro away.
"Rogue..." Evan began tenderly. "Rogue, nobody is like you. Maybe she just likes gloves?"
"But.." Rogue started. "I mean...Ah, yer right, Evan. Nobody could ever be like me," and she hurried off down the halls, tears threatening to spill down her gothic cheeks.