Mommy Mystique (cont.)

"Trollop?" said Pietro to himself.

"What's a trollop?" Toad asked.

"Shhh!" Pietro hissed. "I'll tell you later."

"No, c'mon, I wanna know!"
Pietro looked around cautiously, and then motioned the younger boy closer. "It means she sleeps around . . ."

"But she doesn't," Todd said in confusion. "She sleeps here."
Pietro rolled his eyes. "I mean," and he whispered into Todd's ear.

"EWWWWWWWW"!

"She's a bad person," Pietro said. "She shouldn't be living here. Let her go live with her boytoy. She's a bad role model."

"Better not let Mystique hear you say that."

"But Mystique's not here, is she?"

"That's not the point, Pietro!"

"Look," Pietro said. "She's supposed to be our mother, right? Well, sort of. What kind of a mother goes and picks guys up at a bar?"
"Mine did."
"That--that was different. Anyway, she's a bad influence, and I think we should have her removed."
"But who'll take care of us?"
"Is there a problem, boys?"
Magneto had only heard the tail end of the conversation, and had no idea what his offhand remark had spawned.

Later that night . . .

Lance had taken possession of the remote control, and was absorbed in watching Friday The 13th Part 5.

"Pssst!" Pietro whispered in his ear. "Mystique is a trollop! Pass it on."
Lance paused the tape, and then gave Pietro a funny look. "What the heck is a trollop?"
"You know . . ."
"No I don't."
"It's like an old-fashioned slut."
"Oh."

Unfortunately for Pietro, Mystique came home that night, and heard his little comment. She moved with surprising speed, and grabbed him by the throat.
"Hi, Mystique," Pietro gasped. "Feeling better?"

"Well, I was," Mystique spat.

"Could you let go of me, please? I can't breathe!"
"Not until you apologize for calling me a trollop."
When Rogue heard that, she was incensed. "You called my mother a trollop?"
"Well . . ."

Rogue cocked her arm back and slapped him as hard as she could.
At least she was wearing gloves this time, which cushioned the impact a bit.

"OW!"

"You watch how you talk about mah mama!"
"Sorry!" Pietro rubbed the spot where she had struck him.
"Ya better be."

"Now then," Mystique said, "what's this about me being a trollop?"

"Well . . ." He was definitely treading on dangerous ground here. "You know, sleeping around and stuff, that's not a sign of a good role model."

Mystique wanted to kill him...

"My life," she said, "is my own business. You do not have the right to pass judgment on me. While you are living in this house, you will treat me with respect--"

"I didn't call you a trollop first, Magneto did!"

"What?"
She was stunned. How could he--but she thought--he'd always been--
"Where is he?" she demanded.

"I don't know!"

"Call him."
"But I'm not supposed to, except in an emergency . . ."
The way she glowered at him made him fear for his life. "If you don't get him here right now, there'll be an emergency!"
He gulped and began dialling.

Ten minutes later Magneto came in through the back door. Mystique wasn't happy about that. He shouldn't be able to just come and go as he pleased, in her house.

"What's this about?" he demanded when he saw her.

"Kids," she said, "leave."
"But--"

"Now."

Everyone cleared out as fast as they could, even cranky Lance. When Mystique got into these moods, you didn't want to get in her way.

Finally there was no one around except Mystique and Magneto.

She got right to the point. "Where exactly do you get off calling me a trollop?"
"A what?"

"Trollop! T-R-O-L-L-O-P...trollop!"

Magneto hadn't remembered his little mutterings to himself the previous evening. "I have never called you a trollop!"
"Oh? That's not what your son said!"
"He must have made that up. I would never--"
Mystique leaned forward and, grabbing him by the ears, yanked him across the table.

"He heard you say it."

"Aaagghh!" Magneto was wishing he hadn't taken off his helmet. Damn woman was trying to pull his ears off! "Stop it!"
"Not until you apologize for calling me a trollop!"
"But I didn't!"
She tightened her grip.

"I didn't say you were a trollop, I said you were acting LIKE a trollop!"

"It's the same thing!" She was digging her nails in now, and it was really starting to hurt.
"No it isn't! I was commenting on--OW!--the behavior, not the person! Now please let go!"

Reluctantly, she let go. "Would you please," she said, "explain to Pietro why he shouldn't go around calling me a trollop? Maybe he'll listen to you."

"I'll try..."

"Good. I'll be in my room . . . that is, if I can get there." The stairs looked a lot steeper than they had a few days ago.

When Pietro finally worked up the courage to return, he tried sneaking into the house . . .

. . . only to have Magneto stop him in his tracks.

"We need to have a little talk," he said ominously.

"We do?"

"Yes," Magneto said, smiling an evil smile. "We do."
He didn't like pain very much; never had. He was still furious with Mystique for what she had done to his ears, and he was looking to take that anger out on someone. The boy would do nicely.

He grabbed Pietro by the arm.

"Ow ow ow!" Pietro screamed. "You're hurting me!"

"What did you think you were doing?"

"Uh . . . going to the mall?"
Magneto resisted the urge to shake the boy. "I meant, why did you call Mystique a trollop?"

"Well, that's what she is!"

They had a long chat about respect, and how to treat others. When it was over, Pietro rubbed his sore behind and whimpered.

"Now then, Pietro...."

"What? You're not done?"

"Let me put it this way--no."

The boy started to cry, in spite of himself. "I said I was sorry! What do you want from me?"
"You haven't said it to her."
"That's because she's not here."
"Of course she's here. She's in her room."

"Huh?"

"Go up," the older man said calmly, "and apologize to her."
"But I meant it! I'm sorry I said it to her, but I'm not sorry she is one."
Mustn't kill him, mustn't kill him, Magneto thought to himself. Pity. "Pietro..."

"She's a bad role model! She only cares about herself! She should go away and--"
Suddenly a hand was around his throat.

"What were you saying about me?"

"Mystique," he gasped. "You're up."
"Yes, I am. What did you just call me?"
"Aagghh . . ." She was squeezing too hard, without realizing it. The boy was struggling to breathe.

"Well?"

He suddenly went limp in her arms.
"You killed him!"

"What?" Mystique was genuinely horrified.

So was Rogue. "Mama, what have you done?"
"He can't be . . . I didn't . . ."
She felt at the base of his neck, then breathed a sigh of relief. "He's not dead."

Rogue glared at him. "But he's gonna wish he was if I ever catch puttin' you down again."

"Agreed." Mother and daughter then went to the kitchen to see if there was any ice cream left.