Emma was unpacked quickly. She hadn't brought much. Her departure from home
had been somewhat rushed. She looked in the mirror and gently brushed her
hair away from her right cheek.
The mark was bright red, but it had stopped peeling. Soon it would be little more than a scar, just another scar to add to her collection.
When she was little, she hadn't understood that she was different. When she was older she did, and tried to keep her powers quiet. But her adopted parents had never really trusted her. Here she was, twenty-eight, and running away from home. She gently traced the cross with her cool fingers. They'd brought in a priest to exorcise her. Some people would never accept those who were different. When the priest pressed the brand to her face, muttering his incantations, she'd decided that she couldn't live there anymore.
Perhaps she shouldn't have blasted her way out, but it was really the only way. In time they would re-build the house, and they would be happier without her. //Besides, here I can use my powers. Here I can help people.//
**********
The days passed quickly, and Emma grew used to live at 'mutant high'. Soon she began training. Her skills were underdeveloped, but she learned fast. Her accuracy with energy bolts rapidly improved, as did her psionic powers. She wasn't able to do the things her uncle could, but she could influence the minds of others, thereby camouflaging herself.
It was very early morning, and she couldn't sleep. Deciding not to waste the time, Emma pulled on a long-sleeved shirt and pair of jeans, heading out for some practice.
She set the clay pigeon launcher on a timer and stood at the other send of the three metre long field. The first one launched and she quickly shot it down. Then came the next, and the next. They sped up as she warmed up. She fell into a rhythm, not even noticing that another had approached.
But Emma began to tire, and the disks were coming too fast for her to counter. She knew the machine would run dry soon, but she couldn't hit all of the projectiles. She zapped one to the left, then right, another right, and too late she saw one coming straight at her from the center. Emma turned her face away, bringing up her arms to defend her face.
She braced for the impact... It never came.
Carefully she opened her eyes. A very large man stood there, similarly attired. From his right hand protruded three very long metal claws. The clay pigeon lay on the ground just in front of her feet, sliced neatly in three.
"You okay?" His voice was deep and gravelly.
"Uh, yeah, I think so. Thanks."
"You should come out here without someone. Accidents happen."
Emma laughed shortly. "Evidently." She paused. "You're Logan, right?" He nodded. "Oh good. I've remembered a name. I'm so terrible with names."
There was silence, so Emma tried nervously to fill it. "So what are you doing out here? Not that I'm complaining, I didn't really want concussion."
"Same thing as you." The claws slid back into his hand and he rubbed his knuckles.
"Those are pretty cool... Does it hurt when they come out?"
He nodded. "Every single time."
There was silence again.
"Well I think I'm going to go inside now, get some breakfast. Do you want to come?"
"No, I'll stay out here for a while."
"Okay, see ya... And thanks again."
"Don't mention it."
Emma quickly walked indoors and to the kitchen. "Well, *he's* just a little ray of sunshine..." She muttered to herself. She heard a snort of laughter.
"I guess you encountered Wolverine this morning?" Jean was sitting at the table, eating cereal.
"Yeah. Still, he saved me from a nasty bruise, so I guess it's not all bad."
"What were you doing up so early?"
Emma poured herself a cup of coffee. "Couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd do some target practice. It just got a little out of hand."
"Oh. Well, don't worry about Logan. He's just like that. It's nothing personal."
The mark was bright red, but it had stopped peeling. Soon it would be little more than a scar, just another scar to add to her collection.
When she was little, she hadn't understood that she was different. When she was older she did, and tried to keep her powers quiet. But her adopted parents had never really trusted her. Here she was, twenty-eight, and running away from home. She gently traced the cross with her cool fingers. They'd brought in a priest to exorcise her. Some people would never accept those who were different. When the priest pressed the brand to her face, muttering his incantations, she'd decided that she couldn't live there anymore.
Perhaps she shouldn't have blasted her way out, but it was really the only way. In time they would re-build the house, and they would be happier without her. //Besides, here I can use my powers. Here I can help people.//
**********
The days passed quickly, and Emma grew used to live at 'mutant high'. Soon she began training. Her skills were underdeveloped, but she learned fast. Her accuracy with energy bolts rapidly improved, as did her psionic powers. She wasn't able to do the things her uncle could, but she could influence the minds of others, thereby camouflaging herself.
It was very early morning, and she couldn't sleep. Deciding not to waste the time, Emma pulled on a long-sleeved shirt and pair of jeans, heading out for some practice.
She set the clay pigeon launcher on a timer and stood at the other send of the three metre long field. The first one launched and she quickly shot it down. Then came the next, and the next. They sped up as she warmed up. She fell into a rhythm, not even noticing that another had approached.
But Emma began to tire, and the disks were coming too fast for her to counter. She knew the machine would run dry soon, but she couldn't hit all of the projectiles. She zapped one to the left, then right, another right, and too late she saw one coming straight at her from the center. Emma turned her face away, bringing up her arms to defend her face.
She braced for the impact... It never came.
Carefully she opened her eyes. A very large man stood there, similarly attired. From his right hand protruded three very long metal claws. The clay pigeon lay on the ground just in front of her feet, sliced neatly in three.
"You okay?" His voice was deep and gravelly.
"Uh, yeah, I think so. Thanks."
"You should come out here without someone. Accidents happen."
Emma laughed shortly. "Evidently." She paused. "You're Logan, right?" He nodded. "Oh good. I've remembered a name. I'm so terrible with names."
There was silence, so Emma tried nervously to fill it. "So what are you doing out here? Not that I'm complaining, I didn't really want concussion."
"Same thing as you." The claws slid back into his hand and he rubbed his knuckles.
"Those are pretty cool... Does it hurt when they come out?"
He nodded. "Every single time."
There was silence again.
"Well I think I'm going to go inside now, get some breakfast. Do you want to come?"
"No, I'll stay out here for a while."
"Okay, see ya... And thanks again."
"Don't mention it."
Emma quickly walked indoors and to the kitchen. "Well, *he's* just a little ray of sunshine..." She muttered to herself. She heard a snort of laughter.
"I guess you encountered Wolverine this morning?" Jean was sitting at the table, eating cereal.
"Yeah. Still, he saved me from a nasty bruise, so I guess it's not all bad."
"What were you doing up so early?"
Emma poured herself a cup of coffee. "Couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd do some target practice. It just got a little out of hand."
"Oh. Well, don't worry about Logan. He's just like that. It's nothing personal."