Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine.
Mystique smiled to herself as she sorted through the papers. Worthington had had some substantial holdings all over the world, and now they belonged to her and her 'family'. Buying this place had barely scratched the surface. With this sort of money, they could acquire some serious firepower. After all, what else were they going to spend the money on, clothes?
She laughed at that thought. She didn't need clothing, Storm spent most of her time naked, it being more 'natural', and could only be occasionally coaxed into skimpy dresses. Psylocke, once a model, now preferred the comfort of old jeans, and the only thing her daughter ever spent money on was fine leather gloves – although she was just as likely to steal them as buy them.
Speaking of Rogue, where was she? Betsey and Ororo were sitting out on the balcony. Kitten, as always, was at Storm's feet. Raven didn't particularly approve of Storms 'pet', but they'd come as a pair, and she was too powerful to turn away. Storm, more than any of them, particularly enjoyed the inflicting of pain: better she take it out on Sabertooth than random strangers. The Sisterhood didn't need to bring attention to itself in that way – not yet, at any rate.
Betsey's fascination with Kitten was also beginning to worry her. One important thing to know about Storm - she didn't share well. Last thing she needed was the Windrider frying her new telepath.
Rogue better not be out making trouble. Mystique had plans; and they didn't include the blasted X-Men tracking down their hideout before everything was ready.
"Ahm home! Miss me, y'all?"
Ah, there was her erstwhile daughter. But who was the scrawny fellow she dragged in with her?
"Rogue, what the hell is that?"
"Calm down, Momma. Ah know Stormy won't share, so Ah brought Betsey a pet of her very own."
She threw the boy into the centre of the room.
"Looks like a bag of bones to me." commented Storm. "You're going to have to feed him up, Bets, although personally I find starvation a wonderful training tool."
Kitten growled, and she absentmindedly kicked him.
Betsey stepped forward, cautiously.
"But ya aint seen nothing yet!" Rogue took her captives head in her hands, facing him away from the rest of the Sisterhood.
"Open your eyes, Sugah. Ah don't want to hurt ya again."
The boy shivered, keeping his eyes tightly closed.
Rogue took one of his hands into her own gloved ones. There was a sharp crack that resonated through the room, and the boy cried out.
"Ah lied. Ah rather enjoyed that, actually. Open your eyes, or Ah'll snap your scrawny neck and find Betsey another plaything."
His eyelids barely fluttered open then shut again, but it was long enough for the red beams to emerge, burning a rather impressive hole in the wall Rogue had pointed him at.
Betsey came forward to examine her new 'toy'. The boy was thin, although not quite a 'bag of bones' as Storm had described him. Probably been living on the streets for quite a while. She felt a sudden pang of pity, and quickly pushed it away. Pity was not an emotion given high regard within the Sisterhood.
"He have a name?" she asked Rogue.
Rogue shrugged. "Does it matter?"
"My n-name is Sc-Scott." stuttered the boy.
And now they were all looking at her again, expectant, like before she'd killed Warren. Another test. Some days it seemed like everything they did or said was part of one of their tests.
Well, what was she going to do, give up the acceptance she'd found here for some scrawny boy? She backhanded him, sending him sprawling.
"Rule number one, boy. You don't talk unless I say you can."
Approval in their faces now, especially Storm.
"I always liked that rule." said the Windrider.
"Whatcha gonna call him, then?" asked Rogue, as if the boy didn't already have a name.
Betsey shrugged. "I
guess if Storm's is Kitten, then mine should be Puppy." She sniffed.
"He stinks, Rogue. Where'd you find him, a rubbish tip?"
Rogue laughed. "Close."
"We better hose him down, then."
They took him out to the garden, where he tried to hide in one corner as Betsey aimed the hose at him, to no avail. Wrapped only in an old blanket Mystique had found somewhere, Storm suggested they lock him in one of the closets, to keep him out of the way for the night.
As the door swung closed, Betsey felt another pang at the sight of his upturned face, confused and hurt. Warren had been different. Warren had hurt her, betrayed her. Puppy had done nothing to her.
But then the girls pulled her away to their Friday night poker game, and surrounded in their love, the worry over Puppy soon faded. What did the fate of one boy matter? He probably would have died pretty soon anyway, out by himself on the streets.
The Sisterhood were her family now. They'd given her everything she could ever want, and she would let nothing get in the way of that.
Not even a skinny little boy with brown hair and the face of a fallen angel.
Kurt lay back in the cabin that had been home for the last year, examining the calendar. Five days were already marked in red, and he added a sixth cross for this morning.
Every now and again, Logan would go a bit funny, and head off into the woods. The first time he'd done it, Kurt had gone looking for him.
He had a six-inch scar down one side as a reminder not to do that again. His friend had gruffly apologized, and then explained what he was supposed to do: keep track of the days, so Logan knew what the date was when he 'came out of it', and keep the hell away.
Only once since then had he returned to where they were staying – Kurt had had to bamf from treetop to treetop for hours, before the predator gave up and went off to chase easier prey.
Every time, he'd come back after two or three days, usually bringing some meat back with him, and looking tired. Kurt would tell him the date, and they'd cook whatever he'd brought back in silence. The next day, he'd be pretty much back to normal.
But this was almost a week, and Kurt was getting worried. He knew that not much could hurt Logan, not for long, anyway; but still, he was tempted to go out and look for his friend, despite the tongue-lashing he would get afterwards.
The sudden noise of the jet startled him, and he quickly teleported out of the cabin, and into one of his hiding spots in the woods.
A small plane had landed in the clearing; five people emerged. Two older men, one redheaded woman, one little Chinese girl, and a brunette man.
Kurt crept close to hear what they were saying.
"Looks as if he's been here recently." said one of the grey-haired ones.
The other nodded. "I can sense a presence out in the woods; about two miles. That could well be him."
"The ground seems fairly even; it shouldn't be too hard going." said the redhead. "I don't like the idea of just waiting around with the jet right out in the open."
Well that was it. Logan would never forgive him if he let these idiots go out there when he was… like he was.
Jean turned towards the forest, her mind already tracking the presence Professor Xavier had pointed out to her. Remy and Jubilee followed behind; the Prof's were planning to stay by the jet, keeping watch.
Suddenly, there was a loud sound, and a cloud of acrid smoke appeared in front of her.
She gasped, as the smoke cleared, revealing the form of a… well, Jean could only call him a 'creature', although his mind appeared quite human.
"I wouldn't do that, if I were you."
"And why not?"
"Bad thinking, bad timing." The blue creature shrugged. "Just a bad idea altogether."
"Y' going t' give us a straight answer any time soon, Fuzzy?"
"My name is Kurt, and Ja, I can give you a straight answer. Go after him now, and I wouldn't bet on you being alive come dawn. You can wait here till he comes back. It will be safe then."
"And why is it not safe now?" asked Jean.
Kurt shrugged. "Not for me to tell you. He should be back in a couple of days.
Although written across his mind was ~He should have been back a couple days ago.~
Wolverine loped in that night. Kurt appeared beside him as he entered the clearing, most of a deer slung over one shoulder. His little friend knew better then to ask what happened to the rest of it.
"We have guests."
"I know." He sniffed the air. "Friendly?"
"Seem to be. Looking for you, I think, not me. They seemed surprised to see me."
"Yer
a surprising fellow, Kurt."
The guests were clustered near the cabin, by a jet that must have been theirs. Logan raised an eyebrow at the sight of that. Not exactly standard issue, but not military, either. And no military force he knew sent old men and children to deal with someone like him, either. He relaxed slightly, although they could still be mutants, and therefore dangerous. None of them looked out of the ordinary, although most days he passed for human, too.
One of the old men stepped forward, his face showing recognition. His scent was vaguely familiar; a memory niggled at the back of his mind.
"You probably do not recognize me, but my name is Eric Lensheer. We met a long time ago."
Ah, now he had the name, the rest was easy. A skinny little kid he'd pulled out of the rubble of a concentration camp. He nodded.
"I remember. Whadda want?"
"I am sure you are aware of the current political situation." Eric continued.
Logan just grunted, but his eyes flickered to Kurt, one of the victims of the 'current political situation'
"These are my associates – Charles Xavier, Jean Grey, Remy LeBeau, and Jubilation Lee."
"Prof L, you know I hate being called Jubilation!"
Ignoring her, Eric continued.
"We have an offer to make."
A/N: Review please! Let me know if you like this/want it to continue/have something in particular you'd like to see in this series. I will put in more backstory as it goes on and there are reasons for Storm/Rogue's weird/scary attitudes, trust me. (Not excuses, but reasons.)