Mystique took her shape as a young girl, one of the students who remained unnamed by most of the older people.
She trolled leisurely around the mansion, of course knowing it was risky but also knowing that the security was
slightly reduced at this time in the morning. She had slept in the little girl's bed after locking the child in the
cupboard. According to the books on the table and her rather interesting diary proclaiming love for most of the
males and strangely some of the females in the mansion, her name was Bridgett. Nice name, thought Mystique, as
she made her way to the kitchen.
She fetched some crisps from the cupboard ((Note: That's chips to you Americans)), salt and vinegar; her favourite.
However, her private feast was interrupted by incoming mutants, and she sped from the room to hide.
It was Logan. After a fruitless night of searching for Mystique, he was incredibly pissed off to say the least. He
snatched a beer from a tiny portable fridge in the very top cupboard and scrutinised the room. Something was off,
but he couldn't place his finger, or his adamantium claws, on it.
The can hissed as it opened and when the sharp, cool smell of beer had disappeared he suddenly smelt something.
"Mystique," he hissed. He stood up, following the scent and leaving the can of beer unnoticed. As he charged out,
Rogue appeared behind him; the real Rogue.
"Cool," she said, and picked up the beer. She took a swig. "He has a stash."
--------o(O)o--------
There was no chance of escape, Mystique realised with dismay. That animal was going to find her, probably tear her
apart unless she could convince him otherwise. Not an easy feat.
"Mystique, you slut," he whispered, keeping his voice low so as not to frighten the sleepy children who were filing
past him for breakfast. Kurt gave him a cheerful wave, still in his stripy blue pyjamas, but was ignored with icy
coldness.
"Looking for someone, Logan?" the fuzzy elf asked, picking pillow fluff from the points of his ears. "Need any
help?"
"Get lost, elf," he growled, berating himself mentally. Don't take it out on him, something told him inside, probably
that annoying little thing called a conscience. He softened his voice. "No, no help needed, get to breakfast."
"Jawohl..." he muttered, and trailed away in the direction of food.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," called a voice from a few feet away from him. Mystique, his nose revealed. "If you're going
to find me, at least do it quickly and don't start flirting with my son."
"Flirting with your-" started Logan, glancing back at Kurt in bewilderment. "I wasn't flirting wi- Oh, Mystique, you
play such childish games."
"I know," she giggled childishly; after all, she was still in Bridgett's form. "But isn't it fun?"
"Like raping an innocent girl and getting her pregnant while using someone else's body?"
"Something like that," she scowled. "Don't stick your claws in where it doesn't concern you, Wolverine."
"I think this does concern me," he pointed out. "She thinks I am the father."
"You are," Mystique grinned suddenly, the effect quite eerie on such a young girl. "She has your characteristics, I
believe, and she will be a healer at the very least. I took on everything of your body."
"You're twisted," he said. "No more talk. Take your proper form."
"I don't think so;" she said. "It'll take more than a command from the legendary Wolverine to get me to reveal
myself in front of all these children."
As she looked around the room where they stood, Logan followed her gaze. A couple of children were watching, but
at a sneer from both mutants, they both made their escapes. Without waiting for any more distractions, Mystique
rushed past him, still in the form of the little child. Logan didn't bother following her.
She trolled leisurely around the mansion, of course knowing it was risky but also knowing that the security was
slightly reduced at this time in the morning. She had slept in the little girl's bed after locking the child in the
cupboard. According to the books on the table and her rather interesting diary proclaiming love for most of the
males and strangely some of the females in the mansion, her name was Bridgett. Nice name, thought Mystique, as
she made her way to the kitchen.
She fetched some crisps from the cupboard ((Note: That's chips to you Americans)), salt and vinegar; her favourite.
However, her private feast was interrupted by incoming mutants, and she sped from the room to hide.
It was Logan. After a fruitless night of searching for Mystique, he was incredibly pissed off to say the least. He
snatched a beer from a tiny portable fridge in the very top cupboard and scrutinised the room. Something was off,
but he couldn't place his finger, or his adamantium claws, on it.
The can hissed as it opened and when the sharp, cool smell of beer had disappeared he suddenly smelt something.
"Mystique," he hissed. He stood up, following the scent and leaving the can of beer unnoticed. As he charged out,
Rogue appeared behind him; the real Rogue.
"Cool," she said, and picked up the beer. She took a swig. "He has a stash."
--------o(O)o--------
There was no chance of escape, Mystique realised with dismay. That animal was going to find her, probably tear her
apart unless she could convince him otherwise. Not an easy feat.
"Mystique, you slut," he whispered, keeping his voice low so as not to frighten the sleepy children who were filing
past him for breakfast. Kurt gave him a cheerful wave, still in his stripy blue pyjamas, but was ignored with icy
coldness.
"Looking for someone, Logan?" the fuzzy elf asked, picking pillow fluff from the points of his ears. "Need any
help?"
"Get lost, elf," he growled, berating himself mentally. Don't take it out on him, something told him inside, probably
that annoying little thing called a conscience. He softened his voice. "No, no help needed, get to breakfast."
"Jawohl..." he muttered, and trailed away in the direction of food.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," called a voice from a few feet away from him. Mystique, his nose revealed. "If you're going
to find me, at least do it quickly and don't start flirting with my son."
"Flirting with your-" started Logan, glancing back at Kurt in bewilderment. "I wasn't flirting wi- Oh, Mystique, you
play such childish games."
"I know," she giggled childishly; after all, she was still in Bridgett's form. "But isn't it fun?"
"Like raping an innocent girl and getting her pregnant while using someone else's body?"
"Something like that," she scowled. "Don't stick your claws in where it doesn't concern you, Wolverine."
"I think this does concern me," he pointed out. "She thinks I am the father."
"You are," Mystique grinned suddenly, the effect quite eerie on such a young girl. "She has your characteristics, I
believe, and she will be a healer at the very least. I took on everything of your body."
"You're twisted," he said. "No more talk. Take your proper form."
"I don't think so;" she said. "It'll take more than a command from the legendary Wolverine to get me to reveal
myself in front of all these children."
As she looked around the room where they stood, Logan followed her gaze. A couple of children were watching, but
at a sneer from both mutants, they both made their escapes. Without waiting for any more distractions, Mystique
rushed past him, still in the form of the little child. Logan didn't bother following her.
