Shifting uncomfortably as another morning was upon her, she moved on the stool. It was an odd and weird experience to be sitting on a stool in the middle of these people who hadn't figured out she was here yet, eating a bowl of cereal in the same shirt and little to no other clothing, from yesterday still. Atleast her two piece ensemble had become a three piece now. She was in a pair of socks, too, now.

Casse looked towards the door hearing the step. She withdrew into herself a moment listening. Soft, gentle steps, not be mistaken for dainty. Strong in decision and wispy as if she was barely touching the ground, as if she belonged elsewhere than the ground. The kitchen room door swung opened and stayed. She didn't look out, know the woman was shocked enough by the fact she hadn't moved in anymore yet.

"Casse?!?!?"

She replied drolly before having another spoonful of cereal. She set her spoon down and nodded toward a teakettle on the stove, as if stating not to be disturbed. "It's over there, about to reach a boil."

The moment after her sentence ended, the kettle whistled. She knew the woman's dark face was probably conflict in confusion, curiosity and, whether Casse wanted to admit it or not, concern. It was one the reasons she didn't look back. Her ears followed the sounds of the steps the woman took around the kitchen. To the cup, then the tea bag -box of Orange if she wasn't wrong- and the then to pour the water.

She stood there, watching her, stirring her tea, the edges of the spoon clinking very loudly to Casse's ears even though she knew it was almost a completely silent sound. Casse didn't look up though. She knew what was set in that dark face, behind those beautiful silver blue eyes. The wondered of all the years since she'd left as a teenager. The love for her mother, that she'd always had, that had always kept her watching over Casse once she was gone.

There were years between them. She'd been her mothers angel and become the seedy "villain" type her mother had fought and…hated. Hated. She was betting the woman was wondering why she'd come back -suspicious, wary and or over-joyed-. Taking a silent breath in between her teeth as she looked at the empty bowl of cereal she stood up from the stool casting her eyes over to the African woman and spoke as if she'd never said anything earlier.

"Morning, Weather Witch. How are you?"

She moved a second later to the sink and began to wash her dishes, surprised when the hinge for the hot water didn't squeak as it had. Someone would have fixed it of course eventually. Stupid girl.

"Tired." The answer was simple-confusing-unhelpful, crisp, making Casse second guess if there was knowledge around here that already knew she was here. Patric had promised to say nothing. "You?"

Casse opened the dishwasher and slipped her things in before turning back to Storm. Her black hair swished around her in her movements, being freed for once of all the hard and exotic styles. Loopy loose curls and waves to a few inches beneath her bottom, which clung to the shirt edge where it hung down barely covering her underwear. Her eyes were tired, more from too much crying than from the lack of sleep she was having. She was used to that.

"I don't know." Another simple-confusing-unhelpful answer. She shrugged as if the state of it didn't bother her. It did though very much. She wasn't used to not understanding herself. She flipped subject and tried to pull back on her wince when she realized what was coming out of her mouth, sad, sultry and sarcastic.

"Where's father?"

The woman's expression changed and Casse felt her heart involuntarily sunk lower, even as she pressed her lips together knowingly and tried not to let her expression show her disappointment. "He's gone on a trip. He would have come had he known-"

"But he doesn't. And he won't," Casse said harshly, her words saying EXCUSE loudly, as she went to walk past the woman towards the door. The movement of her arm made her remember the way she'd pat her head and stroke her hair when she small. She wasn't sure if she was coming out to stop her or touch her. She wasn't ready for anyone but Patric to touch her again.

She stopped short, whirling around, Storm's hand half a foot from her shoulder in mid air. "Don't."

Casse moved away towards the door, but turned back again to she the woman's shocked and pitiful expression. Pity for her? Bah. No one cared here. Patric cares, inside chided. "I remember a long time ago when I was barely old enough to ask anything serious and I got angry being told, 'Don't ask a question unless ready to hear the answer'. I don't have any of those anymore, because I don't have anything left to loose."

"What happened to you?" The silver-blue eyes, riddled with confusion, and unbidden horror, bore holes into her, as if she were still the child on her lap, or on her back riding the air currents for giggles.

She moved her arms to cross over the poly-cotton T-shirt at her waist, causing the thing to rise more. Her blue eyes were a dark midnight almost, reflecting many pains and angers, but her voice was oddly gentle. "Your Cajun friend asked me that and, silly me, I told him. Take your own advice, 'Ro."

"You're not ready for that answer. No one is." She stopped a moment and then let loose her arms again, and said even quieter even though it was at a volume of normal hearing and able to register. "Least of all me."

With that Casse turned and left the kitchen, leaving the woman and her teacup to peace, knowing she'd broken any chance of peace for her this morning already. She hated this place. Hated the feelings it stirred in her. So many memories and it wasn't even West Chester. Why couldn't everyone of the stupid Legion of the Damned just rip her heart out and just throw it away all at once?

She walked into a side room quietly, her socks making only the faintest scuffing to her socks on the ground. Looking up her eyes scanned the room. For how many years had past, it seemed the same. The murals had been changed, but the bookcases were still filled. She walked to the case by the window, not surprised to see what she was looking for was still in the same place, or that their were many more.

Running her fingers along the dates, she stopped tapping her finger on one.

Stop!!!! Something inside her screamed. This will only make it worse!!!!

"Aren't you a little chilly, Miss?"

Casse's lips formed the oddest grin as she looked down at herself. Dark blue loose T-shirt that came down trying to attempt to cover her black bikini-string thong underwear -and sorely loosing the battle if she moved at all-, and then a pair of white men's socks, with a blue line across the toes and over the heel, scrunched down around her ankles. Letting her hand fall from the leather bound binder she looked over her shoulder at the blue ball that hung from a bar near the ceiling grabbing a book with the one free hand.

"No, Henry. I don't cold very easily."

She watched his face change as he realized who she was. He had only been being polite. He'd thought she was one of the many mirad aged student body here, who, of course, we're not allowed to run around in their underwear or anything of that sort. She watched his hand move to a badge on the band of a pair on something that looked like Speedo's to her.

"He already knows I'm here. And many others now if Ororo left the kitchen after our discussion minutes ago," Casse nodded to his book, trying to get over the way everyone looked like it was something miraculous. It wasn't like she came back from the dead. Well, not this time, atleast. "What'd you come for?"

"A veritable wealth of words and learning. Advanced Astrophysics, Third year."

"For a student?" she asked as he adjusted his crimson framed glasses still hanging upside down, moving his feet in the direction of the door, even though his eye hadn't come off her yet. Something about him did seem the same. He looked like he wanted to make some statement or joke, but couldn't. It was understandable, and terrible to feel. She waved her hand to the door, turning back to the bound book. "Go on, someone's probably waiting on you. I'm busy now, too."

Casse hand went back to the same book and she pulled out, though her mind was on the fuzzy beast hanging from the ceiling. He stayed unmoving for about half a minute just watching her, flipped down and then left the room. Legion of the Damned. She frowned and shook her head as she flipped open the book as she started flipping pages looking for it.

Walking to a couch she found it. It had always been her favorite when she was little. Sitting down, she crossed one leg under the other on the couch and set the book on her lap. Her eyes softened in color looking over the picture. She never liked photo albums much at all, too many real people that were gone, smiling at you in them. Not that this was any different, but it just was.

It had taken two days after they'd been born. There were three adults in the picture where it was set out in the garden. The woman in the middle was sitting on a bench with rose petals twined in her hair smiling so bright with happiness and life, and to her sides were what Casse supposed were the two most important. Her husband, and the Professor, who both looked so full of pride.

Each of them held a small child two days old in their arms. Her father also had a three-year-old Steven Ray on his shoulders making an impish expression at the camera, with his thumb to his nose and his fingers flared.

"Casse?"

"In here." Casse replied, a finger, or more aptly the tip of a silver-blue nail, lay gently in a stroke across the side of her mothers face and cheek. So beautiful. Passionate. Fiery.

"What are doing, Little Luna?" He asked slipping on to the couch next to her as she offered him the book. She watched the very lightest smile line his lips, though his eyes clouded with concern for her. He put an arm around and patted her back gently. "It's still missing Jr."

"But it has Jennifer." She nodded as she took the book back, looking at it quietly before whispering. "And mother."

He put a hand out to close the book gently, her hand moving out of the way as if she'd already known what he was going to do. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," she replied laying a hand over his. She had to admit even to herself, whenever he was near the pain wasn't as bad.

"Do you believe in angels?"

"Angels? You mean flutter people with wings and these holier-than-thou attitude like the god forsaken catholic church has written?"

Casse choked on a laugh suddenly, as she rolled her eyes partly, slipping the book on his lap and standing. The smile of pure amusement than covered her lips, was her only cover giving away the fact she was about to break into peals of laughter.

She stopped slowly as soon as she could breath normally again and leaned down by him since he still looked serious. Crouching down, taking his hand, and cupping it into her two, she looked up at him. She lost all her problems for his. She always did.

"What's bothering you, my sweet Gray King?"

"I want to show you something."

Five minutes later she was waiting for him to unlock four locks on a large pure wood door, with an intrigued expression.

"In your gallery? How many new additions?"

As key clinked, and locks when clank, and a chain made noise inside the door, he replied. "Since you saw last many, but only one specific one. It's only been here a short while now."

The door opened and her held his hand out offering to let her go first, his stunningly sharp blue-green eyes following her warily. She walked in taking in the portraits across from the door. Sunflowers, blue skies. Houses, people, swirls and alternates. Walking past many in the large hall, she continued to scan them. An Indian woman, dark gothic pictures.

Suddenly she stopped stone still cold staring at the portrait now hung on the 'new' stand area. It was hung against the wall. It had to be something like eight feet tall and four feet wide.

"W-" her words failed her as her eyes, a pale silver-blue, fled to the picture piece by piece, corner by corner and color by color. "When? Why?"

He slipped up behind her setting his hand on her shoulders even over her unbound wild black hair. "Seven days ago. It wasn't even what I had planned. It appeared in a dream and the next thing I knew I woke up in here with it painted across it, barely remembering the magnitude that had forced it out. It made me pass out once I was done. It surprised me-- scared me. I had hoped it wouldn't find you the same….that you might be able to explain. Now we're both left with it."

Casse reached up one hand across her chest to lay it on his hand over her shoulder. The picture was sending shivers through her spine. She wanted to look a different direction, one of the whimsy paintings, but she couldn't tear her eyes away.

"I - I don't," she whispered, defeated of her breath. "I've never seen…in my life entire life. Never."

He lightly squeezed her shoulders and tried to move her, but it was, as he knew. If she didn't want to move, nothing on earth would ever tear her away from where she stood or sat. He squeezed her shoulders again, set his chin very gently on the top of her head and all her soft hair and looked at the same thing that Casse couldn't stop looking at.

The painting hung there simply not so much a problem in what it was doing but in what it was portraying.

It was a female angel, with fresh white skin. You could tell that by the fact she was bare foot and you could see her well formed calves. She was standing on steps of what looked like marble, but reflected colors like mother of pearly whites and blacks, silvers and rainbow. The last half-foot at the top of the picture showed a landing at the top of the stairs, where round columns were, and an open doorway far back.

Her wings were the second stunning of things. They were deepest black onyx, wrapped down around her, arms and body, covering everything from her lower legs to just below her mouth. Only the smallest bits of what perhaps was a white cloth skirt or tunic piece showed at the bottom of the wings around the legs. The wings appear to be soft, like the picture was seconds from moving to ruffle the feather or spread them wide in all her glory.

Well, it was until you hit the face. Her face was beautiful, yes, and pale as her legs had been, and her eyes were dark like her hair and wings, but that wasn't what the stunning part was. She was crying. Crying tears of blood down those beautiful alabaster cheeks. And those dark eyes were filled with such a pain and horror that ripped from the portrait and tore at the heart of the person looking at it you were left feeling haunted.

And maybe it wasn't those things that were the most stunning to these two, and maybe it wasn't even the soft glow around the woman of light and darkness, somehow tinged blue. Maybe it was the fact it wasn't a stranger's face they were looking at. It was Casse's.