Disclaimer: any recognizable characters belong to Marvel and 20th Century Fox. Any others are products of my very own imagination.
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Arioch 2: So this is it?
Boooring.
Quinn had been here two weeks, and was bored to death. And lonely.
Erik had escorted her to one of his empty rooms, available as an apartment, and she accepted it. He had offered Victor's services, as well as the enigmatic pilot's, to retrieve the things she needed from New York . . ..
~~~~~~
Victor hadn't seemed surprised the address Quinn gave him was different than the one above the bar. They took a taxi van, leaving the pilot again.
"I've got lots of stuff," Quinn pointed out. "We could use your guy up front to help us."
But Victor only acted annoyed and refused to even ask the pilot.
"Okay," Quinn muttered. "It's your back."
She had tried to make small talk in the taxi, but got only stony stares as a response. She finally quit.
At the uptown apartment, Quinn quickly loaded the items she thought she'd need into suitcases designed with secret compartments to conceal the numerous weapons she also packed. Since she expected to be gone for some time, books, CDs, her stereo, several leather dusters (various colors), a majority of her clothing, and a pillow from the bed were loaded.
"Can't sleep without my favorite pillow!" she joked. "You know?"
He looked even more annoyed and disgusted.
It made Quinn angry. "Hey, listen, Vic. Your boss is now mine too, so get used to it, okay? He's paying me, he's paying you—let's make the best of it."
"Erik is paying you?" Victor spat at her.
"Well, duh! You don't get Arioch for free. He hired me to cover your mutant asses. I'm your bodyguard, baby."
Victor's face twisted into a mask of malevolence. It didn't dissuade Quinn's mood.
"Is that your ability? Making yourself uglier?"
"You bitch!" Victor hissed.
The insult didn't startle Quinn, his voice did. A woman's voice.
"What the fuck—"
Victor, unexpectedly, took a swing at her. Only her instinctive reflexes moved her away in time. Quinn scrambled away, watching Victor alertly. Automatically she flicked open a butterfly knife, moving to keep the coffee table between them both.
"Come on, Vic. What the fuck? What's your ability?" she taunted.
Victor watched her maneuver closely, and visibly regained his composure. "Quinn—Arioch, whatever you're called. I'm surprised that Erik didn't inform you of the mutants you'd be working with. Do you realized that you and he will be the only two of our little group who pass for normal?"
"What?"
Victor smiled evilly. "Have you ever really dealt with mutants, Arioch? Real mutants, who don't look human?"
"Well, yeah—down at the bar—but that doesn't explain your ugliness."
He scowled again, and seemed to shimmer. The clothing disappeared. His face melted. A dark blue, golden eyed woman, covered in—scales?!—stood in his place. It threw Quinn off enough to make her miss her step as the woman lunged forward.
The woman landed a kick squarely in her stomach, knocking the wind from her. She dropped to the couch behind her, and instantly the woman was on her, holding her in place with a knee on the back of her neck. She grabbed Quinn's hair and forced her head up slightly. Quinn grit her teeth, panting through them, but was immobile.
"Listen to me, you fucking bitch!" the blue woman seethed through clenched teeth. "Don't you ever—ever—call me ugly again. I don't care if Magneto's hired you to lick his ass—I will fucking kill you!"
Quinn's breath had returned. "Get off me, you blue skinned freak!"
The woman screamed intelligibly. She yanked Quinn's hair and rabbit punched her in the back of the head. Quinn, through her dizziness, managed to twist enough to move the knife between them, managing to slice off a few scales along the way. The woman jerked back at the pain.
"At least you bleed like normal," Quinn observed dryly.
It caused the blue woman to shriek again and lurch toward her again, but before any other blows had landed, the woman's comm link beeped.
The British pilot's voice came through. "Mystique, what the bloody blazes is keeping you two?" it crackled, loud enough for Quinn to hear. "It'll be my hide if we're not back soon!"
"We're coming, Toad!" Mystique shouted back, a hand at her ear.
"Toad?" Quinn blurted, and rolled her eyes. "Oh, this ought to be good."
Mystique gave her an evil look. "Give us a few more minutes—something came up—"
"My lunch!" interrupted Quinn.
Another look.
"—we'll be in the taxi shortly."
"Her lunch?" Toad asked through the speaker. "What the hell?"
But Mystique switched the comm off without answering him and glared at Quinn. She smiled back.
"Let's go, bitch," Mystique spit. "We'll settle this later."
"Any time, cunt."
An expression that only women can muster, maintain, and survive passed between the two. Without another word they both struggled the numerous suitcases and boxes to the van.
~~~~~
That had been fifteen days ago, and Quinn hadn't seen Mystique since. She hadn't met the pilot, Toad, either, but once glimpsed an enormous man on the other side of the cavernous room. He was gone before she could call out to him.
She'd arranged her room, and rearranged it. Erik consented to letting her have another room to hang a punching bag, but there was only so much working out she could take in one day. Quinn was reduced to wandering the hallways.
"Thank god for booze and music," she said aloud to herself, running a hand along the rough wall as she roamed. "What have we learned today, kiddies? One. These walls were somehow carved from solid rock, but no drilling tools have been found. Two. Don't leave your room, Quinn, without your damn Walkman. Three. Erik said there were mutants who lived here, but there's very little evidence of that."
She'd been walking passed the hangar, and noticed a movement as the words left her lips.
"Wait a minute—a sign of life!" she exclaimed to herself, and darted inside.
Quinn walked around the helicopter.
Someone was hanging, half under the panel of the cockpit, half out the door. The shoes she saw were scuffed, the pant legs were tattered. A rip in one knee revealed greenish colored skin underneath.
Muttered curses, in a British accent, accompanied the sounds of tinkering.
"Who're you?" Quinn blurted out.
There was an explosion of movement from the person as he righted himself in the cockpit. Not expecting such a reaction, it startled her and she stepped back, hand on a pistol. It comforted her, but she jumped again as he looked down on her and she got a good look at him.
The face was green, the hair spiky—and his piercing eyes: oddly colored and liquid, magnified by the goggles he wore.
He ripped them off his face and glared at her. "What the blazes do you think you're doing?" he shouted.
"Hey—relax, buddy!" She was fascinated with his eyes. "I just wanted to meet you."
"This is a restricted area!" he replied, still glaring.
"Erik didn't say anything about restricted areas," Quinn countered. She slid the gun back into it's holster, and extended her hands. "See? Nothing to worry about."
He didn't look convinced.
She sighed. "I'm sorry to bother you. I was just walking by, wondering where all these people Erik mentioned who live here might be, and here you are! I'm Arioch."
He dropped lightly to the ground, and settled into a crouch, continuing to watch her suspiciously.
"I know who you are," he answered.
"Do you?" This irritated her a bit, not happy that she had less knowledge than he.
"Yeah. I've watched you."
"Really." This was even more disturbing. "And what have you seen?"
"You wandering around, like you don't know what to do with yourself. You talking to yourself. You working that punching bag, acting like it's Mystique."
He had been watching her.
"I suppose you know what I sleep in too," she spit.
It caught him off guard. "N-no!"
Quinn narrowed her eyes, but he seemed to be telling the truth. She forced herself to relax again.
"Okay, so you're a stalker," she told him lightly. "What's your name?"
"I am not a stalker!"
She shrugged. "Then why have you been following me around?"
He sunk even lower on his heels. When he answered, she had to strain to hear his voice. "'Cause you're the most normal person Magneto's ever brought here. I wanted to see what you were like."
Confused by his explanation, Quinn could only say, "I'm really not that normal. I'm a mutant too. And I kill people for money. That's about as far from average as you can get."
"Not like I would know . . ." he muttered.
More confused, she didn't reply.
The silence stretched between them.
"So . . ." Quinn finally said, "what was your name again?"
He looked up at her quickly. She flashed him a smile.
"I'm—" he cleared his throat. "—Toad. Mortimer Toynbee."
Quinn put her hands on her hips and studied him critically. "And—you're British, right?"
Toad's boy-are-you-stupid expression made her laugh.
"It was a joke, Morty!" she chuckled. "If the accent didn't give it away, the name sure would!"
He bristled, but gradually realized she wasn't laughing at him. Generally.
"Listen, Toad—you wanna get something to eat? All the walking has made me hungry. 'Normal' people eat lunch about noon, and I'm sick of eating by myself in my room."
"You—you're inviting me . . .."
Quinn noted his shocked expression and disregarded it. "To my room?" she finished. "Well, yeah. Unless there's some central cafeteria in this place that I haven't found yet."
"N-no, no, I . . . can't. I can't," Toad stuttered, shaking his head, automatically going with the first response he could formulate. "M-magneto wants me to finish. Finish this—" his hand waved obscurely to the helicopter. "—this repair."
Disappointment clouded her voice. "Okay. I understand." She looked back up, into those strange eyes. "But hey—any time. Just come on by. Knock on the door—knock really loud if you hear music."
Quinn turned on her heel and walked from the room. She never saw the baffled and dazed expression on Toad's face. She never knew he couldn't finish his work on the helicopter that day, but instead retreated to his ledge, puzzled. She only knew that she was bored again, and still lonely.