Hey y'all, I'm kinda dry.
Kat: She's like totally dry.
(Ty elbows her sharply)
Anyway, if the next couple of chapters seem, I don't know, a little off base and weird. Or off the plot line, forgive me okay. I'm struggling for inspiration.
Kat: Yeah, we're like not enough.
Ty: Shut up.
Trunksblue, thank you for all your reviews. They really do mean a lot to me. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Plz read and review.
Kat: Review!
Ty: Y'all'd better!
Hotwire=hotwahre
Chapter Seven-The Key
"Where could aht beh?" Ty mumbled, she'd already searched this section of the room five times! Shaking out a large gray blanket, threadbare as it was, it served as her cot's comforter(along with her sheets). The material, full of a decades dust, carried the moldy stench of overripe oranges. Forcing Ty to shake it one handed, while using the other to pin her nose shut. As she shook it, the dust sprayed out like a fountain, stinging her eyes and choking her nose, as she hacked and coughed. She swore loudly, saying the same ones over in many different tongues, her Southern accent thickening to something unintelligible as her frustration increased. "Dammit! Where ahs aht?" Glancing back down at the note.
The note had been written on a thin slip of crumbling old paper. The edges were stained a nasty yellow, the color of urine. And Ty held it delicately by the center, for the sake of cleanliness. Long creases hugged the edges tightly as if afraid of falling off. Small cracks spread like a spiders web throughout the area. In messy handwriting, the words scribbled black ink, read.
Meet me at Boomers. 10 o' clock sharp.
Hurriedly dropping her eyes to her watch, she noted the time. Nine o'clock. She had an hour to find it. Ty was a thin woman, and small, though her body was sleek and she held the appearance of a huntress. Her form was gaunt from years of scavenging and dark shadows hung beneath cold and worried eyes. It was important that she be prompt. In the late-silvered light of the moon, her skin was abnormally pale, practically translucent, giving her the appearance of an avenging ghost. And was highlighted by her ever-faithful gothic makeup: black mascara, purple lipstick and eye shadow. The makeup; forcing her skin to an even lighter shade of white, didn't complement her complexion. Her face had hardened long ago, but was creaseless, with the exception of a few tightened lines around her eyes. Her light grayish purple eyes were decades more ancient than the 20-year-old face. Her visage was thin and at the moment taken the form of a frustrated scowl, around it mousy brown hair clung barely reaching past her chin. Recently she'd taken on a new hairstyle. Near her face, the brown hair was long, reaching halfway down her neck, then slowly it receded backwards until it clung to the base of her scalp. However what caught the eye most about this woman was her bangs of the most vibrant white. "Dahmn!" She snarled again.
With an angry roar, she overturned her small desk and hurriedly began digging through the contents. "Ah need thaht key!" Tossing aside dust frosted pencils, pens, and a few bottles of Kat's bubblegum blue nail polish, along with a few notepads, and even an old key or two. Why had she been so stupid? Wasn't it enough that she normally listened to Kat's advice? Did Kat have to be right every time?
'Put that away or you'll lose it!'
'Sure sugah, 'tevah yah say.' Ty said putting down her silver key.
'Like somewhere you'll find it later.'
'Ah did Kat!'
'You'll like be sorry later.'
'Ah doubt thaht.'
And now, when she needed to leave, Kat was proven right yet again. "Great, just great." Tossing up her hands, and ran the left through her hair, over and over, twirling short back hairs around a black-gloved index finger. "Argh!" She smashed her fist into the wall. It was all her fault, yet again! Everything was her fault. She'd searched the cupboards, the beds, the chest of drawers, and decimated the living room. She'd even searched all her pants and jackets pockets. And come up with nothing, zero, zilch, nada! "Ah'm Ah beahn' punished?" She wondered to herself as the heavy silence placed itself in tons on her shoulders. "Nah, aht's gotta beh somewhere."
Of course, Kat had to go out. Leave without so much as a note! Or a time when she'd be back. Typical Kat. Not that this was Kat's fault, Ty reminded herself, it was hers. *Still*, an annoying voice muttered from the back of her head. *Aht would beh nice ta have some help.* She checked her watch again. 9:30. She needed to leave in ten minutes. Where was the key to that damn bike! Kat had told her, she'd told her, time and time again. If she were here, she'd be gloating. 'Well, she's not and she ain't.' Ty replied to herself coolly.
Kat had been acting like the ever-annoying mother, when she'd told her. 'Put in a place where you can find it.'
But had Ty listened? "No!" Ty growled, slamming her fist back into the wall. And why hadn't she listened? "Because Ah'm stupahd!" Ty snatched up a small wooden box from the floor. Irene had given it to her long ago. The only item from Ty's past that she tolerated. There'd been a message inside, but Ty had thrown it away when she abandoned Rogue. Irene had sent it to the mansion a few days before the war, before she... Coughing slightly, Ty rubbed her eyes. They were suddenly very itchy and returned to the examination of the box. The colors of yellow and blue had dulled with the passage of time, and the pattern of leaves that wove around the face had almost completely vanished. When it had been new, the varnish had shone like new honey, the autumn leaves were brilliant crimsons and browns, and the yellow was the color of melted butter. But now it was a shadow, a tiny reminder of what it once was. Like Ty. Putting it down she turned to look elsewhere, the likelihood of her finding the key there was minimal if impossible. Checking her watch again. She screamed, only five minutes left to go. "Chingada." Ty muttered angrily. 'Ah could always hotwahre mah bike.' She reminded herself, a skill left over from the testing days. Yanking open the drawer of her three-legged nightstand. It was ancient and rickety, the varnish scarred and ruined. The nightstand tipped and the lamp on it toppled to the floor with a loud crash. Glass spread everywhere. "Merde!" She growled.
'Nah Ty,' She told herself, 'shut up Ty. Thahnk, damn you, think! Where would ah stupahd idiot leave thah key.' Ty checked her watch. Groaning she sank onto the bed. Two minutes. Rubbing her hands over her pale face and as her index finger twirled her back hairs, she felt something hard on her bed. Placing her hand down she felt it, hard and solid. Key shaped. She pulled it out, it was only her spare house key. Ty shoved her hands into her hips. "Bloody hell!" She swore. Wait, there was something hard in the back pocket of her leather capris. Wait! She felt around in her back pocket, and discovered something cool to her touch. The key? It certainly felt metallic. Jerking it from her back pocket, and holding it up in the light, she grinned(which was extraordinarily rare). Yes! Looking at her watch again, she moaned. "No! Ah'm late!" She ran out the door, slamming it loudly behind her.
~~~~~~~~~
Ten minutes later, Scott and Logan walked into the abandoned building. A young woman with mousy brown hair and pale skin, dressed in black leather capris, a green spaghetti strap, a leather jacket, and brown knee high boots, rushed past them. Her face was set in an agitated scowl and she mumbled something about clumsy colony men as she passed them. Moving as a blur, Scott was unable to ID her as anyone he knew, so he allowed her to go by.
'This is the place?' Scott asked, glancing up disdainfully at the crumbling building. 'I would have thought they'd find somewhere better to live.'
'There is no better place to live. And once w get in there, let me do all the talking One Eye.' Logan growled as he pushed past Scott strode through the wide doorway. 'Oh and if you see anyone suspicious, leave 'em alone, bub.'
'Why shouldn't we question them?'
'Because they'll slice us and dice us. Earth folk are tough, and they ain't easily pushed around kid. They're a different breed.' Logan's worn leathery face, crinkled into a smile. 'I wonder how the half-pint and stripes managed to survive down here.'
'They survived because they're X-men.' Scott proclaimed.
They came to an elevator. Scott his finger poised over the button was ready to push it, when Logan caught his hand. Shaking his head, Logan pointed to the "out of order" sign hanging near the opening. "You may be good at catching criminals kid. But this ain't the colonies. We're takin' the stairs. Evan and Cannonball passed on, boy, and so did Jubilee. She died in Bobby's arms, if you'll remember. No. Half-pint and Stripes must have found a different way to survive."
Scott pondered his words for a minutes, his ego again shaken for the third time on the trip. His pride had taken so many wounds during the Wars, and now Logan was blowing his ego into bitty bits. "They were still X-men." He said softly.
They reached the fourth flight, and began traveling down a long hallway of abandoned rooms. The wallpaper was stained with watermarks and brown stains, the edges curled with age. Several of the doors were slanted open, and a few were falling off their hinges, the rooms inside were pitch black, and not a shred of light fell through the windows. "Yeah, they were, but that ain't the reason they survived." For Scott, it seemed like they traveled for ages through the corridor. He could barely remember how many minutes had gone by or what time it was. His shirt began sticking to his back as the heat rose in the stuffy hall and his breath began to choke him, when Logan said. "We're here."
Scott glanced up at the number 50, the five hanging upside down on the green-painted door. The paint was peeling and in some parts it had worn away completely. "This is it?"
"You expected the penthouse suite?" Logan said drily. He twisted the knob. "It's unlocked." Pushing it open to reveal a decimated two room apartment. Scott's jaw hung completely unhinged, the room had the appearance of the aftermath of a nuclear explosion. Desks were overturned, blankets, clothes, pens, and papers covered the floor. "Someone left in a hurry." Logan muttered as he entered. "Someone was looking for something."
Scott, glancing over his shoulder, asked. "Were they searched Logan?"
"No." He said after sniffing the air. "Only the scents of the inhabitants are here." Slowly and carefully he began to investigate. "They went to Boomers."
"Your nose told you that." Scott asked, curiously walking up behind Logan.
Logan snapped angrily. "Careful kid! I don't really want them knowing we were snooping without permission. My nose didn't tell me where they went." He said calmly. "This did." He held up the nasty slip of paper.
"It's like too late for us not to know." A cool feminine voice said from the doorway.
Kat: She's like totally dry.
(Ty elbows her sharply)
Anyway, if the next couple of chapters seem, I don't know, a little off base and weird. Or off the plot line, forgive me okay. I'm struggling for inspiration.
Kat: Yeah, we're like not enough.
Ty: Shut up.
Trunksblue, thank you for all your reviews. They really do mean a lot to me. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Plz read and review.
Kat: Review!
Ty: Y'all'd better!
Hotwire=hotwahre
Chapter Seven-The Key
"Where could aht beh?" Ty mumbled, she'd already searched this section of the room five times! Shaking out a large gray blanket, threadbare as it was, it served as her cot's comforter(along with her sheets). The material, full of a decades dust, carried the moldy stench of overripe oranges. Forcing Ty to shake it one handed, while using the other to pin her nose shut. As she shook it, the dust sprayed out like a fountain, stinging her eyes and choking her nose, as she hacked and coughed. She swore loudly, saying the same ones over in many different tongues, her Southern accent thickening to something unintelligible as her frustration increased. "Dammit! Where ahs aht?" Glancing back down at the note.
The note had been written on a thin slip of crumbling old paper. The edges were stained a nasty yellow, the color of urine. And Ty held it delicately by the center, for the sake of cleanliness. Long creases hugged the edges tightly as if afraid of falling off. Small cracks spread like a spiders web throughout the area. In messy handwriting, the words scribbled black ink, read.
Meet me at Boomers. 10 o' clock sharp.
Hurriedly dropping her eyes to her watch, she noted the time. Nine o'clock. She had an hour to find it. Ty was a thin woman, and small, though her body was sleek and she held the appearance of a huntress. Her form was gaunt from years of scavenging and dark shadows hung beneath cold and worried eyes. It was important that she be prompt. In the late-silvered light of the moon, her skin was abnormally pale, practically translucent, giving her the appearance of an avenging ghost. And was highlighted by her ever-faithful gothic makeup: black mascara, purple lipstick and eye shadow. The makeup; forcing her skin to an even lighter shade of white, didn't complement her complexion. Her face had hardened long ago, but was creaseless, with the exception of a few tightened lines around her eyes. Her light grayish purple eyes were decades more ancient than the 20-year-old face. Her visage was thin and at the moment taken the form of a frustrated scowl, around it mousy brown hair clung barely reaching past her chin. Recently she'd taken on a new hairstyle. Near her face, the brown hair was long, reaching halfway down her neck, then slowly it receded backwards until it clung to the base of her scalp. However what caught the eye most about this woman was her bangs of the most vibrant white. "Dahmn!" She snarled again.
With an angry roar, she overturned her small desk and hurriedly began digging through the contents. "Ah need thaht key!" Tossing aside dust frosted pencils, pens, and a few bottles of Kat's bubblegum blue nail polish, along with a few notepads, and even an old key or two. Why had she been so stupid? Wasn't it enough that she normally listened to Kat's advice? Did Kat have to be right every time?
'Put that away or you'll lose it!'
'Sure sugah, 'tevah yah say.' Ty said putting down her silver key.
'Like somewhere you'll find it later.'
'Ah did Kat!'
'You'll like be sorry later.'
'Ah doubt thaht.'
And now, when she needed to leave, Kat was proven right yet again. "Great, just great." Tossing up her hands, and ran the left through her hair, over and over, twirling short back hairs around a black-gloved index finger. "Argh!" She smashed her fist into the wall. It was all her fault, yet again! Everything was her fault. She'd searched the cupboards, the beds, the chest of drawers, and decimated the living room. She'd even searched all her pants and jackets pockets. And come up with nothing, zero, zilch, nada! "Ah'm Ah beahn' punished?" She wondered to herself as the heavy silence placed itself in tons on her shoulders. "Nah, aht's gotta beh somewhere."
Of course, Kat had to go out. Leave without so much as a note! Or a time when she'd be back. Typical Kat. Not that this was Kat's fault, Ty reminded herself, it was hers. *Still*, an annoying voice muttered from the back of her head. *Aht would beh nice ta have some help.* She checked her watch again. 9:30. She needed to leave in ten minutes. Where was the key to that damn bike! Kat had told her, she'd told her, time and time again. If she were here, she'd be gloating. 'Well, she's not and she ain't.' Ty replied to herself coolly.
Kat had been acting like the ever-annoying mother, when she'd told her. 'Put in a place where you can find it.'
But had Ty listened? "No!" Ty growled, slamming her fist back into the wall. And why hadn't she listened? "Because Ah'm stupahd!" Ty snatched up a small wooden box from the floor. Irene had given it to her long ago. The only item from Ty's past that she tolerated. There'd been a message inside, but Ty had thrown it away when she abandoned Rogue. Irene had sent it to the mansion a few days before the war, before she... Coughing slightly, Ty rubbed her eyes. They were suddenly very itchy and returned to the examination of the box. The colors of yellow and blue had dulled with the passage of time, and the pattern of leaves that wove around the face had almost completely vanished. When it had been new, the varnish had shone like new honey, the autumn leaves were brilliant crimsons and browns, and the yellow was the color of melted butter. But now it was a shadow, a tiny reminder of what it once was. Like Ty. Putting it down she turned to look elsewhere, the likelihood of her finding the key there was minimal if impossible. Checking her watch again. She screamed, only five minutes left to go. "Chingada." Ty muttered angrily. 'Ah could always hotwahre mah bike.' She reminded herself, a skill left over from the testing days. Yanking open the drawer of her three-legged nightstand. It was ancient and rickety, the varnish scarred and ruined. The nightstand tipped and the lamp on it toppled to the floor with a loud crash. Glass spread everywhere. "Merde!" She growled.
'Nah Ty,' She told herself, 'shut up Ty. Thahnk, damn you, think! Where would ah stupahd idiot leave thah key.' Ty checked her watch. Groaning she sank onto the bed. Two minutes. Rubbing her hands over her pale face and as her index finger twirled her back hairs, she felt something hard on her bed. Placing her hand down she felt it, hard and solid. Key shaped. She pulled it out, it was only her spare house key. Ty shoved her hands into her hips. "Bloody hell!" She swore. Wait, there was something hard in the back pocket of her leather capris. Wait! She felt around in her back pocket, and discovered something cool to her touch. The key? It certainly felt metallic. Jerking it from her back pocket, and holding it up in the light, she grinned(which was extraordinarily rare). Yes! Looking at her watch again, she moaned. "No! Ah'm late!" She ran out the door, slamming it loudly behind her.
~~~~~~~~~
Ten minutes later, Scott and Logan walked into the abandoned building. A young woman with mousy brown hair and pale skin, dressed in black leather capris, a green spaghetti strap, a leather jacket, and brown knee high boots, rushed past them. Her face was set in an agitated scowl and she mumbled something about clumsy colony men as she passed them. Moving as a blur, Scott was unable to ID her as anyone he knew, so he allowed her to go by.
'This is the place?' Scott asked, glancing up disdainfully at the crumbling building. 'I would have thought they'd find somewhere better to live.'
'There is no better place to live. And once w get in there, let me do all the talking One Eye.' Logan growled as he pushed past Scott strode through the wide doorway. 'Oh and if you see anyone suspicious, leave 'em alone, bub.'
'Why shouldn't we question them?'
'Because they'll slice us and dice us. Earth folk are tough, and they ain't easily pushed around kid. They're a different breed.' Logan's worn leathery face, crinkled into a smile. 'I wonder how the half-pint and stripes managed to survive down here.'
'They survived because they're X-men.' Scott proclaimed.
They came to an elevator. Scott his finger poised over the button was ready to push it, when Logan caught his hand. Shaking his head, Logan pointed to the "out of order" sign hanging near the opening. "You may be good at catching criminals kid. But this ain't the colonies. We're takin' the stairs. Evan and Cannonball passed on, boy, and so did Jubilee. She died in Bobby's arms, if you'll remember. No. Half-pint and Stripes must have found a different way to survive."
Scott pondered his words for a minutes, his ego again shaken for the third time on the trip. His pride had taken so many wounds during the Wars, and now Logan was blowing his ego into bitty bits. "They were still X-men." He said softly.
They reached the fourth flight, and began traveling down a long hallway of abandoned rooms. The wallpaper was stained with watermarks and brown stains, the edges curled with age. Several of the doors were slanted open, and a few were falling off their hinges, the rooms inside were pitch black, and not a shred of light fell through the windows. "Yeah, they were, but that ain't the reason they survived." For Scott, it seemed like they traveled for ages through the corridor. He could barely remember how many minutes had gone by or what time it was. His shirt began sticking to his back as the heat rose in the stuffy hall and his breath began to choke him, when Logan said. "We're here."
Scott glanced up at the number 50, the five hanging upside down on the green-painted door. The paint was peeling and in some parts it had worn away completely. "This is it?"
"You expected the penthouse suite?" Logan said drily. He twisted the knob. "It's unlocked." Pushing it open to reveal a decimated two room apartment. Scott's jaw hung completely unhinged, the room had the appearance of the aftermath of a nuclear explosion. Desks were overturned, blankets, clothes, pens, and papers covered the floor. "Someone left in a hurry." Logan muttered as he entered. "Someone was looking for something."
Scott, glancing over his shoulder, asked. "Were they searched Logan?"
"No." He said after sniffing the air. "Only the scents of the inhabitants are here." Slowly and carefully he began to investigate. "They went to Boomers."
"Your nose told you that." Scott asked, curiously walking up behind Logan.
Logan snapped angrily. "Careful kid! I don't really want them knowing we were snooping without permission. My nose didn't tell me where they went." He said calmly. "This did." He held up the nasty slip of paper.
"It's like too late for us not to know." A cool feminine voice said from the doorway.