Rogue examines the boy silently for a few moments before answering, "Hey."
Except for his shockingly bright red hair, he looks like a straw, extremely thin and somewhat tall. Even his face is long, with a pointed chin that he has raised, pointed at the girl before him. Leaning against the doorway, his arms are crossed and his eyes are filled with laughter. But she remembers him from before, with his fire, when his eyes were full of perverse adoration for the flames. She won't go near him.
"We never thought you'd be comin' out," he says. Interestingly, he has an Australian accent. "We have a pool goin', in fact, on when we'd see you. Hey, what time is it?" He looks down at his wristwatch, apparently not really expecting an answer from her. "Gear! I won it! That means I get five pounds."
Rogue is silent, studying him warily.
"Oh, I'm St. John, by the way." He pronounces it "Sin Jin."
She doesn't answer.
"Huh. Not much of a conversationalist, I guess." He runs his hand across his hair before going on, "Well, okay. It's all right if you don't like me. But steer clear of Gambit. All he ever talks about is scoring with sheilas an' stuff. You maybe shouldn't trust him."
"But I can trust YOU?" Rogue finally asks sarcastically.
St. John grins wryly. "So NOW she speaks. Well..." He shifts his weight nervously and stares at his feet, suddenly uncomfortable. "Well, you don't need to worry about me. I'm not...I'm not really into GIRLS. Y'know?"
Under normal circumstances, she probably wouldn't quite believe such a claim from a guy she just met, especially a guy who hasn't been around girls for a while and has something to gain from a female trusting him. But there's something in the way he carries himself, his stance, that tells her that St. John has known a certain kind of persecution before, a kind that has nothing to do with his being a mutant.
"But don't tell the other guys, okay? I don't want them to think..." The desperate fear that flashes in his eyes confirms it for her.
"Don't worry 'bout it," she says.
A look of relief washes over his face, and his shoulders relax. "Thanks. And look, I'm sorry I just started in on you the first second you stepped out. It's just that I'm SO hungry for an intelligent convo, y'know? The boss an' his kid are always downstairs, Sabertooth scares the bejeezus out of me, Gambit's an ass, and the big guy can't even speak English. So then YOU guys show up, and the REALLY big guy - y'know, Freddy - an' Spyke kind of drifted over to Gambit right off (an' no offense, but they don't really seem the brightest bulbs anyway), an' the Beast is sort of standoffish, on his own. You're my last hope. I've been basically silent for the last couple of weeks or so, so now I'm just talking and talking and talking to you, an'...an' I guess I should stop now." He scratches his head.
Inwardly, she smiles. "It's okay. Ah haven't really had anyone ta talk ta in a while either."
"Yeah, you were in that Sentinel place. For, like, a month."
"A month? Seriously?"
"Since we fought, right? That was a little over a month ago."
She has to place a hand against the wall, since she's suddenly dizzy. "A month. A whole month?" A chunk of her life has gone by, and she can't remember almost any of it. The thought occurs to her that anything could have happened to her, been done to her, during that time...it's terrifying.
"Yes. Are you all right?" St. John cocks his head, a look of mild concern gracing his features.
"Ah'm...yeah. Ah'm okay."
"Uh, you sure? I could help you to your - "
"NO! No, ah'm fine!" Rogue pictures him laughing with his fire, the mad glint in his eyes. She can't afford to trust him.
"Well, um, jeez. Okay." His eyes widen slightly. "It's dinner time now. Could you go for some dinner? Would that be favorable with you?" Despite her outburst, there's still humor in his voice.
"Dinner?" Involuntarily, her stomach rumbles. Loudly.
"Heh. I guess so. C'mon." He walks down the hall, and she can hear him go down some stairs.
She follows. He's right, after all.
***
"Okay," St. John says when they're in the kitchen. "Here's the deal. The meals are pretty simple 'round these parts." He stands next to a large microwave on a counter and pats it amiably. "This fella is our best friend. He cooks all the meals, see, since no o' us have any skills in the kitchen. And this lady..." St. John steps over to a huge metal refrigerator and opens the freezer compartment. "Is another fine mate. Full of tasty things." The freezer is packed with frozen meals, jammed from top to bottom. "I think tonight I'll partake of...Salisbury Steak. Mmm, in delicious liquidy stuff, too. Is it gravy or just brown water? The mystery makes my palate tingle in anticipation." He turns back to Rogue and grins a bit. "How about you? What's your pleasure?"
"Um, ah dunno. Ah'm not, eh, well versed with frozen food."
"I see. Well then, I would suggest the fried chicken dinner. A classic, it is." He takes a box from the middle of the stack, slams the door shut, and rips the package open. "Put it in the micro, press a few buttons..." He follows his own instructions. "An' dinner in a minute."
"All the food's this kinda stuff?"
"Oh, no, of course not. For breakfast we eat cold cereal."
"God..."
"No, I don't think so. If He were involved, I think the food'd be better."
Rogue represses a smirk. There's something about St. John, who's tapping the counter in mock anticipation, that she likes. If things were different and he were maybe a new student at the Institute, she'd be the one showing him the ropes, the one trying desperately to make him feel at home despite how uncomfortable he may feel. Maybe she'd invite him to sit with her and Risty at lunch when he started school, being a fellow misfit and all. But that isn't the case at all.
You can't trust him, she thinks. So don't. He's part of Magneto's team.
The microwave dings. St. John reaches in and carefully takes out the plastic plate. "Lovely. Now do mine."
"Huh?"
"I cooked yours, so you cook mine. Fair is fair, sheila."
"Fine." In a few seconds, St. John's steak is steadily being nuked.
"You're a natural. You'll eat just fine here."
"Good to know."
From outside the kitchen, footsteps slowly make their way towards the door. Rogue's eyes widen, and she nervously grips the edge of the counter. Who is it this time? Someone else to deal with now. She turns to watch the door.
"Eh, don't worry about it," St. John remarks lightly, eyes never leaving the microwave's timer. "It's only the Russian."
To be continued...
**Author's Note - I'm sorry. Obviously, I'm ill-equipped to do an Australian accent. Don't expect much better when I have to do Russian. It's just a lost cause. I'm not entirely pleased with this chapter, so if you guys like it, please smother me with compliments so I can get my confidence back in time for Chapter 4. I've discovered I love St. John, though. Oh, and I realize that most writers just call him John. And that's fine. It's a more realistic name, after all. I would just like to point out to everyone that St. John is a really cool name.**
Except for his shockingly bright red hair, he looks like a straw, extremely thin and somewhat tall. Even his face is long, with a pointed chin that he has raised, pointed at the girl before him. Leaning against the doorway, his arms are crossed and his eyes are filled with laughter. But she remembers him from before, with his fire, when his eyes were full of perverse adoration for the flames. She won't go near him.
"We never thought you'd be comin' out," he says. Interestingly, he has an Australian accent. "We have a pool goin', in fact, on when we'd see you. Hey, what time is it?" He looks down at his wristwatch, apparently not really expecting an answer from her. "Gear! I won it! That means I get five pounds."
Rogue is silent, studying him warily.
"Oh, I'm St. John, by the way." He pronounces it "Sin Jin."
She doesn't answer.
"Huh. Not much of a conversationalist, I guess." He runs his hand across his hair before going on, "Well, okay. It's all right if you don't like me. But steer clear of Gambit. All he ever talks about is scoring with sheilas an' stuff. You maybe shouldn't trust him."
"But I can trust YOU?" Rogue finally asks sarcastically.
St. John grins wryly. "So NOW she speaks. Well..." He shifts his weight nervously and stares at his feet, suddenly uncomfortable. "Well, you don't need to worry about me. I'm not...I'm not really into GIRLS. Y'know?"
Under normal circumstances, she probably wouldn't quite believe such a claim from a guy she just met, especially a guy who hasn't been around girls for a while and has something to gain from a female trusting him. But there's something in the way he carries himself, his stance, that tells her that St. John has known a certain kind of persecution before, a kind that has nothing to do with his being a mutant.
"But don't tell the other guys, okay? I don't want them to think..." The desperate fear that flashes in his eyes confirms it for her.
"Don't worry 'bout it," she says.
A look of relief washes over his face, and his shoulders relax. "Thanks. And look, I'm sorry I just started in on you the first second you stepped out. It's just that I'm SO hungry for an intelligent convo, y'know? The boss an' his kid are always downstairs, Sabertooth scares the bejeezus out of me, Gambit's an ass, and the big guy can't even speak English. So then YOU guys show up, and the REALLY big guy - y'know, Freddy - an' Spyke kind of drifted over to Gambit right off (an' no offense, but they don't really seem the brightest bulbs anyway), an' the Beast is sort of standoffish, on his own. You're my last hope. I've been basically silent for the last couple of weeks or so, so now I'm just talking and talking and talking to you, an'...an' I guess I should stop now." He scratches his head.
Inwardly, she smiles. "It's okay. Ah haven't really had anyone ta talk ta in a while either."
"Yeah, you were in that Sentinel place. For, like, a month."
"A month? Seriously?"
"Since we fought, right? That was a little over a month ago."
She has to place a hand against the wall, since she's suddenly dizzy. "A month. A whole month?" A chunk of her life has gone by, and she can't remember almost any of it. The thought occurs to her that anything could have happened to her, been done to her, during that time...it's terrifying.
"Yes. Are you all right?" St. John cocks his head, a look of mild concern gracing his features.
"Ah'm...yeah. Ah'm okay."
"Uh, you sure? I could help you to your - "
"NO! No, ah'm fine!" Rogue pictures him laughing with his fire, the mad glint in his eyes. She can't afford to trust him.
"Well, um, jeez. Okay." His eyes widen slightly. "It's dinner time now. Could you go for some dinner? Would that be favorable with you?" Despite her outburst, there's still humor in his voice.
"Dinner?" Involuntarily, her stomach rumbles. Loudly.
"Heh. I guess so. C'mon." He walks down the hall, and she can hear him go down some stairs.
She follows. He's right, after all.
***
"Okay," St. John says when they're in the kitchen. "Here's the deal. The meals are pretty simple 'round these parts." He stands next to a large microwave on a counter and pats it amiably. "This fella is our best friend. He cooks all the meals, see, since no o' us have any skills in the kitchen. And this lady..." St. John steps over to a huge metal refrigerator and opens the freezer compartment. "Is another fine mate. Full of tasty things." The freezer is packed with frozen meals, jammed from top to bottom. "I think tonight I'll partake of...Salisbury Steak. Mmm, in delicious liquidy stuff, too. Is it gravy or just brown water? The mystery makes my palate tingle in anticipation." He turns back to Rogue and grins a bit. "How about you? What's your pleasure?"
"Um, ah dunno. Ah'm not, eh, well versed with frozen food."
"I see. Well then, I would suggest the fried chicken dinner. A classic, it is." He takes a box from the middle of the stack, slams the door shut, and rips the package open. "Put it in the micro, press a few buttons..." He follows his own instructions. "An' dinner in a minute."
"All the food's this kinda stuff?"
"Oh, no, of course not. For breakfast we eat cold cereal."
"God..."
"No, I don't think so. If He were involved, I think the food'd be better."
Rogue represses a smirk. There's something about St. John, who's tapping the counter in mock anticipation, that she likes. If things were different and he were maybe a new student at the Institute, she'd be the one showing him the ropes, the one trying desperately to make him feel at home despite how uncomfortable he may feel. Maybe she'd invite him to sit with her and Risty at lunch when he started school, being a fellow misfit and all. But that isn't the case at all.
You can't trust him, she thinks. So don't. He's part of Magneto's team.
The microwave dings. St. John reaches in and carefully takes out the plastic plate. "Lovely. Now do mine."
"Huh?"
"I cooked yours, so you cook mine. Fair is fair, sheila."
"Fine." In a few seconds, St. John's steak is steadily being nuked.
"You're a natural. You'll eat just fine here."
"Good to know."
From outside the kitchen, footsteps slowly make their way towards the door. Rogue's eyes widen, and she nervously grips the edge of the counter. Who is it this time? Someone else to deal with now. She turns to watch the door.
"Eh, don't worry about it," St. John remarks lightly, eyes never leaving the microwave's timer. "It's only the Russian."
To be continued...
**Author's Note - I'm sorry. Obviously, I'm ill-equipped to do an Australian accent. Don't expect much better when I have to do Russian. It's just a lost cause. I'm not entirely pleased with this chapter, so if you guys like it, please smother me with compliments so I can get my confidence back in time for Chapter 4. I've discovered I love St. John, though. Oh, and I realize that most writers just call him John. And that's fine. It's a more realistic name, after all. I would just like to point out to everyone that St. John is a really cool name.**