Rogue has begun to hang out in St. John's room a lot. It's safe there, or at least feels like it. Plus, it really is filled with books. His small bookcase it crammed full, they're piled on his desk and chair, and fill a few boxes under his bed. Battered paperback romances, pristine classics in dust jackets, plays that just consist of a bunch of photocopied pages stapled together. He has a bit of everything, and more.
She lounges on the floor, reading Kafka, while St. John is stretched across his bed with a pen and a pad of paper, trying to write. Occasionally, he'll sigh, rip off a sheet, crumple it up, and toss it to the floor.
"So this Gregor Samsa guy," she asks him, though her eyes are still glued to the book. "He just wakes up lahk this? Lahk some bug?"
"Hey, it's not totally unbelievable..." St. John answers, somewhat distracted. "I mean, you haven't seen ME in the early morning yet..."
"It IS kinda lahk us, though," she goes on thoughtfully. "One day we're just normal kids, the next we're freaks with powers and everyone's 'fraid of us..." She thinks about the newspapers she's found lying around the house, with articles about mutants that range from saying mutants are just another link in the evolutionary chain to declaring them inhuman monsters, abominations to God.
"Miss Analytical..." he mutters in response. "Go join a university, why dontcha." He sits up and tosses her the pad of paper, which smacks her in the arm. She looks up and scowls at him. "Sorry. Would ya read it and tell me what ya think?"
"Sure," she says. She begins to read:
"It looked like a 'What Doesn't Belong In This Scene?' picture, he being barely more than a boy and looking like an angel. He had hair that was the color of the near-setting sun, eyes like the high-noon sky, and almost translucent ivory skin. He belonged at a girlfriend's house, or at a school dance, or at the Gap, not in the damp, dank alleys of Sydney, which were filled with the smell of rancid food and the shrill squeaks of rats being pounced on by rabid cats. But it was he who decided he should be there. With the other vermin, the boy told himself.
"He walked for hours, simply thinking, and waiting. On his fourth time walking down a certain ally, he stumbled upon something. Looking down, he saw..."
At that, St. John's story stops. "But what did he see?" Rogue asks.
St. John groans. "Well, that's where it gets hard...where the story really STARTS. The place where I always lose where I'm goin'."
"Too bad," she remarks. "Ah lahk what there is."
"Yeah? Jeez. Now you're forcin' me to spend more than five minutes on somethin'. Thanks a lot." He's trying to sound sarcastic, but underneath there's indication that he's actually pleased.
"Is Sydney really lahk that? Dark an' dirty?"
"Naw. I just needed a city people'd recognize. I was really describin' the capital of Genosha."
Every once in a while, the house will run out of a certain item. Then someone, usually Remy or St. John, but occasionally Sabertooth, will hop into the rusting blue truck and drive to the capital city, an hour away. The trip always ends up being an all-day adventure, the one undertaking it coming home dusty and exhausted.
"It's on the coast, like we are," St. John told her once. "But there're a lot of ports. It used to be that Genosha was wealthy from all the importin' and exportin', the ships that'd stop for supplies on their way to somewhere else. People worked by repairin' ships, buildin' ships, had inns and brothels for the sailors. But now more an' more is bein' sent by plane, an' Genosha's, y'know, obsolete. At least in the little towns, the people can get by with farmin' and fishin'. Everyone in the city is destitute."
It's a grim, sad picture. But when one of the boys drives off in that beat-up old pile of junk, Rogue watches from her window and wishes she was going too. It would mean leaving this house and playing at being free, even for just a few hours. She wants to be able to pretend. She needs to.
"Will ya take me next tahm?" she begs St. John.
"I don't think so," he answers, looking thoughtful and uneasy. "Didn't ya hear what I told you 'bout it? It's not exactly a nice place to go, y'know."
"Nicer than this!"
"Well, jeez! I know this ain't exactly Disneyland and I'm not Donald Duck, but I somehow prefer the ol' house to rubbish-filled streets and multitudes of dirty, hopeless wretches. That's just my opinion, of course."
"But it's OUTSIDE," Rogue murmurs, eyes welling up with tears. She wipes them away quickly, embarrassed by the show of emotion. "It's more FREE."
His stance softens at her outburst, and he sighs. "I'll see what I can do."
She grins, though still red-eyed and shaky. Times like this, she knows for sure that this is her best friend, captive or not. "Thank you," she says.
"Say it now," he mutters. "You might not say it when you actually see the city."
***
At least Remy has stopped bothering her. Honestly, he never really DID bother her, not too much, until the incident in the kitchen, but that was enough to make her keep her distance from then on. So now he doesn't make eye contact with her when they sit at the dining room table, sometimes leaves a room if she enters it. Rogue isn't exactly sure whether he's embarrassed by his outburst or angry at her for causing it, but St. John, O Mighty Protector, still watches him with a wary eye.
There is a division now, though. For a little while, the group of teens, excluding the Russian and Pietro, had been growing more friendly with each other, becoming something of a clique in a tiny world where the only other options were the Basement Three and the Lone Beast. But now there is Remy, Evan, and Fred downstairs, and St. John and Rogue upstairs, with almost no interaction.
The reality of that hurts her more than she could have expected it to. While she has never been the closest of friends with either Fred or Evan, inwardly she expected some loyalty. It didn't even have to be complete, maybe just a nod to her in the morning in greeting. She had been in the Brotherhood. She was (is, IS!) an X-Man. Yet they are snubbing her completely. Like she was the one who yelled, the one who bruised his wrist.
Rogue wonders how things will be between them if they ever get back to Bayville. She can never forget this, just as she never forgets any slight. She still burns at the thought of the girl who pushed her into the mud in the third grade, rages on the inside over the mockery of a boy when she first started dressing like a Goth. But this seems worse. Right now, it stings more.
She misses them, and they're so close.
***
Rogue crosses the hall from St. John's room to hers. It's getting rather late, and she's tired after reading classic literature all day. There's a lot to think about now, giant cockroaches and weak families and lost hope. Yet "The Metamorphosis" is one of the best books she's ever read.
She opens her door and steps inside, a totally natural thing that requires no thinking, but this time she stops in her tracks. On the table beside her bed, propped up against the lamp, is a picture. A picture of her.
Rogue slowly walks up to it and takes it in her hand, studying it closely. There's no denying that it's her, with the short hair and collar. Besides, it just plain resembles her. Done in pencil on a plain white sheet of paper, she's been made to resemble a Burne-Jones woman, with a wan face dominated by large, sad eyes and full lips. It has never occurred to her before, not in her entire life, that she could be pretty, until now.
But who did this? The answer is clear - near the top in a caption in characters she can't decipher, and at the bottom is a signature in the same language.
This is the work of the Russian.
To be continued...
**Author's Notes:
greenstarlet - Here's a look of Rogue being smart. There should be more of this coming up. I hope chapter 6 eventually loaded!
evolutionary spider - 1) No. 2) That's good. 3) Good question. We'll have to see. 4) I imagine that the others Evo people want to come to the rescure, but have no idea how or where they are. Magneto just picked a damn good hiding place this time.
kitana - I'm pleased that you and Cyclops are happy with everything!
gub/Lucky/everyone else who likes Piotr - Well, judging from how this chapter ends, there'll be more of him coming up!
Randi - While I don't like my grandfather and sex stores occupying my thoughts at the same time, yes, ,he's from New Orleans. He sounds nothing like Remy did in the original cartoon, but does like a good bowl of gumbo.
Phoenix - Bah! I'll make you hate Gambit yet! ;)
Icy - Piotr was looking at Rogue so he could draw the picture! Hahaha, I used foreshadowing! Or something. Gambit was just really frustrated with her. He's not a completely bad guy, see. But there was no excuse for what he did, still. No means no, Remy. The basement project is a mystery, and I think St. John's room is separate because that's comfortable for him. He doesn't want to get tempted by the other guys, after all.
rollo - I always thought of Gambit as rather forceful, just not in the physical sense.
Christy - St. John and Rogue are not a couple, because Pyro is gay! I can understand how it might seem that way though, since they're always together. And I thought about the Piotr suggestion, but I'm not sure if I want to go about it that way. You'd think he'd get lonely and finally talk if he could, wouldn't you? Maybe it's just me.
Sorry for the several day wait...computer troubles. I have no idea what's going to happen in the next chapter, but it'll be out soon. Also, remember, if you want to be on my Update Alert List, just give me your email address and I'll put you on it right away. Oh, and everyone should read "The Metamorphosis." That's an amazing work of literature.**
She lounges on the floor, reading Kafka, while St. John is stretched across his bed with a pen and a pad of paper, trying to write. Occasionally, he'll sigh, rip off a sheet, crumple it up, and toss it to the floor.
"So this Gregor Samsa guy," she asks him, though her eyes are still glued to the book. "He just wakes up lahk this? Lahk some bug?"
"Hey, it's not totally unbelievable..." St. John answers, somewhat distracted. "I mean, you haven't seen ME in the early morning yet..."
"It IS kinda lahk us, though," she goes on thoughtfully. "One day we're just normal kids, the next we're freaks with powers and everyone's 'fraid of us..." She thinks about the newspapers she's found lying around the house, with articles about mutants that range from saying mutants are just another link in the evolutionary chain to declaring them inhuman monsters, abominations to God.
"Miss Analytical..." he mutters in response. "Go join a university, why dontcha." He sits up and tosses her the pad of paper, which smacks her in the arm. She looks up and scowls at him. "Sorry. Would ya read it and tell me what ya think?"
"Sure," she says. She begins to read:
"It looked like a 'What Doesn't Belong In This Scene?' picture, he being barely more than a boy and looking like an angel. He had hair that was the color of the near-setting sun, eyes like the high-noon sky, and almost translucent ivory skin. He belonged at a girlfriend's house, or at a school dance, or at the Gap, not in the damp, dank alleys of Sydney, which were filled with the smell of rancid food and the shrill squeaks of rats being pounced on by rabid cats. But it was he who decided he should be there. With the other vermin, the boy told himself.
"He walked for hours, simply thinking, and waiting. On his fourth time walking down a certain ally, he stumbled upon something. Looking down, he saw..."
At that, St. John's story stops. "But what did he see?" Rogue asks.
St. John groans. "Well, that's where it gets hard...where the story really STARTS. The place where I always lose where I'm goin'."
"Too bad," she remarks. "Ah lahk what there is."
"Yeah? Jeez. Now you're forcin' me to spend more than five minutes on somethin'. Thanks a lot." He's trying to sound sarcastic, but underneath there's indication that he's actually pleased.
"Is Sydney really lahk that? Dark an' dirty?"
"Naw. I just needed a city people'd recognize. I was really describin' the capital of Genosha."
Every once in a while, the house will run out of a certain item. Then someone, usually Remy or St. John, but occasionally Sabertooth, will hop into the rusting blue truck and drive to the capital city, an hour away. The trip always ends up being an all-day adventure, the one undertaking it coming home dusty and exhausted.
"It's on the coast, like we are," St. John told her once. "But there're a lot of ports. It used to be that Genosha was wealthy from all the importin' and exportin', the ships that'd stop for supplies on their way to somewhere else. People worked by repairin' ships, buildin' ships, had inns and brothels for the sailors. But now more an' more is bein' sent by plane, an' Genosha's, y'know, obsolete. At least in the little towns, the people can get by with farmin' and fishin'. Everyone in the city is destitute."
It's a grim, sad picture. But when one of the boys drives off in that beat-up old pile of junk, Rogue watches from her window and wishes she was going too. It would mean leaving this house and playing at being free, even for just a few hours. She wants to be able to pretend. She needs to.
"Will ya take me next tahm?" she begs St. John.
"I don't think so," he answers, looking thoughtful and uneasy. "Didn't ya hear what I told you 'bout it? It's not exactly a nice place to go, y'know."
"Nicer than this!"
"Well, jeez! I know this ain't exactly Disneyland and I'm not Donald Duck, but I somehow prefer the ol' house to rubbish-filled streets and multitudes of dirty, hopeless wretches. That's just my opinion, of course."
"But it's OUTSIDE," Rogue murmurs, eyes welling up with tears. She wipes them away quickly, embarrassed by the show of emotion. "It's more FREE."
His stance softens at her outburst, and he sighs. "I'll see what I can do."
She grins, though still red-eyed and shaky. Times like this, she knows for sure that this is her best friend, captive or not. "Thank you," she says.
"Say it now," he mutters. "You might not say it when you actually see the city."
***
At least Remy has stopped bothering her. Honestly, he never really DID bother her, not too much, until the incident in the kitchen, but that was enough to make her keep her distance from then on. So now he doesn't make eye contact with her when they sit at the dining room table, sometimes leaves a room if she enters it. Rogue isn't exactly sure whether he's embarrassed by his outburst or angry at her for causing it, but St. John, O Mighty Protector, still watches him with a wary eye.
There is a division now, though. For a little while, the group of teens, excluding the Russian and Pietro, had been growing more friendly with each other, becoming something of a clique in a tiny world where the only other options were the Basement Three and the Lone Beast. But now there is Remy, Evan, and Fred downstairs, and St. John and Rogue upstairs, with almost no interaction.
The reality of that hurts her more than she could have expected it to. While she has never been the closest of friends with either Fred or Evan, inwardly she expected some loyalty. It didn't even have to be complete, maybe just a nod to her in the morning in greeting. She had been in the Brotherhood. She was (is, IS!) an X-Man. Yet they are snubbing her completely. Like she was the one who yelled, the one who bruised his wrist.
Rogue wonders how things will be between them if they ever get back to Bayville. She can never forget this, just as she never forgets any slight. She still burns at the thought of the girl who pushed her into the mud in the third grade, rages on the inside over the mockery of a boy when she first started dressing like a Goth. But this seems worse. Right now, it stings more.
She misses them, and they're so close.
***
Rogue crosses the hall from St. John's room to hers. It's getting rather late, and she's tired after reading classic literature all day. There's a lot to think about now, giant cockroaches and weak families and lost hope. Yet "The Metamorphosis" is one of the best books she's ever read.
She opens her door and steps inside, a totally natural thing that requires no thinking, but this time she stops in her tracks. On the table beside her bed, propped up against the lamp, is a picture. A picture of her.
Rogue slowly walks up to it and takes it in her hand, studying it closely. There's no denying that it's her, with the short hair and collar. Besides, it just plain resembles her. Done in pencil on a plain white sheet of paper, she's been made to resemble a Burne-Jones woman, with a wan face dominated by large, sad eyes and full lips. It has never occurred to her before, not in her entire life, that she could be pretty, until now.
But who did this? The answer is clear - near the top in a caption in characters she can't decipher, and at the bottom is a signature in the same language.
This is the work of the Russian.
To be continued...
**Author's Notes:
greenstarlet - Here's a look of Rogue being smart. There should be more of this coming up. I hope chapter 6 eventually loaded!
evolutionary spider - 1) No. 2) That's good. 3) Good question. We'll have to see. 4) I imagine that the others Evo people want to come to the rescure, but have no idea how or where they are. Magneto just picked a damn good hiding place this time.
kitana - I'm pleased that you and Cyclops are happy with everything!
gub/Lucky/everyone else who likes Piotr - Well, judging from how this chapter ends, there'll be more of him coming up!
Randi - While I don't like my grandfather and sex stores occupying my thoughts at the same time, yes, ,he's from New Orleans. He sounds nothing like Remy did in the original cartoon, but does like a good bowl of gumbo.
Phoenix - Bah! I'll make you hate Gambit yet! ;)
Icy - Piotr was looking at Rogue so he could draw the picture! Hahaha, I used foreshadowing! Or something. Gambit was just really frustrated with her. He's not a completely bad guy, see. But there was no excuse for what he did, still. No means no, Remy. The basement project is a mystery, and I think St. John's room is separate because that's comfortable for him. He doesn't want to get tempted by the other guys, after all.
rollo - I always thought of Gambit as rather forceful, just not in the physical sense.
Christy - St. John and Rogue are not a couple, because Pyro is gay! I can understand how it might seem that way though, since they're always together. And I thought about the Piotr suggestion, but I'm not sure if I want to go about it that way. You'd think he'd get lonely and finally talk if he could, wouldn't you? Maybe it's just me.
Sorry for the several day wait...computer troubles. I have no idea what's going to happen in the next chapter, but it'll be out soon. Also, remember, if you want to be on my Update Alert List, just give me your email address and I'll put you on it right away. Oh, and everyone should read "The Metamorphosis." That's an amazing work of literature.**