Hi Folks.
How is everyone? I'm doing ok. Got my first flame yesterday though. Boy, did it ever make me mad/sad/confused/hurt. Those things SUCK! Ok. I feel better now. *grins*
Pendragon: Wow, thanx for the review! Glad you like this. Not exactly certain how it'll go, but I'll keep it up, ok? *grins* I really like your username. Very original and cool!
Twistedmind*: Hey, I know you're reading this, even if you're not reviwing, so I wanted to say HI and keep up the great work on Change for a Dollar (a MUST read for any of ya'll out there readin' this!)
And now, we continue:
Disclaimer: Yes, I did forget this in the first chapter, however, no one can sue me, because I have it now. I do not own the X-Men, or any of their affiliations (such as Lady Mastermind, Emma Frost, etc.). They all belong to the geniuses at Marvel. I DO however own Rachael and a few others, so just ask me before using them, K?
The night sky was alive, dancing and twirling with lights and noise, alight with flames and illumination, completely re-made and re-produced to have a Hollywood effect.
The stars above were hazy with cigarette smoke, the velvety sky wrinkled and dizzy with heat. All along the small, dirty street people were gathered, dancing and singing raucously, drunkenly shouting to one another in greeting and shoving each other while laughing hysterically.
Every person there was eighteen or older, except for a few juniors and seniors form the local highschool who'd managed to sneak out of their rooms to party.
The youngest person there was a small six-year-old girl who stayed against a back wall, hands clutched at her sides, eyes wide with confusion and anxiety. She was used to her mother's Saturday night outings, but she hated them all the same. She nervously reached out and tugged on her young mother's short leather skirt, "Mommy? Mommy, can I wait in the car?"
Of course, her hesitant voice was drowned out by the loud braying of the drunk party-goers.
The child sat back and bit her lip, watching in disgust as a fill-grown man began slurring stupidly about how he'd robed a bank earlier in the day; he was bound ot get caught if he didn't keep his voice down.
All down the street, lanterns were lit and teenagers smoked, filling the dark alleys with flickering dots of light that went from their mouths to the street in minutes.
The child tried again, latching onto her mother's very-exposed leg, "Mommy? Mommy, I wanna go in the car. Can I please, Mommy?"
Her mother pushed her away as she continued speaking to the group assembled before her; she was talking about one of her 'career' experiences.
"Mommy, I wanna go in the car-"
Her mother raised her voice, annoyed, casting her daughter a furious glare.
The girl slumped to the ground, defeated, wrapping her arms around her knees and leaning against her mom's legs with a sad sigh; she wished she could get as much as attention as her mother did.
Somewhere nearby, somebody turned up the volume on a boom box, and music began throbbing through the crowd, pulsing through them and causing a wave of dancing to ripple through them.
The child stood as her mother began dancing with a man nearby and stumbled over to a clear space, crossing her arms and leaning back; she knew better than to stay in the midst of a dance party.
Someone as small as her could get killed.
She seriously considered forgetting about her mom and going over to the car by herself, but she knew that the stupidity of her decision would only get her killed anyway, so she simply stayed where she was, watching her mother.
In reality, her mom was a very beautiful woman; the kind of femme fatale any man would fall for.
Her body was slender and tall, somehow managing to stay shaped through years of drug use, smoking, and drinking. She had a long, oval face with full scarlet lips and a heart-stopping smile.
Her eyelashes fenced in great, deep pools of blue that shone with mischief and hid secrets that no one could quite find out. Her hair was long and sleek, falling back fomr her face in a ebony cascade. As she danced with the stranger, the child slowly let her head hang; she would never be beautiful like her mom.
Never.
She had gotten her looks from her father.
She was short, with her baby fat still clinging desperately to her form. Her face was round and chubby, often tinged slightly red. Her hair was always cut just below her ears and hung in auburn curls, mostly hiding the one feature she had inherited form her gorgeous mother: her eyes.
Those dark, secretive, jade eyes that made everyone stop deasd in their tracks when they actually caught a glimpse of them.
But they hardly did.
The child was known to keep her head down as her chubby little hand clutched her mother's slim fingers while they walked down the street; she was ashamed.
Ashamed of her looks, of her personality, of her voice, of herself.
She loathed herself.
And she didn't know why.
IN the midst of the young girl's disturbing thoughts, her mother came over, gasping and flushed with excitement, fanning herself as she sat down next to her daughter, "Having fun."
Slowly the girl shook her head, "I wanna go in the car, Mommy."
"Why?"
"There's too many people."
Her mother scoffed, waving her daughter's worries away with a sweep of her hand, "Quit your anxieties. I have great news."
Slowly, the woman leaned forward, lifting her daughter's face up and smiling broadly, "I got a costumer tonight, Rachael! Isn't that great?!?"
Rachael forced an ecstatic grin, "That's great, Mom."
Her mother cocker her head, frowning slightly as she brushed a curl away from her daughter's eyes, "You know what?"
"What?"
"I.I think you have.my eyes."
Rachael's heart leapt, her blood rushing to her cheeks, her eyes shining brightly in hope, "R-really? I do?"
Her mom nodded slowly, biting her lip, "Yes.but that's all. You're too chubby a thing to look much like me. You're definitely your father's girl."
Rachael's face fell and she averted her gaze, blinking back tears, "I know."
"You know something, I think we need to put you on a diet. You just keep gaining more and more weight, no matter what I do. And your hair is just impossible!" her mother exclaimed, grabbing a handful of the bouncy locks and letting them fall into place, "Their like mattress springs!"
Rachael nodded in agreement, "I know."
"And I really hope your freckles go away. Men just don't go for freckles."
By then, her mom had stood and was joining another man at a nearby bar.
Rachael slowly stood and wandered over to the quietest part of the street, where almost no one was. Once there, she allowed a few warm tears to trickle down her plump, freckled cheeks.
She knew that she would never measure up to her mother's standards.
She was worthless.
Slowly, she glanced into a nearby mirror, where a few women were fixing their hair.
An ugly, too-fat girl stared back.
Rachael's face collapsed in an explosion of sobs and she turned, collapsing on a nearby chair and covering her face with her hands.
The self-loathing she felt was just too powerful for her size, and it was overwhelming to a point of exhaustion.
At one point, the nearby women stared at her, clicked their tongues, babbled some, and then walked away, but Rachael never noticed; she was too enveloped in her misery.
It wasn't until a light, gentle touch landed on her shoulder that she looked up, tears still streaming down her face.
Before her stood a young man, maybe older teens, with disheveled brown hair and concerned green eyes.
What Rachael noticed was the too-big brown trench coat he wore over his clothes.
The man kneeled next to her, immediately holding her face between his hands and wiping her tears away with his thumbs, "Eh, now, what's all dis about? Why you cryin'?"
Raised the way she was, with a mother who could care less about her, Rachael had never learned not to talk to strangers, so she tearfully replied, "I.I just.I'm tired of bein' so ugly!"
The man looked truly surprised at her response, and he smiled kindly, "Eh, now, who told you dat you ugly? You gotta be da prettiest ting I ever see round here."
Rachael stared at him, stunned; was he blind?
She asked him honestly, "Are you blind, Mister?"
The man laughed, "No, no, I see fine. I not blind. And none o' dat mista stuff. Call me Gambit."
"Ok, Gambit."
"Listen, now, Missy, you no way ugly. Whoever say dat is either blind, dumb, or jealous. Or maybe all three."
Rachael giggled slightly, sniffling.
"You just listen to Gambit and know dat you da prettiest ting dis side o' the Pacific."
"I am?" Rachael asked doubtfully, glancing back in the mirror.
Gambit nodded urgently, "Oh yes. Defintely. And believe me, I seen quite a few pretty little tings, but none o' dem quite match up to you, Missy."
Rachael turned to him, beaming broadly, a strange warmth spreading form her chest to her cheeks.
Gambit grinned and winked at her, leaning forward and kissing her cheek.
Rachael tilted her head to the side, touching her face, "What was that for?"
"Dat? Dat was a kiss, Silly."
"How come I got one?"
"Cuz you just da prettiest ting, and I wanna be able to tell all my friends dat I got to kiss you."
Gambit laughed, and then turning Rachael, pointed at the mirror, "You see dat mark on your cheek, Cherie?"
Rachael nodded, "YWhere you kissed me?The brown one?"
"Yea. Dat a sunkiss. Dat'll never go away, cuz it means dat you day prettiest. And it means dat every boy gonna go after you when da time comes."
Rachael grinned, touching the mark on her cheek and facing Gambit, "Thank you, Gambit."
"You welcome. Now, you get back to your mommy and you remember what I told you, ok?"
Rachael nodded, excitement coursing through her veins as she raced through the crowds, the mark on her cheek seeming to burn with some kind of newfound beauty.
Did you think that story was corny?
Well, too bad.
That night changed my life.
I went form completely hating myself to thinking I was maybe at least better than my mom (especially after she slapped me for wandering off and told me that the 'sunkiss' was just a splotch of mud; it never did go away, by the way).
For the first few years of my life (and maybe even for a few years after that night) I had zero self-confidence and no pride in myself.
I thought I was the worst person ever.
And then Gambit changed my life.
I don't know who he is or where he is or even if he's just something I made up in my six-year-old mind, but he changed my life.
After my first week alone, I was pretty much a pro at street living.
I knew where the best places to sleep were, where people would give me free food (and where they would scream at me and attempt to beat me up if I asked for free food), where the cheapest clothes and shoes were, where the weirdoes of the city were (they were everywhere if you're curious), and even where the best restrooms were (you'd be surprised; some are just totally worth a half mile's walk).
I had set up a nice little space for myself in this mutilated section under a interstate bridge. No one bigger than me could possibly enter into it, but it was very roomy once you got inside. It was like crawling though an oversized mouse hole and into a cave.
Inside, I had set up a few blankets (I'd bought some and dug a few out of the garbage; yea, they stunk, but I wads desperate) for my bed, bought a backpack with my clothes in them, gotten a few nonperishable food items (you know, like bread and bread and bread and fruit and bread and jam and bread and peanut butter...needless to say, I lived on PBJs for quite a while), some bathroom stuff, a basin of water, and even a few books (I stole them from the library.so kill me! I was BORED!).
I had myself I pretty nice place-it was safe, dry, not to hot or cold, it had food and a bed.it was great. Plus, no adult (or anyone above 5'') could possibly squeeze their way into my little 'cubby'.
So imagine my surprise when one night, during a terrible thunderstorm, I crawled into my home to find a group of menacing-looking women standing in my 'house'.
One of them smiled demonically at me, walking fluidly forward with a rope in her hand, "Welcome home, Rachael. We've been expecting you."
How is everyone? I'm doing ok. Got my first flame yesterday though. Boy, did it ever make me mad/sad/confused/hurt. Those things SUCK! Ok. I feel better now. *grins*
Pendragon: Wow, thanx for the review! Glad you like this. Not exactly certain how it'll go, but I'll keep it up, ok? *grins* I really like your username. Very original and cool!
Twistedmind*: Hey, I know you're reading this, even if you're not reviwing, so I wanted to say HI and keep up the great work on Change for a Dollar (a MUST read for any of ya'll out there readin' this!)
And now, we continue:
Disclaimer: Yes, I did forget this in the first chapter, however, no one can sue me, because I have it now. I do not own the X-Men, or any of their affiliations (such as Lady Mastermind, Emma Frost, etc.). They all belong to the geniuses at Marvel. I DO however own Rachael and a few others, so just ask me before using them, K?
The night sky was alive, dancing and twirling with lights and noise, alight with flames and illumination, completely re-made and re-produced to have a Hollywood effect.
The stars above were hazy with cigarette smoke, the velvety sky wrinkled and dizzy with heat. All along the small, dirty street people were gathered, dancing and singing raucously, drunkenly shouting to one another in greeting and shoving each other while laughing hysterically.
Every person there was eighteen or older, except for a few juniors and seniors form the local highschool who'd managed to sneak out of their rooms to party.
The youngest person there was a small six-year-old girl who stayed against a back wall, hands clutched at her sides, eyes wide with confusion and anxiety. She was used to her mother's Saturday night outings, but she hated them all the same. She nervously reached out and tugged on her young mother's short leather skirt, "Mommy? Mommy, can I wait in the car?"
Of course, her hesitant voice was drowned out by the loud braying of the drunk party-goers.
The child sat back and bit her lip, watching in disgust as a fill-grown man began slurring stupidly about how he'd robed a bank earlier in the day; he was bound ot get caught if he didn't keep his voice down.
All down the street, lanterns were lit and teenagers smoked, filling the dark alleys with flickering dots of light that went from their mouths to the street in minutes.
The child tried again, latching onto her mother's very-exposed leg, "Mommy? Mommy, I wanna go in the car. Can I please, Mommy?"
Her mother pushed her away as she continued speaking to the group assembled before her; she was talking about one of her 'career' experiences.
"Mommy, I wanna go in the car-"
Her mother raised her voice, annoyed, casting her daughter a furious glare.
The girl slumped to the ground, defeated, wrapping her arms around her knees and leaning against her mom's legs with a sad sigh; she wished she could get as much as attention as her mother did.
Somewhere nearby, somebody turned up the volume on a boom box, and music began throbbing through the crowd, pulsing through them and causing a wave of dancing to ripple through them.
The child stood as her mother began dancing with a man nearby and stumbled over to a clear space, crossing her arms and leaning back; she knew better than to stay in the midst of a dance party.
Someone as small as her could get killed.
She seriously considered forgetting about her mom and going over to the car by herself, but she knew that the stupidity of her decision would only get her killed anyway, so she simply stayed where she was, watching her mother.
In reality, her mom was a very beautiful woman; the kind of femme fatale any man would fall for.
Her body was slender and tall, somehow managing to stay shaped through years of drug use, smoking, and drinking. She had a long, oval face with full scarlet lips and a heart-stopping smile.
Her eyelashes fenced in great, deep pools of blue that shone with mischief and hid secrets that no one could quite find out. Her hair was long and sleek, falling back fomr her face in a ebony cascade. As she danced with the stranger, the child slowly let her head hang; she would never be beautiful like her mom.
Never.
She had gotten her looks from her father.
She was short, with her baby fat still clinging desperately to her form. Her face was round and chubby, often tinged slightly red. Her hair was always cut just below her ears and hung in auburn curls, mostly hiding the one feature she had inherited form her gorgeous mother: her eyes.
Those dark, secretive, jade eyes that made everyone stop deasd in their tracks when they actually caught a glimpse of them.
But they hardly did.
The child was known to keep her head down as her chubby little hand clutched her mother's slim fingers while they walked down the street; she was ashamed.
Ashamed of her looks, of her personality, of her voice, of herself.
She loathed herself.
And she didn't know why.
IN the midst of the young girl's disturbing thoughts, her mother came over, gasping and flushed with excitement, fanning herself as she sat down next to her daughter, "Having fun."
Slowly the girl shook her head, "I wanna go in the car, Mommy."
"Why?"
"There's too many people."
Her mother scoffed, waving her daughter's worries away with a sweep of her hand, "Quit your anxieties. I have great news."
Slowly, the woman leaned forward, lifting her daughter's face up and smiling broadly, "I got a costumer tonight, Rachael! Isn't that great?!?"
Rachael forced an ecstatic grin, "That's great, Mom."
Her mother cocker her head, frowning slightly as she brushed a curl away from her daughter's eyes, "You know what?"
"What?"
"I.I think you have.my eyes."
Rachael's heart leapt, her blood rushing to her cheeks, her eyes shining brightly in hope, "R-really? I do?"
Her mom nodded slowly, biting her lip, "Yes.but that's all. You're too chubby a thing to look much like me. You're definitely your father's girl."
Rachael's face fell and she averted her gaze, blinking back tears, "I know."
"You know something, I think we need to put you on a diet. You just keep gaining more and more weight, no matter what I do. And your hair is just impossible!" her mother exclaimed, grabbing a handful of the bouncy locks and letting them fall into place, "Their like mattress springs!"
Rachael nodded in agreement, "I know."
"And I really hope your freckles go away. Men just don't go for freckles."
By then, her mom had stood and was joining another man at a nearby bar.
Rachael slowly stood and wandered over to the quietest part of the street, where almost no one was. Once there, she allowed a few warm tears to trickle down her plump, freckled cheeks.
She knew that she would never measure up to her mother's standards.
She was worthless.
Slowly, she glanced into a nearby mirror, where a few women were fixing their hair.
An ugly, too-fat girl stared back.
Rachael's face collapsed in an explosion of sobs and she turned, collapsing on a nearby chair and covering her face with her hands.
The self-loathing she felt was just too powerful for her size, and it was overwhelming to a point of exhaustion.
At one point, the nearby women stared at her, clicked their tongues, babbled some, and then walked away, but Rachael never noticed; she was too enveloped in her misery.
It wasn't until a light, gentle touch landed on her shoulder that she looked up, tears still streaming down her face.
Before her stood a young man, maybe older teens, with disheveled brown hair and concerned green eyes.
What Rachael noticed was the too-big brown trench coat he wore over his clothes.
The man kneeled next to her, immediately holding her face between his hands and wiping her tears away with his thumbs, "Eh, now, what's all dis about? Why you cryin'?"
Raised the way she was, with a mother who could care less about her, Rachael had never learned not to talk to strangers, so she tearfully replied, "I.I just.I'm tired of bein' so ugly!"
The man looked truly surprised at her response, and he smiled kindly, "Eh, now, who told you dat you ugly? You gotta be da prettiest ting I ever see round here."
Rachael stared at him, stunned; was he blind?
She asked him honestly, "Are you blind, Mister?"
The man laughed, "No, no, I see fine. I not blind. And none o' dat mista stuff. Call me Gambit."
"Ok, Gambit."
"Listen, now, Missy, you no way ugly. Whoever say dat is either blind, dumb, or jealous. Or maybe all three."
Rachael giggled slightly, sniffling.
"You just listen to Gambit and know dat you da prettiest ting dis side o' the Pacific."
"I am?" Rachael asked doubtfully, glancing back in the mirror.
Gambit nodded urgently, "Oh yes. Defintely. And believe me, I seen quite a few pretty little tings, but none o' dem quite match up to you, Missy."
Rachael turned to him, beaming broadly, a strange warmth spreading form her chest to her cheeks.
Gambit grinned and winked at her, leaning forward and kissing her cheek.
Rachael tilted her head to the side, touching her face, "What was that for?"
"Dat? Dat was a kiss, Silly."
"How come I got one?"
"Cuz you just da prettiest ting, and I wanna be able to tell all my friends dat I got to kiss you."
Gambit laughed, and then turning Rachael, pointed at the mirror, "You see dat mark on your cheek, Cherie?"
Rachael nodded, "YWhere you kissed me?The brown one?"
"Yea. Dat a sunkiss. Dat'll never go away, cuz it means dat you day prettiest. And it means dat every boy gonna go after you when da time comes."
Rachael grinned, touching the mark on her cheek and facing Gambit, "Thank you, Gambit."
"You welcome. Now, you get back to your mommy and you remember what I told you, ok?"
Rachael nodded, excitement coursing through her veins as she raced through the crowds, the mark on her cheek seeming to burn with some kind of newfound beauty.
Did you think that story was corny?
Well, too bad.
That night changed my life.
I went form completely hating myself to thinking I was maybe at least better than my mom (especially after she slapped me for wandering off and told me that the 'sunkiss' was just a splotch of mud; it never did go away, by the way).
For the first few years of my life (and maybe even for a few years after that night) I had zero self-confidence and no pride in myself.
I thought I was the worst person ever.
And then Gambit changed my life.
I don't know who he is or where he is or even if he's just something I made up in my six-year-old mind, but he changed my life.
After my first week alone, I was pretty much a pro at street living.
I knew where the best places to sleep were, where people would give me free food (and where they would scream at me and attempt to beat me up if I asked for free food), where the cheapest clothes and shoes were, where the weirdoes of the city were (they were everywhere if you're curious), and even where the best restrooms were (you'd be surprised; some are just totally worth a half mile's walk).
I had set up a nice little space for myself in this mutilated section under a interstate bridge. No one bigger than me could possibly enter into it, but it was very roomy once you got inside. It was like crawling though an oversized mouse hole and into a cave.
Inside, I had set up a few blankets (I'd bought some and dug a few out of the garbage; yea, they stunk, but I wads desperate) for my bed, bought a backpack with my clothes in them, gotten a few nonperishable food items (you know, like bread and bread and bread and fruit and bread and jam and bread and peanut butter...needless to say, I lived on PBJs for quite a while), some bathroom stuff, a basin of water, and even a few books (I stole them from the library.so kill me! I was BORED!).
I had myself I pretty nice place-it was safe, dry, not to hot or cold, it had food and a bed.it was great. Plus, no adult (or anyone above 5'') could possibly squeeze their way into my little 'cubby'.
So imagine my surprise when one night, during a terrible thunderstorm, I crawled into my home to find a group of menacing-looking women standing in my 'house'.
One of them smiled demonically at me, walking fluidly forward with a rope in her hand, "Welcome home, Rachael. We've been expecting you."