Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men or their world, and am making no money
from this story. Corrinth owns Dr Ilehana Xavier. I own Blaze.
A/N: Reviews are gold dust, and duly appreciated.
07
Blaze came out of her hysteria a changed woman.
No, not a changed woman. A woman and not a girl.
Perhaps that is what becoming a woman is about. Being betrayed and abandoned to death. Being broken and being forced to grow from it.
As if in fast-forward, she ran through the next few hours. The mini-bar emptied, the room got no tidier, and she knew it was time she left. No sign of Gambit in this reality and although she was vaguely aware that in some place and time she had seen him, it held no relevance for her here. She did not pay for the room, taking only what she alone could carry in the way of clothes and forged ID.
She was alone. But she knew where she would not be. Nightclubs and bars had been her world for years. She could get into any without queuing, and she could find new friends. After all, Gambit had spent a lot of money making sure that she could. Money she had earned right back for him. But now she owed him nothing. Murderer. It was then Blaze realised she was still counting the time she might have left.
The lesbian bouncer responded predictably to Blaze's flirting. She let her in, with eyes all over Blaze's body in a way the redhead did nothing to discourage. Blaze had gone past caring. She wore very, very little, nothing behind her eyes or in her soul anymore. In an infirmary a lifetime away, Remy pulled his hand back from Blaze's forehead as if in shock or pain. He complained to Storm that Blaze's head was pounding.
The music throbbed. It was an illness, these pe0ple who dance to it diseased. Blaze threw back her first double vodka straight. It took her yet another before she felt the effects, felt confident enough to cut through the crowd.
A young man with messy dark hair was dancing with some girl. He was tall and muscular, obviously accustomed to having girls swarm over him. Blaze didn't see him as a challenge. Still, his girlfriend might be. With a pout and a sigh just like she had been taught, she cut in between them. Like she knew he would, he transferred his affections onto her. Too easy, way too easy.
The girlfriend was more amusing. Blaze thought her pretty, a dainty brunette not unlike Rogue in appearance. Who was Rogue? She didn't know, the Blaze in the nightclub, so she dismissed it. When the girl turned to push Blaze away by the shoulders from her man, Blaze laughed sharply right in her face. The girl went to slap Blaze. Blaze took it, still laughing. Pain was funny, feeling pain meant she was still alive when she knew that really she was already dead.
The brunette didn't find it funny, trying to start a catfight by grabbing Blaze's long loose hair. Blaze didn't catfight. She just punched the girl's lights out, and then spat at her as the girl lay unconscious in the floor. No challenge. Oh well......... Time for another drink.
A guy at the bar hit on her. Would nobody put up a fight tonight? She looked him over very slowly. He had a nice body, but she doubted he knew how to use it. Maybe she could teach him. She knew how to use hers, standing so close to him without touching that she could almost taste his adrenaline like the tequila she was drinking. She supposed he'd do, and kissed him.
Pulling away she had to laugh. He put his fingers to his lower lip in shock, scowling at her.
"Fucking bitch! You bit me!"
"Never pass up on a good cliché." Blaze told him, already bored and leaving.
"Girl, you are some piece of work........." He responded, taking her trailing wrist in his hand. His eyes were green and dangerous. She decided she liked him after all. "C'mon, I got some friends I want you to meet."
Blaze wondered how she had been in this club all night and not spotted his friends before. Friends in the loosest sense, with undoubtedly the least morals and most expensive clothing. Girls and boys sat lounging in a collection of seats behind the dance floor. They raised glasses to her arrival, nodded sagely, losing interest as she introduced herself as Erin. Their interest was regained when she bought champagne for all of them. Toasting her own demise.
A noisy blonde was Blaze's only irritation in the group. Noisy and nosy, she had to be the centre of attention, try and drink the most even thought Blaze was now drinking her substantially under the table. Blaze grasped for a way to put her in her place, take over this pathetic gang as her best form of entertainment until Jacobi killed her.
"Do you know how to lap dance?" Blaze asked the blonde, cutting across some story of hers. The suggestion obviously greatly offended her.
"Hell no. What kind of a question is that anyway?"
"Do you want me to teach you?" Blaze asked slyly, one eyebrow raised. The gauntlet was thrown down, the rest of the crew glued to the two of them. The blonde, Kari, could not decline or be judged a coward. Slowly she nodded, "Sure."
She'd vomited that night. Drunk as a skunk in the toilets of the club, Kari holding back her long hair for her. The memories blurred.
A/N: Reviews are gold dust, and duly appreciated.
07
Blaze came out of her hysteria a changed woman.
No, not a changed woman. A woman and not a girl.
Perhaps that is what becoming a woman is about. Being betrayed and abandoned to death. Being broken and being forced to grow from it.
As if in fast-forward, she ran through the next few hours. The mini-bar emptied, the room got no tidier, and she knew it was time she left. No sign of Gambit in this reality and although she was vaguely aware that in some place and time she had seen him, it held no relevance for her here. She did not pay for the room, taking only what she alone could carry in the way of clothes and forged ID.
She was alone. But she knew where she would not be. Nightclubs and bars had been her world for years. She could get into any without queuing, and she could find new friends. After all, Gambit had spent a lot of money making sure that she could. Money she had earned right back for him. But now she owed him nothing. Murderer. It was then Blaze realised she was still counting the time she might have left.
The lesbian bouncer responded predictably to Blaze's flirting. She let her in, with eyes all over Blaze's body in a way the redhead did nothing to discourage. Blaze had gone past caring. She wore very, very little, nothing behind her eyes or in her soul anymore. In an infirmary a lifetime away, Remy pulled his hand back from Blaze's forehead as if in shock or pain. He complained to Storm that Blaze's head was pounding.
The music throbbed. It was an illness, these pe0ple who dance to it diseased. Blaze threw back her first double vodka straight. It took her yet another before she felt the effects, felt confident enough to cut through the crowd.
A young man with messy dark hair was dancing with some girl. He was tall and muscular, obviously accustomed to having girls swarm over him. Blaze didn't see him as a challenge. Still, his girlfriend might be. With a pout and a sigh just like she had been taught, she cut in between them. Like she knew he would, he transferred his affections onto her. Too easy, way too easy.
The girlfriend was more amusing. Blaze thought her pretty, a dainty brunette not unlike Rogue in appearance. Who was Rogue? She didn't know, the Blaze in the nightclub, so she dismissed it. When the girl turned to push Blaze away by the shoulders from her man, Blaze laughed sharply right in her face. The girl went to slap Blaze. Blaze took it, still laughing. Pain was funny, feeling pain meant she was still alive when she knew that really she was already dead.
The brunette didn't find it funny, trying to start a catfight by grabbing Blaze's long loose hair. Blaze didn't catfight. She just punched the girl's lights out, and then spat at her as the girl lay unconscious in the floor. No challenge. Oh well......... Time for another drink.
A guy at the bar hit on her. Would nobody put up a fight tonight? She looked him over very slowly. He had a nice body, but she doubted he knew how to use it. Maybe she could teach him. She knew how to use hers, standing so close to him without touching that she could almost taste his adrenaline like the tequila she was drinking. She supposed he'd do, and kissed him.
Pulling away she had to laugh. He put his fingers to his lower lip in shock, scowling at her.
"Fucking bitch! You bit me!"
"Never pass up on a good cliché." Blaze told him, already bored and leaving.
"Girl, you are some piece of work........." He responded, taking her trailing wrist in his hand. His eyes were green and dangerous. She decided she liked him after all. "C'mon, I got some friends I want you to meet."
Blaze wondered how she had been in this club all night and not spotted his friends before. Friends in the loosest sense, with undoubtedly the least morals and most expensive clothing. Girls and boys sat lounging in a collection of seats behind the dance floor. They raised glasses to her arrival, nodded sagely, losing interest as she introduced herself as Erin. Their interest was regained when she bought champagne for all of them. Toasting her own demise.
A noisy blonde was Blaze's only irritation in the group. Noisy and nosy, she had to be the centre of attention, try and drink the most even thought Blaze was now drinking her substantially under the table. Blaze grasped for a way to put her in her place, take over this pathetic gang as her best form of entertainment until Jacobi killed her.
"Do you know how to lap dance?" Blaze asked the blonde, cutting across some story of hers. The suggestion obviously greatly offended her.
"Hell no. What kind of a question is that anyway?"
"Do you want me to teach you?" Blaze asked slyly, one eyebrow raised. The gauntlet was thrown down, the rest of the crew glued to the two of them. The blonde, Kari, could not decline or be judged a coward. Slowly she nodded, "Sure."
She'd vomited that night. Drunk as a skunk in the toilets of the club, Kari holding back her long hair for her. The memories blurred.