A Second Lease on Life Ch. 2
29 Dec
It's been a week since my 'accident' on the Sandia Tram, and that
was when I decided to set up a diary programme on my computer,
and start writing in it....
So I guess it's time for me to jot down my impressions of New York,
the Xavier Institute and the people who live here; not to mention
the things I've been up to since I've been here.
So, I'll begin with the day I arrived....
The trip from ABQ to NY was pretty tense. We went out to the West
Mesa, on the other side of the six volcanoes that are on the West
Side of town, to this little "airport" that very few people are
actually aware of....
Of course I know it's out there, because I often drove up to the
volcanoes, which are part of a state park, and hiked around or
just went up into one of the old cones to sit and mediate.....
That Cajun was pretty quiet, just kept stAnang at me from the
back seat. And I could tell he was thinking about the woman who
he thought he knew....Jean and Scott were busy thinking at each
other. I could pickup threads of thought, not real "words" per se,
but scraps of concepts and images. Kinda like when you can hear
someone whispering about you, but you can't quite make out what
they're saying. It was the emotions that started giving me
a headache....
Remy was eating himself up with guilt over things not said to
"Rogue", and things he'd done and not done. I almost felt sorry
for him, but didn't let myself fall into that groove, because
only he could get his life together.... he wasn't my problem.
I kept playing Metallica in the back of my head, and finally
dug out my CDs and Discman, to listen to the real thing... The
Unforgiven suited my mood and helped shut him out... And it kept
Jean fidgeting, which contented me, because it kept her out of
my head...I've never been around that many other psychics, and
considering I'm self-taught, I don't care what she thinks!
And Scott, who didn't bother to get directions, got thoroughly
lost down Paseo del Norte. I finally told him to pull over and
physically removed him from the drivers seat after listening to
him whine for an hour about it "being right around the next
left"....
My Rammstein CD went into the stereo in the rental Land Rover,
and I cranked up the volume... more to make him cringe than
anything else.... I was in one of my manicly "UP" moods, and
nothing was going to bring me down as I took the overland route
in the Petroglyphs National Monument.
Besides, there's something about listening to Du Hast at top
volume that does something for me... I was alive, and damn
it, no stuffy "kids" were going to stop me from enjoying it.
And the best part, it only took us about 15 minutes to get to
that little out of the way airport....
I was expecting a small, chartered turboprop, but no.... they
had something that belonged either down at Roswell or over at
Area 51 from the look of it.... because it was big, black and
reminded me a bit of a SR-71.
So I was going to fly in a UFO?
Fortunately, Jean took my evil "be careful with my stuff" look
seriously as she floated it up the ramp into the cargo area,
though I'm not sure why she seemed so worried...her shielding
was too strong for me to sneak past, but she wasn't doing such
a good job of hiding her emotional state!
Normally, it'd take 6-7 hours to reach NYC by plane, but this
'bird' made the trip in a couple of hours, not that the short
side bothered me. I personally hate airplanes, because I'm
claustrophobic...
There's something about the idea of being confined in a thin
metal tube with tons of highly flamable petrol hurtling
through the athmosphere at insane speeds that makes me right
buggy... but, thankfeully the ride was over quickly!
Anyway.... When we got there, Jean promised to discretely place
my things in a room for me to set up as I saw fit, which I thanked
her for and made my way to the house with Remy and Scott.
I "saw" through both men's minds where I needed to go, so I
pushed past them, as is my usual M.O. when I'm in an hurry
and don't feel like being slowed up by the people around me...
I still had my Discman playing heavy metal, and my backpack
slung over my shoulder as I jogged down the tunnel to toward
the main building I sensed over head. When I emerged in a
sitting room, several people were there, watching television,
and eating dinner...
I stopped for a moment and looked at them: a gorgeous Arabic
woman with white hair and blue eyes, a pretty Asian woman who
had black hair and eyes, a guy sitting next to her, with blue
skin; several "normal" looking people, a woman with green hair
and eyes, a cyber and two very different looking guys who were
both covered in blue fur.... and this gorgeous guy with the
face of a 20 yr. old, and the eyes of someone much older.
I don't know how long I stared into those eyes, but it seemed
like forever. They were the colour of the New Mexico sky, in
the middle of summer.... and what I saw there was a lifetime
of pain the he couldn't remember. I know it's weird, but I
judge people by their eyes and what I "see" there.... it's
kinda psychic thing. I just know by looking into someone's
eyes.
I'm not sure what he saw in my eyes, but it was enough to make
him smile, and I got the distinct impression I'd be seeing more
of him later... but we were interrupted with a chorus of "Rogue...
you're back.... Are you okay? Did you have a good trip, Rogue?
WOW, you changed your look...."
I waved them off as they crowded around me... that's something
I hate. One of those "things" that makes me claustrophobic...
I think the white haired woman got the clue by the look on my
face, and I later found out that she shared my irrational fears
of small spaces... of being trapped....
"Give her some space, everyone" she said, in a voice like butter-
scotch, "We've all been worried, Rogue..."
I looked at her and shrugged, speaking in my clipped, almost-British
accent, "I'm fine... I think Ol' Cueball wants to see me for some
bloody reason...."
No one had anything to say in response to that, until the indigo
coloured "demon" 'bamphed' in front of me... with a handful of
roses, and a swashbuckling air about him.
I couldn't help but smile... I had never seen anyone who looked
quite this unusual, but I recognised a true renaissance gentleman
when I saw one, never mind the smell of sulfur!
"Merci, Monsieur Azure...." I replied, giving my limited knowledge
of French a work out, while everyone else kept gaping at me,
"Don't any of ye speak English? Or has the proverbial cat got
yer tongues?"
It was the other blue fellow who spoke at last, "My dear Rogue,
I do not think they are accustomed to heAnang the Queen's Good
English cross your lovely lips before... and might I add,
previously, your exclamations were enunciated with the smooth
sweetness of boysenberry syrup, to wit, it is quite a change."
I laughed, with him, "I assure ye, I have never spoken otherwise,
Monsieur Azure Gran. I am as true blue Brit as ye can bloody well
get, nor am I 'un Madame Rogue', I am much more particular in my
choices of paramours than that. Je suis Madame Anastasia d'Vir."
The others didn't get the joke, but the "other" blue fellow found
it more than suitably amusing, and handed me a Guinness, which I
popped open with a promise to join him immediately after my "inter-
view" with Ol' Cueball. Apparently he wanted to run some medical
scans on me, or something like that...
He showed me the way around through the foyer past the grand
staircase to the study, which had doors right next to the
library. I made a mental note to see the library after Cueball
and Sickbay....
The oak doors slid open like 10 Foreword on the Enterprise D,
which I found rather intriguing for a house of this age... The
marble chessboard parquetry on the foyer, everything spoke of
"old money" as far as my experience went.. Probably dating from
pre-War of 1812, if I didn't miss my guess...
The study, however was a contrast in itself, equipped with bleeding
edge technology, that even I'd not seen in my work as a help desk
rep for a major computer company.
Everything in here was glass and wrought iron in a strange,
I'd even say "alien", motif; with dark colours of charcoal
grey, burgundy and hunter green predominating. (So, I'm also
a history nut, I notise these things..)
Behind this extremely ergonomic desk, that I'd kill to have for
my own use, was this stuffy looking bald guy, weAnang a ultra
conservative navy blue suit with an "old school" tie, and gold
cloisonne cufflinks from what I guess must have been his alma
mater. He didn't look like he even had a sense of humour....
The blue guy smiled encouragingly at me, "He doesn't bite,
really...."
I stifled down a smirk, "Are you sure? Jesse Helms would look
like a bleeding heart liberal around this guy..."
It was then I felt a "clinical" presence around the edges of
my mind, like someone looking at you when you're in the ER,
trying to do triage on you...
I looked up with "one of those looks" shot in the man's direction
and projected my thoughts as concisely and clearly as possible,
with a blast Rammstein's Du Hast as the under current, [Stay.
Out. Of. My. Head.]
His eyes widened in shock at my projection, and I must have been
"speaking" pretty loud, judging from the way he winced. He spoke
aloud, as though I'd not 'thought outloud' at him, "Thank you,
Hank, that will be all. Please have a seat, Rogue."
I pulled up a chair, and sat across it backwards and just looked
at him. He wanted to 'mindspeak'? Well, it seemed my mindspeak
unnerved him at this point, so I'd give him a piece of my mind.
[Thanks.] I projected carefully, all while keeping my music run-
ning just under the surface. I didn't let him 'hear' anything
past my public-mind, [Now, let's get a few things straight. Ye
don't try to pry into my head, because I'll know yer trying. Next.
I'm not Rogue. I'm Anastasia. Ms. Grey thought it might be prudent
for me to stay with you for a while, until that Tram accident
investigation blows over...]
[.... Yes, we consulted on this matter while you were enroute,]
Cueball interjected, [She mentioned you were...very independent
..and very...strong willed.]
I laughed, thinking to myself, that that was the understatement
of the century, [Well, I do have a mind of my own, and I'm per-
fectly capable of exercising all 180 of my IQ points. I may not
be very good with math or science, but not all genius can be
evaluated that way....]
[....How....] he sputtered, wondering how I, who wasn't a partic-
ularly powerful or well-trained psychic could finish his sentence
for him, [....did you know?]
[Look, I'm not a world class telepath or anything,] I informed him,
[I've got "the Sight", and I know things before they're going to
happen, among other things... Let's cut to the chase: Yer going
to ask me to stay here, because I look like somebody who was a
student here, and I'm going to say sure... and that since this is
a school, I want to finish college. Yer going to ask me what I
want to study, and I'm telling ye graphic arts and computer
science.]
The bald man just looked at me, his eyes speculating on me, as
I kept up my end of the staredown, then he seemed to refocus
on me, [Very well...Anastasia. You certainly seem to have the
sort of spirit and resilience that Rogue never had. I would
still like to know what occurred in that accident. I would
like to discuss it with you at a later date, if that would
be acceptable?]
I nodded, [Sure. we'll talk. Right now, I've got a Guinness and
a date with the big blue guy in sick bay... Hank ye called him?
Righto. See ye later..Cueball.]
I stuck a hand out to shake on it, and he seemed initially reluctant
to seal the bargain, but eventually gave in. His hand was cold
and dry, just as I'd expected, but that brief contact gave me a
greater insight into the man....
And it gave me some thinking to do.
29 Dec
It's been a week since my 'accident' on the Sandia Tram, and that
was when I decided to set up a diary programme on my computer,
and start writing in it....
So I guess it's time for me to jot down my impressions of New York,
the Xavier Institute and the people who live here; not to mention
the things I've been up to since I've been here.
So, I'll begin with the day I arrived....
The trip from ABQ to NY was pretty tense. We went out to the West
Mesa, on the other side of the six volcanoes that are on the West
Side of town, to this little "airport" that very few people are
actually aware of....
Of course I know it's out there, because I often drove up to the
volcanoes, which are part of a state park, and hiked around or
just went up into one of the old cones to sit and mediate.....
That Cajun was pretty quiet, just kept stAnang at me from the
back seat. And I could tell he was thinking about the woman who
he thought he knew....Jean and Scott were busy thinking at each
other. I could pickup threads of thought, not real "words" per se,
but scraps of concepts and images. Kinda like when you can hear
someone whispering about you, but you can't quite make out what
they're saying. It was the emotions that started giving me
a headache....
Remy was eating himself up with guilt over things not said to
"Rogue", and things he'd done and not done. I almost felt sorry
for him, but didn't let myself fall into that groove, because
only he could get his life together.... he wasn't my problem.
I kept playing Metallica in the back of my head, and finally
dug out my CDs and Discman, to listen to the real thing... The
Unforgiven suited my mood and helped shut him out... And it kept
Jean fidgeting, which contented me, because it kept her out of
my head...I've never been around that many other psychics, and
considering I'm self-taught, I don't care what she thinks!
And Scott, who didn't bother to get directions, got thoroughly
lost down Paseo del Norte. I finally told him to pull over and
physically removed him from the drivers seat after listening to
him whine for an hour about it "being right around the next
left"....
My Rammstein CD went into the stereo in the rental Land Rover,
and I cranked up the volume... more to make him cringe than
anything else.... I was in one of my manicly "UP" moods, and
nothing was going to bring me down as I took the overland route
in the Petroglyphs National Monument.
Besides, there's something about listening to Du Hast at top
volume that does something for me... I was alive, and damn
it, no stuffy "kids" were going to stop me from enjoying it.
And the best part, it only took us about 15 minutes to get to
that little out of the way airport....
I was expecting a small, chartered turboprop, but no.... they
had something that belonged either down at Roswell or over at
Area 51 from the look of it.... because it was big, black and
reminded me a bit of a SR-71.
So I was going to fly in a UFO?
Fortunately, Jean took my evil "be careful with my stuff" look
seriously as she floated it up the ramp into the cargo area,
though I'm not sure why she seemed so worried...her shielding
was too strong for me to sneak past, but she wasn't doing such
a good job of hiding her emotional state!
Normally, it'd take 6-7 hours to reach NYC by plane, but this
'bird' made the trip in a couple of hours, not that the short
side bothered me. I personally hate airplanes, because I'm
claustrophobic...
There's something about the idea of being confined in a thin
metal tube with tons of highly flamable petrol hurtling
through the athmosphere at insane speeds that makes me right
buggy... but, thankfeully the ride was over quickly!
Anyway.... When we got there, Jean promised to discretely place
my things in a room for me to set up as I saw fit, which I thanked
her for and made my way to the house with Remy and Scott.
I "saw" through both men's minds where I needed to go, so I
pushed past them, as is my usual M.O. when I'm in an hurry
and don't feel like being slowed up by the people around me...
I still had my Discman playing heavy metal, and my backpack
slung over my shoulder as I jogged down the tunnel to toward
the main building I sensed over head. When I emerged in a
sitting room, several people were there, watching television,
and eating dinner...
I stopped for a moment and looked at them: a gorgeous Arabic
woman with white hair and blue eyes, a pretty Asian woman who
had black hair and eyes, a guy sitting next to her, with blue
skin; several "normal" looking people, a woman with green hair
and eyes, a cyber and two very different looking guys who were
both covered in blue fur.... and this gorgeous guy with the
face of a 20 yr. old, and the eyes of someone much older.
I don't know how long I stared into those eyes, but it seemed
like forever. They were the colour of the New Mexico sky, in
the middle of summer.... and what I saw there was a lifetime
of pain the he couldn't remember. I know it's weird, but I
judge people by their eyes and what I "see" there.... it's
kinda psychic thing. I just know by looking into someone's
eyes.
I'm not sure what he saw in my eyes, but it was enough to make
him smile, and I got the distinct impression I'd be seeing more
of him later... but we were interrupted with a chorus of "Rogue...
you're back.... Are you okay? Did you have a good trip, Rogue?
WOW, you changed your look...."
I waved them off as they crowded around me... that's something
I hate. One of those "things" that makes me claustrophobic...
I think the white haired woman got the clue by the look on my
face, and I later found out that she shared my irrational fears
of small spaces... of being trapped....
"Give her some space, everyone" she said, in a voice like butter-
scotch, "We've all been worried, Rogue..."
I looked at her and shrugged, speaking in my clipped, almost-British
accent, "I'm fine... I think Ol' Cueball wants to see me for some
bloody reason...."
No one had anything to say in response to that, until the indigo
coloured "demon" 'bamphed' in front of me... with a handful of
roses, and a swashbuckling air about him.
I couldn't help but smile... I had never seen anyone who looked
quite this unusual, but I recognised a true renaissance gentleman
when I saw one, never mind the smell of sulfur!
"Merci, Monsieur Azure...." I replied, giving my limited knowledge
of French a work out, while everyone else kept gaping at me,
"Don't any of ye speak English? Or has the proverbial cat got
yer tongues?"
It was the other blue fellow who spoke at last, "My dear Rogue,
I do not think they are accustomed to heAnang the Queen's Good
English cross your lovely lips before... and might I add,
previously, your exclamations were enunciated with the smooth
sweetness of boysenberry syrup, to wit, it is quite a change."
I laughed, with him, "I assure ye, I have never spoken otherwise,
Monsieur Azure Gran. I am as true blue Brit as ye can bloody well
get, nor am I 'un Madame Rogue', I am much more particular in my
choices of paramours than that. Je suis Madame Anastasia d'Vir."
The others didn't get the joke, but the "other" blue fellow found
it more than suitably amusing, and handed me a Guinness, which I
popped open with a promise to join him immediately after my "inter-
view" with Ol' Cueball. Apparently he wanted to run some medical
scans on me, or something like that...
He showed me the way around through the foyer past the grand
staircase to the study, which had doors right next to the
library. I made a mental note to see the library after Cueball
and Sickbay....
The oak doors slid open like 10 Foreword on the Enterprise D,
which I found rather intriguing for a house of this age... The
marble chessboard parquetry on the foyer, everything spoke of
"old money" as far as my experience went.. Probably dating from
pre-War of 1812, if I didn't miss my guess...
The study, however was a contrast in itself, equipped with bleeding
edge technology, that even I'd not seen in my work as a help desk
rep for a major computer company.
Everything in here was glass and wrought iron in a strange,
I'd even say "alien", motif; with dark colours of charcoal
grey, burgundy and hunter green predominating. (So, I'm also
a history nut, I notise these things..)
Behind this extremely ergonomic desk, that I'd kill to have for
my own use, was this stuffy looking bald guy, weAnang a ultra
conservative navy blue suit with an "old school" tie, and gold
cloisonne cufflinks from what I guess must have been his alma
mater. He didn't look like he even had a sense of humour....
The blue guy smiled encouragingly at me, "He doesn't bite,
really...."
I stifled down a smirk, "Are you sure? Jesse Helms would look
like a bleeding heart liberal around this guy..."
It was then I felt a "clinical" presence around the edges of
my mind, like someone looking at you when you're in the ER,
trying to do triage on you...
I looked up with "one of those looks" shot in the man's direction
and projected my thoughts as concisely and clearly as possible,
with a blast Rammstein's Du Hast as the under current, [Stay.
Out. Of. My. Head.]
His eyes widened in shock at my projection, and I must have been
"speaking" pretty loud, judging from the way he winced. He spoke
aloud, as though I'd not 'thought outloud' at him, "Thank you,
Hank, that will be all. Please have a seat, Rogue."
I pulled up a chair, and sat across it backwards and just looked
at him. He wanted to 'mindspeak'? Well, it seemed my mindspeak
unnerved him at this point, so I'd give him a piece of my mind.
[Thanks.] I projected carefully, all while keeping my music run-
ning just under the surface. I didn't let him 'hear' anything
past my public-mind, [Now, let's get a few things straight. Ye
don't try to pry into my head, because I'll know yer trying. Next.
I'm not Rogue. I'm Anastasia. Ms. Grey thought it might be prudent
for me to stay with you for a while, until that Tram accident
investigation blows over...]
[.... Yes, we consulted on this matter while you were enroute,]
Cueball interjected, [She mentioned you were...very independent
..and very...strong willed.]
I laughed, thinking to myself, that that was the understatement
of the century, [Well, I do have a mind of my own, and I'm per-
fectly capable of exercising all 180 of my IQ points. I may not
be very good with math or science, but not all genius can be
evaluated that way....]
[....How....] he sputtered, wondering how I, who wasn't a partic-
ularly powerful or well-trained psychic could finish his sentence
for him, [....did you know?]
[Look, I'm not a world class telepath or anything,] I informed him,
[I've got "the Sight", and I know things before they're going to
happen, among other things... Let's cut to the chase: Yer going
to ask me to stay here, because I look like somebody who was a
student here, and I'm going to say sure... and that since this is
a school, I want to finish college. Yer going to ask me what I
want to study, and I'm telling ye graphic arts and computer
science.]
The bald man just looked at me, his eyes speculating on me, as
I kept up my end of the staredown, then he seemed to refocus
on me, [Very well...Anastasia. You certainly seem to have the
sort of spirit and resilience that Rogue never had. I would
still like to know what occurred in that accident. I would
like to discuss it with you at a later date, if that would
be acceptable?]
I nodded, [Sure. we'll talk. Right now, I've got a Guinness and
a date with the big blue guy in sick bay... Hank ye called him?
Righto. See ye later..Cueball.]
I stuck a hand out to shake on it, and he seemed initially reluctant
to seal the bargain, but eventually gave in. His hand was cold
and dry, just as I'd expected, but that brief contact gave me a
greater insight into the man....
And it gave me some thinking to do.