*******************
Second Fragment ~ 'Changing Perspectives'
*******************
{Ch-click} "That's far enough, stranger."
Logan was wondering when they'd announce themselves. He'd detected them watching him *miles* back. "Ain't no harm. I'm just wanderin'. Lookin' for friends, dead or alive."
"You won't find no friends here, mutie. We kill your kind if'n they get too close."
Logan sighed. There'd be no names from this little place. "Right," he said. "I'll just move along, then."
He headed downwind. It was a reasonable precaution, given the circumstances.
He'd walked for about five minutes when he heard someone following him.
"If ya wanna kill me, yer welcome to try, bub," he said to his new tail. "Won't help ya none."
A skinny little kid emerged from the brush. She was covered in scales. "Pa said I could go wit' you an' stink up someplace elts," she said.
Great. Babysitting again.
At least he had someone to talk to.
*******************
Robyn crouched, watching. The pale boy hadn't moved in hours, apart from the occasional nervous twitch.
Kurti was asleep again. Being awake all night really took it out of him, so his daylight activities were generally quite limited. She could hear him breathing deeply from inside, but made no move to go in herself. They were safe from prying eyes in the network of wooden planks, and if anyone *did* come a-calling, then they'd be inhibited enough by the debris for her to dart down the hole into relative safety before they reached her.
She crawled forward a few inches, and then stopped. The thin boy was watching her through one slitted eye.
She sat back on her haunches and regarded him curiously.
He had strange eyes. Not dark like hers, but not so bright as Kurti's either. Instead, they were like two burning chips of ice, shot through with broken red lines. An air of madness hung about his gaze, making the fur on the back of her neck prickle. His stare was bleak, yet probing, and it unsettled her more than a little.
"Whatcha looking at?"
Her question must have startled him, because his head jerked up suddenly - much faster than a normal person's. "Staring? Who's staring? Not me. Nu-uh. No staring going on over here," he gabbled without pausing for breath. Then all at once he fell silent again, resuming his vigil of the interlocking beams strewn across the disused building. "So who found this place, anyway? Kinda difficult to find a haven from the mutant hunters these days."
"Kurti brought me here when I was small," Robyn replied matter-of-factly, as if it were a ridiculous question.
"And when exactly was that?"
"Um, I dunno," she screwed up her face in thought. "We think I'm five now, and I've been here as long as I can remember. Kurti says I was about a year old when he found me."
The pale boy twisted his head, mouth open. "You mean you two have been around here for *four years*? And I never knew?" His eyes dropped, stunned. "All that time on my own. Nobody to talk to - well, except for the bodies - and blue-butt was here all along. I never knew. I was so lonely. So terribly lonely. And he was here..."
Worried about his incoherent babbling, Robyn took the opportunity to creep forward a little more. The space between them wasn't much, and soon she hunkered down in front of his body.
Pietro seemed quite shocked when the little cat-girl cupped his face in her warm, furry hands. She had claws, but they were carefully retracted, and she stroked the line of his jaw with one finger.
"You don't have to be lonely no more," she solemnly informed him, soulful eyes meeting his own. "Kurti's nice. He'll look after you, just like he looks after me."
At this, Pietro let out a short, barking laugh. Robyn snatched back her hands, and took a step back in alarm.
"Nightcrawler take care of me? That'll be the day, kid. I've been taking care of myself for as long as I can remember. Even before the virus, I was looking after number one. Nobody ever wanted obnoxious old Pie-Pie around. Too full on for most of 'em. Too fast for the rest. I never needed any of 'em, anyway. Look who survived, huh? That's because I was looking out for myself. So I was lonely. Big deal. I was lonely long before now, too. No friends left. No family. No need. Nobody to look out for but me. And the bodies. Can't forget the bodies." His eyes took on a mad gleam again, and his gaze became unfocused as he talked mainly to himself.
Robyn tilted her head pensively. Finally she took his hand. His fingers weren't as long as her own, nor as flexible, but it hardly mattered. Her fur was soft against his skin, and he jolted out of his trance again to look at her.
"You can be my other big brother, if you like," she offered innocently. "That way, you don't have to be lonely, because you'll have family. Kurti always says that family chases away the shadows. I don't really know what he means, but maybe... maybe it'll help?"
Pietro surveyed the tiny child. Her frame was painfully thin, though not quite as skeletal as his own. Her dark eyes were huge in her head, and she stared up at him, waiting for him to answer his question.
A little sister?
Wanda was his elder sister by seven whole minutes, as she'd constantly reminded him when they were kids. He'd often wondered what it would be like to have a younger sibling.
Robyn jerked back involuntarily as he sucked in a breath, but unsqueezed her eyes as he said; "Sure. Why not? I'll be your big brother, kid. Stick with me, I'll look after you. Hell, you and Nightcrawler'll be better company than a loada corpses, at any rate."
*******************
"So you just leave her on her own all night?"
"I don't want her to see the bodies. When she was very little, I'd carry her with me, but that stopped when she started playing with the bodies."
Pietro nodded. "Okay. I can get that. You got yourselves a good bolthole, there. Cosy. If I was worried about being hunted, that's where I'd hide."
"You aren't worried about hunters?"
"Ha! We all got too much on our hands trying to keep body and soul together to bother with fighting anymore. And if anyone aims a gun at me - zwoosh! I'm gone."
Kurt sighed. "I don't have the energy to teleport far," he said. "Just FYI. Fainting in a tight spot rarely helps."
"Giving all your food to Robyn?"
"Ja."
"Softie," said Pietro. He cracked a door open and backstepped in a hurry.
Kurt just held his nose as the smell of decay dissipated. "Ja. But I wouldn't be so nice if I wasn't soft."
Pietro dashed inside and opened all the doors and windows, then dashed out again. "Family of four.
They all went together."
Kurt winced. He hated suicide houses.
"Don't worry, Fuzzy. I'll take care of the bodies. You just look for foodstuffs." Pietro smirked. "I'm used to bodies."
"Pietro - I'm sorry. I didn't know you were there. If I had - "
"Been and done, fuzz-butt. Can't change what was. End of story."
Kurt girded himself and headed in. He just wished he *could* change things, that was all.
*******************
"So what's yer name, kid?"
The scaly girl looked up at him, taking five steps for every one of his. "Dad always called me 'Stoopidbitch'. You can too, if'n ya like."
Logan winced. "Nah, I don't think so. Ain't ya got another one?"
"Scaleface."
Another wince. _Jeez, how did this kid get to be this age with parents like that?_ "Anythin' else?"
The little girl looked thoughtful, and then reeled off a mouthful of 'nicknames' that would've made anybody's cheeks red. None of them were either repeatable, or even approaching nice. At the end she just looked up at him again. "Pick one."
_Howza 'bout, none of the above?_ Logan thought grimly. He reckoned the kid must be about ten or eleven, give or take a few months, but it was difficult to tell since her entire emaciated body was wreathed in tough olive scales. A ridge of spikes trailed the length of her back and thick tail, poking through what little clothing she wore.
He sighed. "Got any preferences, kid?" At her blank expression, he explained; "Is there any name you'd *like* me to call you by."
She twisted her face away, staring at her long, claw-like toes. She wore no shoes, so they were on show for the world to see. That was going to make travelling from town to town all the more difficult from now on. But what was he supposed to do? Leave her? Chuck would never forgive him.
Finally, the little tyke said; "Daisy. I once saw a pretty white flower, an' me Dad called it a 'daisy'. Is that OK?"
Logan allowed himself a small smile. The first in many months. "Yeah. that's just fine. Nice name. Good choice."
She hesitated a moment before asking; "What *your* name, sir? If ya don't mind me askin'." She shied away, as if expecting to be hit for such impertinence. Logan suppressed a growl at her family for making her feel that she *would* be struck for such a thing.
"You can me Logan. An' Daisy?"
One yellow eye slitted up at him. "Uh-huh?"
"Drop the 'sir' schtick, OK? Makes me feel old. Just Logan'll do."
She smiled. Just a little one, but a smile nonetheless. "OK, si - Logan. I'd like that."
*******************
They found an abandoned home to hole up in for the night. Logan had made Daisy stay outside while he checked it out for bodies. There was one, and she'd died whilst kneeling by a row of graves. Logan buried her with her kin.
Now they sat by a fire and Logan was bathing the girl. Her dreds turned out to be tangled feathers, never cared for, and occasionally cut by her unsympathetic family. When washed and combed, they were a beautiful peacock blue.
"Ma and Pa never done this," muttered Daisy. She was playing with the bubbles.
"I ain't your Ma and Pa." Logan scrubbed away a mouldering stain left by a wet spill on clothes that were worn non-stop. He brushed a hand backwards up her scales, pulling them back a little. The skin underneath looked slightly frail and maybe a little infected. He pressed the area gently. "Does that hurt?"
"Tickles," said Daisy.
Nothing a little Bactine and some TLC wouldn't cure. Right. Logan reached into his pack and bought the antiseptic and a clean cloth out. "This might sting a li'l."
Daisy watched. "What'd I do wrong?"
"This could be infected," Logan tapped the soft scales, indicating to the skin underneath. "See how it bubbles? Could be bad for ya. I'm gonna lance the skin - poke holes in the bad part - then I'm gonna douse it in this stuff. It'll make the bad bits go away, but it's gonna hurt."
Daisy nodded. She didn't flinch at his blades, just watched everything with fascination. She didn't even hiss at the touch of antiseptic.
"There. All done. Gonna have to let that air dry for a while. Keep an eye on it."
Daisy stepped out of the bath and made for her clothes.
"No ya don't, shortstuff. You're not wearin' them."
Daisy froze. She looked a little scared. "Are you like Pa's friends? They like t' get me nekkid an' do things on me."
Logan *really* began to wish he'd killed that sonofabitch. "No. You're gettin' new clothes. Stay warm by the fire. I'll scare us up something for you to wear."
"But I ain't grown outta these," she said. "They're still good."
Logan smirked a little. "I can find better, and what I say goes, got it?"
Daisy flinched.
Logan turned away and went searching. He hadn't even raised his voice. _If I ever cross that bastard's path again, I'm gonna kill the fucker._
Logan didn't exactly need candles or lanterns, but he could bet the kid would. He'd have to raid the place for extra supplies.
He found a bunch of clothes that'd fit - with alterations - and bought the pile back to the fire.
Daisy's eyes went wide. "Them're all too pretty..."
"You arguin' with me?" he said.
"Um." Daisy cringed. "No sir?"
"Pity. I like the odd argument. Good for the blood." He settled down and bought out his sewing kit. His work would all be done with white cotton, but he doubted Daisy would much care.
"Don't only women sew?"
"Maybe in your house," Logan allowed. "But where I come from, everyone had to know everythin'
'bout how things were made. Made you appreciate 'em. And a close friend o' mine had to alter every set of pants he ever owned. Had a tail, like you do. I got to pick up his technique. Hold still a bit..." He measured her tail's circumference at the base, then took the number from the bottom to top of where it joined her back. Not that much, but he made a little extra allowance for growth.
Daisy watched him cut and stitch. "Whoah. I never had no-one sew my holes afore."
"It's 'cause I care, Daisy. You make things for people, they know you care. Makes 'em feel better."
"Pa used t' say the best thing I coulda done for the house is die when I was born."
"Your Pa's an asshole." Logan finished the work on her underpants and gave them to her. "There. Put 'em on, tell me I did it right."
Daisy did as she was bade. Her tail started wagging and she smiled behind one hand. "Feels a might better than the 'ole way."
"Good." Logan started on a pair of jeans. "When I'm done with the clothes, we'll see if you can wear shoes."
"*Really*? Real shoes?"
"Yup. Real shoes. I travel a lotta rough roads, darlin'. Don't want you laggin' behind 'cause of sore feet."
Daisy was staring at him in awe. "Are you my fairy godfather? Like in Cinderella? You gonna make me beautiful?"
Logan threw his head back and laughed.
Instantly Daisy cringed, covering her head. Then, very slowly, she realised that Logan was *happy* with what she'd said. Pa had never laughed at anything. Or if he did, there was a belt involved.
"I ain't no fairy godfather," he said. "Time was when nobody alive'd even think like that. Nah. I just care." He handed her the jeans. "Try those on for size, then see if any of those shirts fit."
"If'n you pardon? You're very strange."
"I'm old, I'm entitled." Logan began working on a set of overalls. "I still believe everyone's got their rights, an I tend to feel compelled to uphold 'em."
"Rights?" Daisy was starting to feel very stupid. Logan was talking about things she'd never even heard of.
"Hell yeah. Rights are something ya gotta have. Somethin' ya need. And it used to be that if those rights were withheld, the law'd step in to see ya got 'em. F'r instance. Everyone has the right to learn. Can you read and write?"
"I don't even know what read and write *is*." Daisy hung her head.
"No time like the present." Logan popped a claw and etched a symbol on the floor. "This is 'A'. You use it to start words like 'apple' or 'ask'."
Daisy traced the symbol, following the way Logan had made it. "A," she said. "Apple an' ask... an' avoid?"
Logan smiled. "Yeah. That's the ticket." He put another symbol next to it. "This is 'B'..."
*******************
Pietro winced as he finished covering the last grave. He wiped a sheen of sweat from his brow, glancing up to see what Fuzzy was up to.
Kurt clung to the side of a dilapidated building a little distance off, scouting ceaselessly for hunters while the blonde boy finished in his terrible, yet necessary task. His face was away from the line of shallow mounds, and his tail twitched rapidly in the dying light.
Since Pietro's sight wasn't so good at night, they'd started foraging much earlier than usual, and Kurt was nervy. Daylight was when the hunters were abroad, and a dangerous time for a mutant.
Zipping effortlessly to stand beneath him, Pietro called up to his new companion. "Hey, Nightcrawler. All done here."
Kurt started, and stared down at him. Within seconds he'd skittered down the brickwork. "Not so *loud*!" he berated, frowning. "You may be able to escape any hunters, but I can't without difficulty."
For a moment, Pietro looked guilty - an odd, somewhat disturbing expression on his usually obnoxious face. "Sorry," he shrugged. "Not used to thinking about anyone other then me. Have to work on that. Ready to go?" He strung all the words together so fast that it took a moment for Kurt to translate and respond.
"Jawohl. Where to?"
"There's a tower block a few streets from here I haven't checked out yet. Might be something inside we can use."
Kurt looked around. "We're pretty far from home already. I don't like leaving Robyn alone like that. If something were to happen, I couldn't get back in time."
Pietro blinked. "How the heck have you two been *surviving* if you don't stray more than two miles at a time?"
"With great difficulty." Kurt's face was grim, and he sighed. "But this time I'll have to deal. How many streets did you say?"
"I didn't, but it's three. Thataway." He indicated with a careless gesture, and hopped from foot to foot to be off.
At a much slower pace than the speed-demon would've liked, they set out down the route he'd indicated. Pietro kept dashing ahead and then back again, whining at the furry mutant to hurry up.
"Pick up the *pace*, wouldja Nightcrawler! I've seen snails in a drought go faster than you!"
"You know," Kurt said, not increasing his speed at all, "You don't have to call me by my codename anymore. Since we're not on opposing teams and all."
At this, Pietro stopped. He considered the offer. "I s'pose. Mutantkind is just one big team now. Old habits are hard to break though. Mystique taught us to hate you X-Men. That's why we preferred calling you by codenames instead of proper ones. It made it easier to see you as enemies rather than just other kids."
Kurt hopped over a pile of debris. "I don't think I'd say Mutantkind is just a big team," he said.
"What'd you call it, then?"
"A family. You look out for your family, and they look out for you. That's the only way any of us'll survive anymore, is if we look out for each other."
Family?
The word struck a chord in Pietro. Family was something he'd wanted all his life. In childhood, it was something he'd had, too. Back when he and Wanda lived together.
Memories of his twin sprang to mind, and he unwillingly found himself considering her fate outside of the rest of humanity. The last he'd known, she was still in that mental institution. Most probably dead now. He remembered his last look at her when they were kids; trussed up and wheeled away on a trolley, drugged up to the eyeballs so that she didn't even know who *she* was, let alone recognise him.
Restrained, there would've been no way she could've escaped when the virus came. From what he could recall, the doctors and nurses in that place had been out primarily for their own skins. If a whiff of the deadly disease had permeated the institution, then there was no way they would've stopped and risked their own necks to release the patients. He could only hope they hadn't discovered Wanda was a mutant too. Scapegoats were always sought out and mistreated in times of crisis.
Shaking his head, Pietro caught up with the elf, who was waiting for him several feet up ahead. Kurt raised an eyebrow at the blonde's pensive expression, but said nothing.
They carried on in silence.
*******************
The figure stumbled, rubble shifting and making it fall to its knees. They were cut and bleeding anyway, but new scratches added themselves to the array of injuries at the fall.
Instead of picking itself up, it sat there in the dust, moaning. Its cry was wordless, but bleak; palpable melancholy hanging over it like a mantle. Had anyone been around to hear, they would've shivered.
But there was nobody about. There was never anybody there anymore.
That was the reason the figure cried.
Gradually, words became evident in the wailing. "Gone. All gone. All of them gone." The tragic outline of a person hung its head, coughing slightly as the ever-present dust got into its throat. Its voice was husky, making gender indistinguishable, and its clothes were torn and ragged. "All gone," it murmured softly, "All gone, gone, gone."
After many minutes of this, it finally sighed and heaved to its feet. Not bothering to dust itself off, it stumbled on through the cloying fog. There was no idea where this was. No monoliths or buildings loomed up, and no people hove into view. Everywhere looked the same these days. Barren, and desolate, and dead.
How far to Bayville now? Was there even a Bayville left to go back to? Perhaps it would've been wiser to head south. But no, Bayville was where family was. Bayville was the place to go. The south was a pretty memory, but Bayville was much clearer to the mental eye. Everything had been so confusing recently. Mixed memories, alien thoughts clashing together inside. Things were blurred, but one thing remained clear.
Bayville. Had to get to Bayville.
"Gone, all gone," came the mournful cry again. But still, there was nobody around to hear it, and eventually it too disappeared into the mist with its androgynous owner.
*******************
"Tell you what," Pietro finally announced. "I find the stuff, and you hold some of it while I get more. Then I'll take both loads to your little cubbyhole and get *another* two loads and - "
"Bad idea," said Kurt. "What if one of us comes across some hunters?"
"I'm too fast for them, and I'll warn you so you can pop on outta here. Or I'll carry you. I can."
Kurt sighed. "As long as you know what you're doing."
"I *always* know what I'm doing. Relax. What could go wrong?[1]"
*******************
To Be Continued...
*******************
[1] Famous last words.
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Second Fragment ~ 'Changing Perspectives'
*******************
{Ch-click} "That's far enough, stranger."
Logan was wondering when they'd announce themselves. He'd detected them watching him *miles* back. "Ain't no harm. I'm just wanderin'. Lookin' for friends, dead or alive."
"You won't find no friends here, mutie. We kill your kind if'n they get too close."
Logan sighed. There'd be no names from this little place. "Right," he said. "I'll just move along, then."
He headed downwind. It was a reasonable precaution, given the circumstances.
He'd walked for about five minutes when he heard someone following him.
"If ya wanna kill me, yer welcome to try, bub," he said to his new tail. "Won't help ya none."
A skinny little kid emerged from the brush. She was covered in scales. "Pa said I could go wit' you an' stink up someplace elts," she said.
Great. Babysitting again.
At least he had someone to talk to.
*******************
Robyn crouched, watching. The pale boy hadn't moved in hours, apart from the occasional nervous twitch.
Kurti was asleep again. Being awake all night really took it out of him, so his daylight activities were generally quite limited. She could hear him breathing deeply from inside, but made no move to go in herself. They were safe from prying eyes in the network of wooden planks, and if anyone *did* come a-calling, then they'd be inhibited enough by the debris for her to dart down the hole into relative safety before they reached her.
She crawled forward a few inches, and then stopped. The thin boy was watching her through one slitted eye.
She sat back on her haunches and regarded him curiously.
He had strange eyes. Not dark like hers, but not so bright as Kurti's either. Instead, they were like two burning chips of ice, shot through with broken red lines. An air of madness hung about his gaze, making the fur on the back of her neck prickle. His stare was bleak, yet probing, and it unsettled her more than a little.
"Whatcha looking at?"
Her question must have startled him, because his head jerked up suddenly - much faster than a normal person's. "Staring? Who's staring? Not me. Nu-uh. No staring going on over here," he gabbled without pausing for breath. Then all at once he fell silent again, resuming his vigil of the interlocking beams strewn across the disused building. "So who found this place, anyway? Kinda difficult to find a haven from the mutant hunters these days."
"Kurti brought me here when I was small," Robyn replied matter-of-factly, as if it were a ridiculous question.
"And when exactly was that?"
"Um, I dunno," she screwed up her face in thought. "We think I'm five now, and I've been here as long as I can remember. Kurti says I was about a year old when he found me."
The pale boy twisted his head, mouth open. "You mean you two have been around here for *four years*? And I never knew?" His eyes dropped, stunned. "All that time on my own. Nobody to talk to - well, except for the bodies - and blue-butt was here all along. I never knew. I was so lonely. So terribly lonely. And he was here..."
Worried about his incoherent babbling, Robyn took the opportunity to creep forward a little more. The space between them wasn't much, and soon she hunkered down in front of his body.
Pietro seemed quite shocked when the little cat-girl cupped his face in her warm, furry hands. She had claws, but they were carefully retracted, and she stroked the line of his jaw with one finger.
"You don't have to be lonely no more," she solemnly informed him, soulful eyes meeting his own. "Kurti's nice. He'll look after you, just like he looks after me."
At this, Pietro let out a short, barking laugh. Robyn snatched back her hands, and took a step back in alarm.
"Nightcrawler take care of me? That'll be the day, kid. I've been taking care of myself for as long as I can remember. Even before the virus, I was looking after number one. Nobody ever wanted obnoxious old Pie-Pie around. Too full on for most of 'em. Too fast for the rest. I never needed any of 'em, anyway. Look who survived, huh? That's because I was looking out for myself. So I was lonely. Big deal. I was lonely long before now, too. No friends left. No family. No need. Nobody to look out for but me. And the bodies. Can't forget the bodies." His eyes took on a mad gleam again, and his gaze became unfocused as he talked mainly to himself.
Robyn tilted her head pensively. Finally she took his hand. His fingers weren't as long as her own, nor as flexible, but it hardly mattered. Her fur was soft against his skin, and he jolted out of his trance again to look at her.
"You can be my other big brother, if you like," she offered innocently. "That way, you don't have to be lonely, because you'll have family. Kurti always says that family chases away the shadows. I don't really know what he means, but maybe... maybe it'll help?"
Pietro surveyed the tiny child. Her frame was painfully thin, though not quite as skeletal as his own. Her dark eyes were huge in her head, and she stared up at him, waiting for him to answer his question.
A little sister?
Wanda was his elder sister by seven whole minutes, as she'd constantly reminded him when they were kids. He'd often wondered what it would be like to have a younger sibling.
Robyn jerked back involuntarily as he sucked in a breath, but unsqueezed her eyes as he said; "Sure. Why not? I'll be your big brother, kid. Stick with me, I'll look after you. Hell, you and Nightcrawler'll be better company than a loada corpses, at any rate."
*******************
"So you just leave her on her own all night?"
"I don't want her to see the bodies. When she was very little, I'd carry her with me, but that stopped when she started playing with the bodies."
Pietro nodded. "Okay. I can get that. You got yourselves a good bolthole, there. Cosy. If I was worried about being hunted, that's where I'd hide."
"You aren't worried about hunters?"
"Ha! We all got too much on our hands trying to keep body and soul together to bother with fighting anymore. And if anyone aims a gun at me - zwoosh! I'm gone."
Kurt sighed. "I don't have the energy to teleport far," he said. "Just FYI. Fainting in a tight spot rarely helps."
"Giving all your food to Robyn?"
"Ja."
"Softie," said Pietro. He cracked a door open and backstepped in a hurry.
Kurt just held his nose as the smell of decay dissipated. "Ja. But I wouldn't be so nice if I wasn't soft."
Pietro dashed inside and opened all the doors and windows, then dashed out again. "Family of four.
They all went together."
Kurt winced. He hated suicide houses.
"Don't worry, Fuzzy. I'll take care of the bodies. You just look for foodstuffs." Pietro smirked. "I'm used to bodies."
"Pietro - I'm sorry. I didn't know you were there. If I had - "
"Been and done, fuzz-butt. Can't change what was. End of story."
Kurt girded himself and headed in. He just wished he *could* change things, that was all.
*******************
"So what's yer name, kid?"
The scaly girl looked up at him, taking five steps for every one of his. "Dad always called me 'Stoopidbitch'. You can too, if'n ya like."
Logan winced. "Nah, I don't think so. Ain't ya got another one?"
"Scaleface."
Another wince. _Jeez, how did this kid get to be this age with parents like that?_ "Anythin' else?"
The little girl looked thoughtful, and then reeled off a mouthful of 'nicknames' that would've made anybody's cheeks red. None of them were either repeatable, or even approaching nice. At the end she just looked up at him again. "Pick one."
_Howza 'bout, none of the above?_ Logan thought grimly. He reckoned the kid must be about ten or eleven, give or take a few months, but it was difficult to tell since her entire emaciated body was wreathed in tough olive scales. A ridge of spikes trailed the length of her back and thick tail, poking through what little clothing she wore.
He sighed. "Got any preferences, kid?" At her blank expression, he explained; "Is there any name you'd *like* me to call you by."
She twisted her face away, staring at her long, claw-like toes. She wore no shoes, so they were on show for the world to see. That was going to make travelling from town to town all the more difficult from now on. But what was he supposed to do? Leave her? Chuck would never forgive him.
Finally, the little tyke said; "Daisy. I once saw a pretty white flower, an' me Dad called it a 'daisy'. Is that OK?"
Logan allowed himself a small smile. The first in many months. "Yeah. that's just fine. Nice name. Good choice."
She hesitated a moment before asking; "What *your* name, sir? If ya don't mind me askin'." She shied away, as if expecting to be hit for such impertinence. Logan suppressed a growl at her family for making her feel that she *would* be struck for such a thing.
"You can me Logan. An' Daisy?"
One yellow eye slitted up at him. "Uh-huh?"
"Drop the 'sir' schtick, OK? Makes me feel old. Just Logan'll do."
She smiled. Just a little one, but a smile nonetheless. "OK, si - Logan. I'd like that."
*******************
They found an abandoned home to hole up in for the night. Logan had made Daisy stay outside while he checked it out for bodies. There was one, and she'd died whilst kneeling by a row of graves. Logan buried her with her kin.
Now they sat by a fire and Logan was bathing the girl. Her dreds turned out to be tangled feathers, never cared for, and occasionally cut by her unsympathetic family. When washed and combed, they were a beautiful peacock blue.
"Ma and Pa never done this," muttered Daisy. She was playing with the bubbles.
"I ain't your Ma and Pa." Logan scrubbed away a mouldering stain left by a wet spill on clothes that were worn non-stop. He brushed a hand backwards up her scales, pulling them back a little. The skin underneath looked slightly frail and maybe a little infected. He pressed the area gently. "Does that hurt?"
"Tickles," said Daisy.
Nothing a little Bactine and some TLC wouldn't cure. Right. Logan reached into his pack and bought the antiseptic and a clean cloth out. "This might sting a li'l."
Daisy watched. "What'd I do wrong?"
"This could be infected," Logan tapped the soft scales, indicating to the skin underneath. "See how it bubbles? Could be bad for ya. I'm gonna lance the skin - poke holes in the bad part - then I'm gonna douse it in this stuff. It'll make the bad bits go away, but it's gonna hurt."
Daisy nodded. She didn't flinch at his blades, just watched everything with fascination. She didn't even hiss at the touch of antiseptic.
"There. All done. Gonna have to let that air dry for a while. Keep an eye on it."
Daisy stepped out of the bath and made for her clothes.
"No ya don't, shortstuff. You're not wearin' them."
Daisy froze. She looked a little scared. "Are you like Pa's friends? They like t' get me nekkid an' do things on me."
Logan *really* began to wish he'd killed that sonofabitch. "No. You're gettin' new clothes. Stay warm by the fire. I'll scare us up something for you to wear."
"But I ain't grown outta these," she said. "They're still good."
Logan smirked a little. "I can find better, and what I say goes, got it?"
Daisy flinched.
Logan turned away and went searching. He hadn't even raised his voice. _If I ever cross that bastard's path again, I'm gonna kill the fucker._
Logan didn't exactly need candles or lanterns, but he could bet the kid would. He'd have to raid the place for extra supplies.
He found a bunch of clothes that'd fit - with alterations - and bought the pile back to the fire.
Daisy's eyes went wide. "Them're all too pretty..."
"You arguin' with me?" he said.
"Um." Daisy cringed. "No sir?"
"Pity. I like the odd argument. Good for the blood." He settled down and bought out his sewing kit. His work would all be done with white cotton, but he doubted Daisy would much care.
"Don't only women sew?"
"Maybe in your house," Logan allowed. "But where I come from, everyone had to know everythin'
'bout how things were made. Made you appreciate 'em. And a close friend o' mine had to alter every set of pants he ever owned. Had a tail, like you do. I got to pick up his technique. Hold still a bit..." He measured her tail's circumference at the base, then took the number from the bottom to top of where it joined her back. Not that much, but he made a little extra allowance for growth.
Daisy watched him cut and stitch. "Whoah. I never had no-one sew my holes afore."
"It's 'cause I care, Daisy. You make things for people, they know you care. Makes 'em feel better."
"Pa used t' say the best thing I coulda done for the house is die when I was born."
"Your Pa's an asshole." Logan finished the work on her underpants and gave them to her. "There. Put 'em on, tell me I did it right."
Daisy did as she was bade. Her tail started wagging and she smiled behind one hand. "Feels a might better than the 'ole way."
"Good." Logan started on a pair of jeans. "When I'm done with the clothes, we'll see if you can wear shoes."
"*Really*? Real shoes?"
"Yup. Real shoes. I travel a lotta rough roads, darlin'. Don't want you laggin' behind 'cause of sore feet."
Daisy was staring at him in awe. "Are you my fairy godfather? Like in Cinderella? You gonna make me beautiful?"
Logan threw his head back and laughed.
Instantly Daisy cringed, covering her head. Then, very slowly, she realised that Logan was *happy* with what she'd said. Pa had never laughed at anything. Or if he did, there was a belt involved.
"I ain't no fairy godfather," he said. "Time was when nobody alive'd even think like that. Nah. I just care." He handed her the jeans. "Try those on for size, then see if any of those shirts fit."
"If'n you pardon? You're very strange."
"I'm old, I'm entitled." Logan began working on a set of overalls. "I still believe everyone's got their rights, an I tend to feel compelled to uphold 'em."
"Rights?" Daisy was starting to feel very stupid. Logan was talking about things she'd never even heard of.
"Hell yeah. Rights are something ya gotta have. Somethin' ya need. And it used to be that if those rights were withheld, the law'd step in to see ya got 'em. F'r instance. Everyone has the right to learn. Can you read and write?"
"I don't even know what read and write *is*." Daisy hung her head.
"No time like the present." Logan popped a claw and etched a symbol on the floor. "This is 'A'. You use it to start words like 'apple' or 'ask'."
Daisy traced the symbol, following the way Logan had made it. "A," she said. "Apple an' ask... an' avoid?"
Logan smiled. "Yeah. That's the ticket." He put another symbol next to it. "This is 'B'..."
*******************
Pietro winced as he finished covering the last grave. He wiped a sheen of sweat from his brow, glancing up to see what Fuzzy was up to.
Kurt clung to the side of a dilapidated building a little distance off, scouting ceaselessly for hunters while the blonde boy finished in his terrible, yet necessary task. His face was away from the line of shallow mounds, and his tail twitched rapidly in the dying light.
Since Pietro's sight wasn't so good at night, they'd started foraging much earlier than usual, and Kurt was nervy. Daylight was when the hunters were abroad, and a dangerous time for a mutant.
Zipping effortlessly to stand beneath him, Pietro called up to his new companion. "Hey, Nightcrawler. All done here."
Kurt started, and stared down at him. Within seconds he'd skittered down the brickwork. "Not so *loud*!" he berated, frowning. "You may be able to escape any hunters, but I can't without difficulty."
For a moment, Pietro looked guilty - an odd, somewhat disturbing expression on his usually obnoxious face. "Sorry," he shrugged. "Not used to thinking about anyone other then me. Have to work on that. Ready to go?" He strung all the words together so fast that it took a moment for Kurt to translate and respond.
"Jawohl. Where to?"
"There's a tower block a few streets from here I haven't checked out yet. Might be something inside we can use."
Kurt looked around. "We're pretty far from home already. I don't like leaving Robyn alone like that. If something were to happen, I couldn't get back in time."
Pietro blinked. "How the heck have you two been *surviving* if you don't stray more than two miles at a time?"
"With great difficulty." Kurt's face was grim, and he sighed. "But this time I'll have to deal. How many streets did you say?"
"I didn't, but it's three. Thataway." He indicated with a careless gesture, and hopped from foot to foot to be off.
At a much slower pace than the speed-demon would've liked, they set out down the route he'd indicated. Pietro kept dashing ahead and then back again, whining at the furry mutant to hurry up.
"Pick up the *pace*, wouldja Nightcrawler! I've seen snails in a drought go faster than you!"
"You know," Kurt said, not increasing his speed at all, "You don't have to call me by my codename anymore. Since we're not on opposing teams and all."
At this, Pietro stopped. He considered the offer. "I s'pose. Mutantkind is just one big team now. Old habits are hard to break though. Mystique taught us to hate you X-Men. That's why we preferred calling you by codenames instead of proper ones. It made it easier to see you as enemies rather than just other kids."
Kurt hopped over a pile of debris. "I don't think I'd say Mutantkind is just a big team," he said.
"What'd you call it, then?"
"A family. You look out for your family, and they look out for you. That's the only way any of us'll survive anymore, is if we look out for each other."
Family?
The word struck a chord in Pietro. Family was something he'd wanted all his life. In childhood, it was something he'd had, too. Back when he and Wanda lived together.
Memories of his twin sprang to mind, and he unwillingly found himself considering her fate outside of the rest of humanity. The last he'd known, she was still in that mental institution. Most probably dead now. He remembered his last look at her when they were kids; trussed up and wheeled away on a trolley, drugged up to the eyeballs so that she didn't even know who *she* was, let alone recognise him.
Restrained, there would've been no way she could've escaped when the virus came. From what he could recall, the doctors and nurses in that place had been out primarily for their own skins. If a whiff of the deadly disease had permeated the institution, then there was no way they would've stopped and risked their own necks to release the patients. He could only hope they hadn't discovered Wanda was a mutant too. Scapegoats were always sought out and mistreated in times of crisis.
Shaking his head, Pietro caught up with the elf, who was waiting for him several feet up ahead. Kurt raised an eyebrow at the blonde's pensive expression, but said nothing.
They carried on in silence.
*******************
The figure stumbled, rubble shifting and making it fall to its knees. They were cut and bleeding anyway, but new scratches added themselves to the array of injuries at the fall.
Instead of picking itself up, it sat there in the dust, moaning. Its cry was wordless, but bleak; palpable melancholy hanging over it like a mantle. Had anyone been around to hear, they would've shivered.
But there was nobody about. There was never anybody there anymore.
That was the reason the figure cried.
Gradually, words became evident in the wailing. "Gone. All gone. All of them gone." The tragic outline of a person hung its head, coughing slightly as the ever-present dust got into its throat. Its voice was husky, making gender indistinguishable, and its clothes were torn and ragged. "All gone," it murmured softly, "All gone, gone, gone."
After many minutes of this, it finally sighed and heaved to its feet. Not bothering to dust itself off, it stumbled on through the cloying fog. There was no idea where this was. No monoliths or buildings loomed up, and no people hove into view. Everywhere looked the same these days. Barren, and desolate, and dead.
How far to Bayville now? Was there even a Bayville left to go back to? Perhaps it would've been wiser to head south. But no, Bayville was where family was. Bayville was the place to go. The south was a pretty memory, but Bayville was much clearer to the mental eye. Everything had been so confusing recently. Mixed memories, alien thoughts clashing together inside. Things were blurred, but one thing remained clear.
Bayville. Had to get to Bayville.
"Gone, all gone," came the mournful cry again. But still, there was nobody around to hear it, and eventually it too disappeared into the mist with its androgynous owner.
*******************
"Tell you what," Pietro finally announced. "I find the stuff, and you hold some of it while I get more. Then I'll take both loads to your little cubbyhole and get *another* two loads and - "
"Bad idea," said Kurt. "What if one of us comes across some hunters?"
"I'm too fast for them, and I'll warn you so you can pop on outta here. Or I'll carry you. I can."
Kurt sighed. "As long as you know what you're doing."
"I *always* know what I'm doing. Relax. What could go wrong?[1]"
*******************
To Be Continued...
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[1] Famous last words.
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