This is the second part of a three part one shot (yes, I know that doesn't make any sense). I was simply writing this as an exercise, and finished it in an hour, but it worked better if I divided it up into three mini chapters. The last chapter will be delivered tomorrow, I promise. This is my first romy, I want flames and very aggressive critiques. This way, when I decide to write any serious romy (read: if I ever get up the nerve) into one of my real fics it will be good romy. I have discovered something, if you ask for flames; people don't give them to you. Please mull this over while you read.
Disclaimer: I don't own Evo. I hate lawyers. I hate the undead. Therefore, I have equipped my disclaimer with a flamethrower to get at both.
Cat871: Your review made it in just before the deadline. Thank you very much. I love your name.
Epona04: You may have a kudo, you may have as many as you want for your awesome Evo/ Smallville crossover.
Purity Black: Thanks very much. Personally, I felt that Rogue sounded a bit too much like Jean toward the end.
Pandora's Sorrow: Thanks very much (I have a feeling that I will be saying this to a lot of people). I originally wrote this as a cynical look at every angst fic ever written for Rogue, but then it became a romy, and I kept it that way.
HanatheWreck: Aye yup, it was Good Omens. I am a dedicated Terry Pratchett fan, and I love Neil Gaiman. While I can't see Rogue as a Discworlder, she would be into American Gods, I think. Thanks a ton.
Soulstress: And thank you very much (my last thank you o' da day). I've always wondered why everyone seems to see Rogue's powers as being such a depressing curse to her. I mean, yeah they would get anyone down after a while, but maybe she sort of welcomes that freedom from attachment, from contact. As I said before, this was supposed to be a spoof on every angst fic with Rogue in it. They always give her depression of some sort. Recently the most popular method is cutting, although suicide has been in vogue for a long while, and I have fund quite a few that give her some sort of eating disorder. Don't get me wrong, I love these, but sometimes we all need a little break from that, you know?
By the way, while it's still first person personal, the point of view isn't Rogue's any more. I assume that you can guess it without any problem.
Queen of Cards
I walk out of the bar, about a thousand dollars richer. You would think that the inhabitants of Bayville would have learned not to challenge me to a game of pool by now, but they haven't. Of course, not all of the money was earned by whipping some arrogant fool's ass around a pool table. You really would think that the people of this small town would have learned by now, and told their friends, not to try and shake me down.
They have tons of advantages over the big cities here, one of them being the networks that can be created. At some point everyone knows everyone else in Bayville. I think the most distant relationship that can be formed in this tiny town is the guy who stole my car one time, but we caught him because there aren't any other orange haired, fire-loving Australians within a ten mile radius.
John was really annoyed when he discovered that he had none of his anonymity in the states. I haven't bothered to enlighten him about the life in the big cities. I am doing the world a favor by making him think that there is no car that he can steal without getting caught in the US.
The rain begins to patter down from the overcast sky, and I have just realized that it is only a little past seven. What a way to start the night, wet, cold, and kicked out of a bar because you were stealing the customer's valuable money. There aren't many places that I care to go to that are open at seven in the evening. I'll need to find some place to camp until at least ten, and maybe later. Never show up at a place just as it opens, that makes you look desperate.
I can go to the covered bus stop, the only one that Bayville has. It's perfect to keep out of the rain in, and by now there should be a considerable slew of people there, just ripe for me to grab a bit of cash off of. It's good to keep in practice. Plus, I like watching people, their reactions to things, and how they deal with each other in extreme conditions.
Not that it really matters in the long run, but who people are interests me. Maybe it's long ingrained instinct, Jean Luc always stressed that information was power, and key to survival. Being a thief isn't just about sneaking in and stealing the jewelry. It's also about being alive to sell it afterwards. One of the highest bones of contention between the Assassins' and Thieves' guilds has been that gram of information. We need information to keep our edge, and the chance for blackmail, over the Assassins.
When it comes down to it, thieves are jumped up bastards with a knack for getting away with everything up until murder. Assassins are gentlemen who have inherited a knack for killing people who have an unfortunate knack for getting in the way of the political system. If you want to keep ahead of people like that you have to play the game by their rules, you have to do it politically. Politics simply comes down to the information.
That's my on the record excuse for being interested in people. What's my off the record excuse? I don't know what it is. I just want to find out what makes people tick, I guess.
Everyone puts up so many layers over themselves, it's like they are trying to hide something. I know that I shouldn't really talk because I do it too, everyone does to some extent. I want to see the real person deep down.
It's useful to know how people will react under situations of extreme stress. Piotr, for example, gardens when he's feeling under pressure. Or he will draw, if there's nothing to garden with. Either way, can you imagine those as past times for someone who looks like he would be more comfortable in a gym? John, get this, Mr. Fire Crazy himself, reads when push comes to shove. Paper cowers in fear when Pyro's name is mentioned in conjunction with fire starting equipment, and he reads to release his stress. Just when you think you know someone, huh?
He will also write crappy romances, using his 'friends' as characters. I admit the one he started that seems to feature Mono-eye and Goody Two Shoes Jean is pretty good. I also don't find that Rocky and the Pretty Kitty make such a bad couple. But the one with me and the Rogue in it? Now he's treading on dangerous water there.
First of all, Rogue's got this absolutely disturbing habit of popping up right when I don't expect her. If I didn't know better I would say that she was trying to run into me. Of course, that's just plain crazy. The girl can't touch, and she's sensible, she won't go running after what she can't possibly obtain.
In the second place, she's an X-Man, and I'm still one of the Acolytes, no matter that we have an uneasy truce. I wouldn't be allowed anywhere near her if I wanted to get close to Rogue. Not that I want to be. No, I certainly don't want that.
What's the use of falling in love with a woman (girl, she's not even nineteen) who can't touch, has a father who would willingly dice me up into tiny chunks, a brother who could teleport me to the bottom of the ocean floor, a 'mother', and I use this term as loosely as possible, who used to be an assassin (there is no way that I am getting mixed up with them again), and a private weather witch on call to zap me into oblivion? There isn't any point, or reason on Earth why I should do that.
I've hurt Rogue too much as it is, anyway. Manipulating her was the stupidest thing that I ever did. She's not just another person to me now. I can't write her off as information to be collected. I hurt her, and I owe her a debt beyond belief. I don't think that even she realizes how much I owe her.
I reach the bus stop and duck under the shelter with the other Bayvilleites. Some duck away from me, I forgot my sunglasses and my eyes are probably glowing in the gloom. Others either don't notice, or don't care. One little girl keeps on looking at me with awe. I can tell that she thinks that my eyes look cool. Well, seeing emotions isn't all that it's cracked up to be, kid.
People look at their watches, nervous of the time that is wasting before they come home to their families, or miss time on their night jobs. They look at the sky, and as if this is the signal the rain increases.
A gaggle of teens in school uniforms run into the shelter. They all fight among themselves, the silver haired girl and the busty blonde seem to be the hottest contenders, but all of them are arguing about something. There is one, who is slightly apart from the rest, reading some book, and occasionally rolling her eyes as the fight gets slightly louder.
I get out a pack of cards and begin to use the tiny stand that holds the brochures for the buses as an impromptu card table. Some of the other people begin to watch in the board way that that people with nothing to do will watch anything. I begin to cajole them, and soon a few fives have been placed down by some of the bolder bystanders. I let them win the fives back, and some more are set down.
Sometimes I win, and sometimes they win. For the most part I let chance deal it out as she wills. This is just my way of marking those that have wallets that could use a little downsizing.
Someone turns over a queen of hearts instead of the queen of spades. I smile, shrug, collect his money, and move on. That queen of hearts is n my mind though. I gave one to Rogue, a parting gift. John and Piotr both believe that it means that Rogue's my queen of hearts; both of them think that it is an incredibly caring gesture, although John has a good snicker every time he thinks about it.
They are wrong, of course. I gave Rogue that card to show her that I owed her, and owed her plenty. If I had to match the belle femme up with any card it would have to be that elusive queen of spades.
The dark queen is very hard to understand. People have this fascination and revulsion of her. Take Old Maid, versus the game that I'm playing right know to pass the time away. She is beautiful, but in the same way that a thistle is. The flower maybe soft and wonderful, but the thorns surrounding it are not.
Who am I kidding? Trying to compare Rogue to a card. It's John's romanticism at work. I tell you, that stuff does funny things to the brain.
A bus rolls up, and some people get on, some get off, and in the resulting confusion, my card game is forgotten. The teens troop on to the bus, still arguing. The book reader stares at my game for a moment. She then come up to me and says, in perfect French, "The queen of spades is currently located about four inches, or ten centimeters, up your left sleeve. If you ever are in Boston, then I believe that you owe me five dollars."
She turned and got on the bus. I stare after her and try to collect myself. Merde, Rogue has screwed me up good. I've lost my touch when it comes to dealing.
Please tell me what you think, I am giving out free kudos if you push that little review button, epona's already collected, so I suggest that you do the same.