CAJUN CINNAMON
Book One of the Annwn Ryu Cycle

Chapter XV
"What the Diamond Dare Not Show"

Cayanne was more than a bit annoyed to discover that her schedule now required anap - a nap! - during the day of at least one hour. As if she was a....an enfant!
Determined to not resort to fuming , she had retreated to her room, only to set off another shockwave when Ororo - normally the most serene of people - apparently informed her father that her room was filled with unpacked boxes, not at all appropriate for a "young lady her age".
Gaaaaah!
Taking one look at her Papa's face she fought down a groan. Every time he got that look in his eye it meant he was - uneccessarily, in her opinion - worrying.
She hated for him to worry, much less about her.
He moved aside a bit to allow Marie to enter, then she closed the door.
Oh, dis wonderful. Double trouble! she groaned inwardly. But still, a tiny part of her whispered, it was good to see them together there. A wave of dizzyness washed over her suddenly, and she pressed a hand against the bedframe to steady herself. Damnez-le!
"Venez ici, mon petit combattant têtu." Remy said, softly, and Cayanne all but fell into his arms. "Listen to your Papa, mon petit. Dis hard on you, I know. Always you have been independant as a forest fire, an' twice as bright, but now, you need let dese people help you." He gently tilted her head back, spoke in a voice devoid of anger or accusation. "An' you need eat, sleep. Cayanne, you trust me?"
Her eyes closed one moment, then her thin shoulders slumped. "Avec tous j'ai et tous je suis." she whispered.
The mutant known as Gambit held his daughter to him. "Trust me, Cayanne. Gets easier from here. I know it hurts. Fearful." He held a long, graceful finger to her lips, stifling any comment. "I be wit' you. An' Marie. You safe. Trust me."

Zane and Justin were building a house of cards, with Liam reading a book under their table, when Fabian and Graham joined them.
"Knock it and I knock you." was Zane's cheerful comment, as he perched on his toes, wobbling dangerously to place a card. "Okay, Justin - lay one on it!"
With odd grace, the gargoylian mutant's tail came up, gently placing a card on the top of the tower.
"How many have you done, bro?" asked Fabian, leaning against the couchback, watching the construction effort.
"This is the first today."
"Wow." Fabian's skin turned crystilline briefly, whirling with appriciative orange-blue-yellow, before Brendan's hand came up over the couch's back and thumped his side lightly.
"Whoops." grinned the chromokenetic, leaning back against the couch again.

Cayanne normally didn't mind her chores - much - but the ones she was doing currently were grating on her nerves. Once she was finished with the dishes, she dodged the groups of students, she made her way into the library, plunked down in the nearest chair, and tried to gather her thoughts.
She punched the back of the leather chair in frustration, feeling some of her irritation drain away with the explosive movement.
A light brush against her mind made her sit up straight, glancing at the door as Stryfe entered with characteristic silence.
"Rafe!" The teen-ager couldn't resist a smile at her friend. "Enfin, quelqu'un raisonnable!"
"That is quite possibly the first time I have been placed in that catagory." came the dry response, as he seated himself. "Something is troubling you?"
A low growl. "Ever'one gettin' all wierd." she mumbled.
"That is rather inpercise."
Cayanne grinned, cocking her head to look up into his eyes. "You know 'zactly what I mean."
"Mmmm." Stryfe nodded, watching her. "Do let me know if it becomes - truly distressing, hmm?"
"Pas vous aussi!" Cayanne's voice was mock-disgusted, as she smacked herself in the forehead.
"On a similar note, I am to become your teacher."
"Really?" Cayanne bounced to her feet. "You 'port me again?" She loved being teleported - at least by Stryfe.
"Certainly." His blue eyes regarded her serenely. "I belive I can teach you about your telekenetic abilities. Nathan shall aid Xavier in your telepathic skills."
Cayanne blinked, then her expression turned thoughtful. "It...like t'l'pathy?" Her voice was low, tenative. "Dis tel'kenisis?"
"In a way. It is a distinct ability of the mind. However, few psionics possess more than one ability. You are...quite gifted."
"Hmmph." The girl looked uncomfortable. "Not know much 'bout dis stuff Rafe. Don' really wanna hurt nobody while I don' know, you know?"
"I belive so." Rafe watched her, noting the unconcious drumming of her graceful, long fingers, the tension in her shoulders.
"How long it take to learn?"
"After you learn the basics of the skill, you will be able to instruct yourself." He nodded to himself. "First of all, I can show you how to manipulate small objects..."
"Have perfect thing!"
Stryfe raised an eyebrow.
Rumaging in her pocket, Cayanne came up with a small package, dumping two seperate, largely formless globs into her hand. She tossed one to him, which he reflexively caught. "You keep dat one." A grin, full of love and trust, accompanied that comment.
Years of dealing with various forms of gelatinous, dangerous explosives made him ask mildly, "Do I want to know what it is?"
Cayanne laughed. "'Bout describes my brain right now - Silly Putty!"

Scott, Ororo, Logan, and Remy joined Hank and Professor Xavier in his office to discuss student performence reports.
"Brendan's grades have shown marked improvement." said Scott, a slight smile crossing his face. Of the class, he was among the most delightful to work with - eager, intelligent, curious. Though he had started off with a third-grade education, he had rocketted forward, reaching his age-group in reading and mathematics and surpassing them in some areas in a few months. "And Zane is very bright, quick to learn. Liam is the one I'm concerned about. He's so shy he almost never speaks, and is so hesitant about adding to the class I'm afraid he's being sold short."
The discussion went on for more than an hour, with the various concerns about the student body and their varying gifts and progress discussed, with ideas for enhancing the teaching environment bounced from one teacher to another.
Finally, Remy asked, all too casually, "How Cayanne doin' in yer classes?"
"She's a good student." Scott's voice held a note of hesitance, when the others regarded him questioningly, he shook his head, remembering the letter entrusted to him. "Sorry, that's all I can say right now - Cayanne understands literature very well. And she enjoys reading, which is a bit more than I can say for some of the kids." His frown was fond.
"Her knowledge of history is a bit spotty." admitted Ororo. "She is very aware of Louisiana and Canadian history, but seems rather - indifferent - to most of the Northern States." She smiled. "And she insists of referring to the Civil War as "The War of Northern Agression"."
"She approves of the South's stance on slavery?" Scott's voice was shocked while Remy chuckled.
Logan snorted. "Nah, the kid just puts the first shot where it belongs, Scott." he grinned wolfishly. "I can understand that."
It still sounded a little unusual to hear Logan call Scott by his proper name. But the long rivalry between the pair had changed into a deep bond of brotherhood that sometimes left the other X-Men shaking their heads in wonder.
Hank spoke up then. "I am concerned, my friends." he said, eyes flickering briefly to Remy. "Cayanne seems to show signs of hyperactivity..."
Remy's expression was startled, slightly amused. "Well, she active, what wrong with that?"
Hank shook his head. "Hyperactivity is not the same as a person's activity level. It seems to be - and the condition is hardly fully understood - a form of brain activity that causes uncontrolled activity in body and mind. She is also likely HSP..."
"HSP?" Ororo frowned a little in puzzlement.
"Ah, forgive me." Hank rubbed a blue hand over his eyes. "HSP is a new classification. Not an illness, not at all. HSP stands, quite literally, for Highly Sensitive Person. Observant, able to draw very accurate mental images of others, it is assumed to occur in 15-20 of the population." He took a deep breath. "I also belive she is suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder..."
Remy scowled, then shook his head. "She still not sleep well. If she sleep at all." his voice was soft. "I don't know what to do to help her, mes amis."
"Normally, a regimen of medication would be an option." Again, the mutant deceptively known as Beast shook his head. "In this case, her struggle with addiction would make that most unwise."
"No drugs." said Remy, voice harsh. "We treat her wit ot'hr ways, oui?"
"Yeah." Logan said, from his position near the wall. "Count on that."

Cayanne sat on the floor, Indian-style, concentrating.
Her gaze was on an orange, set a foot in front of her, and stubbornly still.
"Concentrate." encouraged Stryfe, quietly. "See the object move."
"Tryin'." mumbled the girl, fingertips twitching.
"You fear another loss of control." stated the time-travelling telekenetic. "Let go of the fear."
She glanced up at her friend. "Don' wanna take no chances." was the reluctant admission.
"Try again." This time Stryfe lay a hand on her shoulder.
Cayanne frowned with effort. Her gaze shifted back to the fruit, and she took a deep breath.
The orange rose six inches into the air and stayed there.
The teen-ager's expression was startled, and she actually jerked back a bit, prompting an explosion of rind, pulp, and fruit juice as her telekenetic grasp clenched around her target.
Stryfe lifted a hand, shielding them from the backlash without effort. He had her strength roughly gauged now, and he again lowered his hand to her shoulder.
Very gifted indeed. he thought absently to himself, hands gentle on her shoulders.
Cayanne wiped her face and grinned up at him "Guess we gonna be drinkin' orange juice for a while." she said, with a laugh.

Remy found his daughter perched on the edge of the couch-back, watching her friends build a truly impressive card-castle.
"Petit chére, how you doin' dis mornin'?" he asked, wrapping a long arm around the slender girl.
Cayanne looked up at him, love and trust in her eyes as she asked, "Papa, ever'one act wierd. Why?"
The tall Cajun chuckled, but it was a loving sound. "We worry for you, mon têtu petit amour." he began, gently tilting back his daughter's chin to stare down into her eyes as she uttered a snort. "You not eat. You not sleep. Dis make me worry for you."
"Papa..." Cayanne's voice was low, then she sighed. "I not hungry."
"And never tired?" Remy's voice was gentle, as she looked away, a frown on her sharp features. "You need sleep an' food. You trust me?" He had leaned close enough to allow them privacy.
Cayanne looked away. "I...."
"I make my gumbo t'night. You come be my taster." he suggested, guiding her toward the kitchen.

Cayanne sat on the edge of the counter, enjoying the sight of her father's kitchen antics.
"Peu trop doux?" asked the girl, impishly.
The tall Cajun turned with a grin. "Have to make it a bit light for de others, chere." he observed, offering her the ladel.
Cayanne took an experimental drink, then nodded. "Papa, you still have de touch!" she laughed, as her father ruffled her hair affectionately.
The warm banter went on as the pair worked on the gumbo.
It reminded Cayanne of the times her father had chased everyone but her from the kitchen and they'd cooked a massive meal for the whole LeBeau clan (no small feat - the lot could eat more than half-starved gators!) and laughed and chattered through the entire process.
Finally, the teen-ager asked, "Papa, you gonna marry Marie?"
Remy almost lost his grip on his ladle, as he turned back to regard his daughter.
Cayanne sighed, then grinned. "Jus' wanna know. You love her. She love you..." Her expression was impish.
For a moment, Remy was silent, the ladle motionless in the air. "Peu d'ange, you remember I tell you 'bout my...wife?"
"Oui. She leave you." Cayanne's voice had dropped to a growl, hands clenching involentarily.
Remy sighed, sprinkling a tiny bit of black pepper into the simmering pot, started to speak, but his daughter interupted him.
"Grand-père tell story." said Cayanne, eyes flickering with darkened silver. "Belladonna betray Papa. And whole Guild." Her sharp, intelligent features showed her disdain of the woman. "He tell me file papers for when Papa want."
Remy turned toward her, expression startled. "Papers?"
"For divorce. Maybe time for Papa to not be married to Belladonna anymore?" Her expression was hopeful.
Cayanne was a bit puzzled when her father took one step forward and hugged her tightly.
But she hugged him back tightly, loving him all the more.

The night was just gaining it's chill when Cayanne stumbled into the library.
She was shaking, and she hated herself for that.
Part of her cried out for the numbness of the drug. Anything to dull the pain, the whirring Surges, the dim sense of need.
The itching in her hands was momentarily a dim burning, but she ignored that, resting her head on the cool metal of the librarian's desk. It was vaugely comforting.
Coolness against the burning.
Her stomach lurched, and she barely made it down the hallway and into the bathroom before her stomach vented it's contents into the toilet. The heaves contined as she clung to the railing next to the toilet, trembling with cold.
Wiping her mouth, she managed to stumble backwards, tottering toward the hallway, pausing to lean against the wall..
Finally, she stumbled back toward the kitchen for a glass of water.

Sitting in one of the hard-backed chairs, Cayanne sipped the cool water she'd retrieved only moments before.
"Cayanne, why are you up so late, sweetheart?" the voice was concerned, and belonged to Scott Summers, who padded into the room in his pyjama pants and robe.
"Jus' needed a glassa watter." Even to her own ears, her voice sounded a little hourse
Scott pulled a chair out across from her and sat down, watching her with kind, sympatheic eyes.
She leaned on her arm, trying to finish the water fast.
"Better get back to bed, oui? See ya inna mornin'...." the teen-ager started to get up.
"How long have you been throwing up, Cayanne?"
The girl froze.
Quietly, Scott continued, "Is it only sometimes? Or whenever you eat?"
Scott saw Cayanne spin around, eyes ablaze, body rigid with defiance.
He got up, watching her with compassion as he stood a few feet from her.
"I didn't see it at first." he said, quietly. "But I know what it's like."
"Comme ce que est?" Guarded again, eyes wary and uncertain.
He watched her, trying to figure out how to tell her what he belived. Instead, he suggested, "Cayanne, tell me, are you happy with what you see in the mirror?"
"Ce qui?" A flicker, distant but there, of beginning awareness.
"Here, sit back down, sweetheart." he coaxed.
Reluctantly, the girl complied, watching him warily.
"When I first came here, I was pretty young." Scott began, wondering how much to share at a time. "But the biggest problem was that I saw myself as - different than I really am."
"Mutants have dat problem sometimes, Xavier say." Her eyes were narrowed.
"It wasn't a mutation. It was fear."
"Crainte?"
He reached over and took her hand, held it in his. "Fear. Yeah." he shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "I thought I was ugly, and disgusting, and...fat..." It still hurt to say aloud.
"You not fat." It was a statement, as those ebon-starlight eyes turned puzzled.
"I saw myself as that. For a long, long time." Scott's gaze was empathic now. "Cayanne, do you think you're thin?"
She shrugged. "Needa lose a few pounds." Her expression was uncomfortable.
"No, Cayanne. You don't."
She stared at him.
"I - not see myself right?" her voice was low, uncertain.
He put his hands on her shoulders, staring down into her eyes. "I think you're torturing yourself, Cayanne. Will you let me help you?" He made himself look as unthreatening as possible. If she couldn't extend her trust in this, the illness tormenting her would slowly tear her apart.
She closed her eyes. Sick in my mind? A shiver struggled to become a shudder. I not sane?
Cayanne? Scott? Xavier's mental voice, gentle and concerned.
The girl's head snapped up, and her shields slammed into place.
"Trust me." whispered Scott, arm around her.
"What dis t'ing, den?" Maybe if it has a name, it won't be as bad, she thought, disjointedly.
"It's called annorexia nervosa." replied the leader of the X-Men, gently guiding the girl toward Xavier's office. "It can be helped, sweetheart."
Papa, I'm sorry. she thought, wildly, a sense of dim, unfamilar panic scrabbling at the back of her throat.
A gentle strand of love/support/encouragement swirled tenderly into her heart, an empathic touch from her father.
The door of Xavier's library loomed in front of her, and Cayanne leaned against that warmth, feeling a sudden sense of incomprehensible relief.