Yersi Fanel: Yep...but poor Rogue. She's just a confused girl who's very very insecure. Echanted light: I don't know how much sooner these updates can keep coming. Ms. Rogue LeBeau: You basically have it all down. Annabel is Patricia's daughter (who inherited her mutant powers as well as developed some of her own) and Patricia is dead. Everyone thought she was behind the mutant attacks but that is not the case. So far anything else we know is that Theodore Farrat is somehow connected to all this. It'll make sense soon enough. Sweety8587: Hmm, never thought Annabel as being like Xavier's son--she's just as messed up though, huh? That's why Remy's so...perplexed I guess if the word. Rogue seems mad but he doesn't get it when nobody's really shown towards him. The whole mystery behind Annabel is solved right here. Datrucount: Thanks. Hmm, curious how the review wouldn't go through. But I got this one all right. Yeah, didn't figure you name had anything to do with my story. It was just a moment of funny confusion. Ha. Silky black: I'm thinking that Jean just wanted help in general, even though she knew there was nobody to go to As for Theodore Farrat first impressions are not always the most accurate, right? Sucks though b/c 35% off is only once in a long while, otherwise it's just the regular old 20%. Blagh. Hmm, I'm not familiar with Winners. Shockgoddess: Yes, poor Rogue, poor Remy--I can't wait to give you all the next few chapters! Kendokao: Stick with your intuition, I don't think it'll lead you astray. And yeah, I think all the characters are reaching some sort of breaking point. The tension that has built is fast becoming unbearable. And you're right about Remy being at the heart of the matter. Epona04: Yay, some Jean empathy--the girl gets it too hard from people. And of course the plot shall thicken to a viscosity tantamount to glue... Allie: You're confused? I hope I'm not twisting things around too much. Wish you said what was confusing...this chap clears up a LOT. You already started school? My God where do you live? I don't start till next week and I am absolutely dreading it. I do so many things and gag, the business. Yet, I kinda thrive off of it. PossessedRoguey: Yeah, I like Poe--saw all the clues huh? Haha. Good to see you associate "Raven" with Poe rather than Mystique. Hate to see that happen. I don't flow with the semi-psychotic sociopath thing. Hawkgal: Well, just don't predict everything's that going to happen or you might disappoint yourself. Great gifts must be used responsibly, lol. See, how often do authors typically update? I just know I wish everybody would update as fast as me so I could read! Ishandahalf: I'm disheartening you? My dear, Ish--your fic absolutely kills me with the heartbreak. I guess we're even, neh? Oh no, you're going to college? I think I might cry because you will be incredibly busy and hardly have time for updates! GWFreak315: Always nice to be on a favorites list. Makes me so happy to watch the stat numbers climb. :D Freak87: Yep, the X-Men just keep getting picked off one by one. Everybody gets theirs eventually ;-) Oh, Jean is going to snap all right--but she'll snap with a bang. Hey, that sounds like a good deal with all those episodes--I'd sure get a kick out of watching them. Bummer how they're gone. I wonder if they're ever sold in stores? I always feel iffy about buying things online. Totally Obsessed47: The tensions and confusion between Rogue and Gambit are trying, but what good fanfic is without romantic angst? Ooh, I love writing it. Hmm, Jean is having troubles--funny how I never really saw her relationship with Scott as anything more than adoration. Saying "love" kind of connotes passion and desire and I just don't see those two having anything but...well, adoration and admiration for each other. I can't see any fire between them, unlike with Rogue and Gambit. Hmmm, never occurred to me before. Zen Master White Dragon: Your "looks like it's going to rain today" made me "Hah!" very loud. Depressing? Well, the chapter was called "Distressed" right? Heh...heh...But hey! I must write review replies! I'd put 'em at the end but feels like you should read the replies before the story in case I make important remarks (yeah, right).Didn't realize the last chapter was so short though--but I'm allowed a few of those, right? Speedy updates remember? I think I am very long-winded. Must stop. Best witnessed from a newbie?! Coming from you, WOW. Ultimate Remy's hair--what's with that??? Gross frizz near-fro. Just me: Aww, now I do feel special. On with the long review replies!.:-) Love outbursts, always so full of enthusiasm, they are. Ninjamonkey: Had to have a reason for the psyches to know when Annabel was around--so there it was. If you like the Theodore thing, you'll fully enjoy this chapter. It is hella revealing. BlackRougeFillie: Jealousy must mean I'm doing something right. :) And yeah, I was a bit put off by your question in the previous review, but then I realized you weren't really rude at all. So don't worry about it. ;) It's hard sometimes to ask an imperative question without projecting yourself as demanding. Skyangle2004: Yeah, school sucks, but thanks for being understanding.
Okay, I think I forgot somebody but I didn't do it intentionally! I read reviews from my email inbox so I think I might have stashed them away before catching every single one.
Fear. Dread. Sadness. A lot of anger. Maybe even regret... Rogue was feeling many things. Now that she'd managed to lock her psyches away, she could think peacefully. She wasn't sure if it was a good thing.
The mansion was quiet that evening. Rogue wandered the empty halls, missing Bobby's pranks, Jubilee's fireworks, the multiple Jamies bumping into things. Would she ever see them again? Her longing for the X-Men was galling. She had hated them when they were around, despised their immature behavior and ludicrous fancies. Now she would give anything to have them back.
Rogue could have laughed if the situation had not been so dire. She had spent so much of her time trying to be alone, and now that she was she wished for nothing else but company. Her feet carried her to the Infirmary, where she knew Jean had taken abode. Maybe it was time they had a heart-to-heart talk about everything. Any moment the ghost could return. Any moment one of them could fall invalid.
Jean leaned against Scott's bed, elbows propped on the mattress and head sitting on her hand. Her fingers stroked his smooth jaw. "Please be okay," she pleaded softly. "Please don't leave me."
Despite it being the right thing to do, Rogue couldn't have such deep conversations with Jean. She couldn't talk like that with anyone. Except Remy.
No, she growled at herself. You are not thinking about him!
There was no use in denying truth. Even she couldn't lie to herself. She was wasting her time and energy moping over the Cajun. He had practically said to her face he didn't care, that there were more important things that he had to deal with--like the girl. He had to save the girl. That was why he left. Again. Rogue couldn't help but wonder if she was pretty.
She clenched and unclenched her hands. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. Yet, as her indignation increased, she realized the anger was slowly dissolving into very unwelcome sadness. She turned away from Jean and walked into the observation area. As she collapsed at Mr. McCoy's desk, she fought back tears that threatened to ruin her make-up. Then she realized she wasn't wearing any. She hadn't worn make-up in days. It was a little refreshing.
Her sad eyes skimmed over the papers on Mr. McCoy's desk. The beast was a very busy body. Notepad scribbles, computer print outs, and medical records sat in plain view for the world to see. He had been interrupted the night he was attacked; he hadn't had the time to put his notes away.
Rogue began straightening the mess when something caught her eye. She snatched the typed document immediately, holding it close to her face in the dim lighting. She scanned the page, catching the important information: Patricia Velkonnen--born 1951, London, Great Britain--family of four--mother (identity unknown) deceased 1959--father, Edgar Farrat, dies of coma 1965--weds Count Armand Velkonnen 1977...
Rogue stopped reading. She dropped the page, head swimming with facts, hypotheses, and questions. Patricia Velkonnen was Patricia Farrat. Patricia Farrat. Mutant predator. Wraith.
I have t'go see Theodore Farrat.
De girl's scared an' angry...
I t'ink he's doin' somethin' t'her.
Rogue covered her face with her hands. Patricia Farrat. Theodore Farrat. What had Remy gotten himself into?
It had happened through a simple note. Remy had been playing a game of Solitaire in the base rec room. Pyro waltzed in with a crisp, flammable envelope in his hands. Across the front was scrawled in script, Gambit. Pyro tossed the envelope onto the table of cards, "Love letter, mate?"
It was anything but. When Remy took up the offer, he had no idea so many things would result.
Theodore Farrat was not shy about his desires. He did not bother to meet in secret, calling Remy to a posh restaurant in the illustrious sector of Brooklyn. He conversed with the servers and joked with the maitre'D, carrying himself as a king admist luxury. He even paid for the meal. After explaining what he wanted, he gave a generous down payment and said, "There's plenty more where that came from, boy. Get me want I want and you get what you want." He flounced his riches, intent on showing how wealthy he was, that he was the real deal.
Remy thought nothing of it at the time.
Wolverine's motorcycle was a smooth ride. Remy could not help "borrowing" it again. Not only was it his vehicle of choice and preference, it was also versatile and fast--the wiser option compared to a chunky van. It would also give him an excuse to return to the mansion, though he didn't consciously acknowledge that.
Remy pulled the bike to a stop in front of the same expensive restaurant, one of those that served snails as a delicacy. Farrat had seemed very friendly with the employees that one night. Maybe they could offer useful information. Remy charmed his way around the workers and found that Farrat was a regular, dining at the restaurant every Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday night. He even had a specially reserved table. Once in a few nights he'd take home a waitress. Remy found one of the girls and turned up the charm. She quickly dispelled where Farrat lived.
Seventeen minutes later Remy rolled along manicured streets of Manhattan's Upper East Side. He hid the motorcycle behind some hedges and climbed over the surrounding fence. He kept alert for guard dogs or signs of sophisticated security systems. The yard was not big, considering the lack of space in Manhattan, and Remy reached the large stone home in seconds. He poked around the exterior, trying to find a way inside.
He was supposed to meet Farrat days ago, in Washington Square Park, at the chess tables. He wondered if the man would be angry at a delayed delivery.
The second floor balcony kept the only room dark enough to be sure of emptiness. Remy scaled the exterior wall upon the trellis and landed with a soft thud on the balcony. He picked the lock with ease and gained entrance.
A blandly decorated bedroom greeted his presence. He crossed the room and slowly pulled open the door. Dim lighting from downstairs teased a dark hallway. Remy crept silently through, ears keen on any noise. He looked through several rooms, sometimes whispering a quiet, "Annabel", but never really anticipating a reply. He wasn't even sure of what he expected to find.
He was poking about a study when suddenly the lights flashed on. He spun around, bo-staff extended and ready.
"You have severe punctuality issues," a vaguely British voice said. Theodore Farrat stood in the doorway, a middle-aged man dressed elegantly in a deep navy evening suit. His greying hair was groomed and combed to sculpted perfection while his face was clean-shaven. The wrinkles about his eyes became more noticeable when he frowned. He did not seem at all fazed that a thief had broken into his home. "And you were supposed to meet me in the city, not here. How do you explain yourself?"
Remy collapsed his staff, tucked it away at his belt. He withdrew a card from its deck and began absent-mindedly flipping it through his fingers. "Mais, t'ings came up--certain delays. Had t'find y' m'self t'deliver de goods."
Farrat continued to hold him under heavy scrutiny. "So you have it?"
"Depends. Y'have de fee?"
The older man seemed to roll his eyes. He turned sharply on his heel and with a quick snap of the wrist, gestured for Remy to follow. He left the room and walked downstairs. Remy stayed a safe distance behind, examining the foreign surroundings with well-trained eyes. He followed Farrat through a spacious foyer into an open parlor.
"Please, have a seat," the man said, moving to a counter of wine decanters.
"S'fine. I can stand."
Farrat began pouring himself a glass of rich Italian wine. "You really ought to relax, Gambit," he said and drew a dainty sip. "There are no hostilities here."
"Wit' all due respect," Remy said, "I'll be de judge o'dat."
The wealthy man nodded. "Wise of you to be so cautious. No wonder you are such a good thief. A tardy one, but good nonetheless. Now, let us view your payment." He carried his wine glass to a safe sitting behind a dark mahogany desk. After spinning the combination he pulled open the door. His shoulders blocked any view of the contents. When he found what he wanted, he closed the hatch and turned around.
He set a miniature briefcase on his desktop and flicked it open. The black case contained four thick piles of crisp twenty dollar bills, all stacked neatly and precisely. "There you are, Gambit," he said after another sip of wine. "Now, the item?"
Remy reached into his pocket and pulled out the bottle. He looked at it curiously, twirling the liquid around. "S'funny how y'go t'rough so much trouble for such a tiny thing, neh?" He was stalling, trying to buy more time in this house. Was Annabel here or not? The "Theo" she had mentioned could have been anybody...but Remy had a feeling, a very strong one.
"That's my business, boy," Farrat snapped. He was getting irriated, a sure sign for suspicion. The rich man didn't want anybody to know what he would use the drug for.
"Jus' curious, is all," Remy drawled coolly. "Got t'be careful dese days, 'specially wit' all de mutant haters around. What's dis for anyhow? Looks like some kind o' sedative."
Farrat finished his wine and set the glass firmly on the desk. He crossed his arms, glaring calmly at the youth. "It is a sedative," he admitted, "one that is so powerful that it cannot be acquired by conventional methods."
"What you use it for?"
"Awfully curious for a mercenary," Farrat narrowed his eyes. He smiled though it looked more like a sneer. "Ask what you really want to, Gambit. There's a question in those demon eyes of yours."
Remy's brow furrowed. Subtlety was getting him nowhere. He decided to be frank, "D'you know o' Patricia Velkonnen? Wraith?"
A glint of some unrecognizable emotion flashed through Farrat's pale blue eyes.
"How 'bout a girl dat calls herself Annabel?" Remy continued. He stopped flipping the card around; it became partially charged. His muslces were taut and alert, ready for any onslaught. This was unknown territory he'd thrown himself into. He didn't know how Farrat would react.
Surprisingly, the man smiled. "Annabel? Why yes. I did not know you were acquainted with my niece."
Remy blinked, the only sign of his surprise. "Y'niece?" So that was her real name.
Farrat's smile faded as he regarded the thief with a disdainful scowl. "Catch on a tad bit slow, don't you, lad?" He turned towards a doorway that led into the kitchen. "Annabel!" he called. "Sweetheart, I'd like you to come meet someone."
Moments later a girl appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. "Yeah, Uncle Theo? Who is it?"
Remy's eyes widened. He stared in utter disbelief at the figure before him.
She was an exact image of the young woman who'd haunted his dreams. The same black curls of opulent hair, the same icy blue eyes, the same achingly pretty face. She was dressed in casual teenage garb: jeans and a maroon zip-up cardigan over a white tank top. As she gave Remy a once-over, she smiled slightly with intrigue.
"One of my workers. His name is Gambit," Farrat explained. "Have you two met before?"
Annabel frowned curiously, "No, why would you think so?"
"Y'don't remember me, p'tite?" Remy asked. He still couldn't believe it. The ghost, the mutant predator, was just a seventeen year old girl staring at him like he was a loon.
Annabel giggled in amusement as her eyebrows raised, "What did you call me?" She exchanged a puzzled look with her uncle. "I'm sorry, but I can't really place your face... Where did we meet? I'm sure I would have remembered such a unique name."
In m'head, Remy thought. He frowned and ran a hand through his hair. This was not how he had expected things to happen. Then again, he hadn't really known what to expect.
A moment of silence followed. Farrat cleared his throat impatiently. "The item," he said.
Remy handed it to him, still frowning.
Farrat tucked the bottle into the inner pocket of his suit. He gestured towards the tiny case of bills. "Your payment?"
"Keep it," Remy said. He didn't want to think about this anymore, didn't need the reminder. Along with everything else, this venture only added to his confusion. He turned to leave.
"Wait, Gambit," Annabel called.
He stopped, looked back.
She hesitated, glacial eyes going to her uncle questioningly. She brushed aside a spiral of black hair. "Why don't you stay for dinner?" she asked with a welcome smile. So sweet, so genuine, so innocent--nothing like the pained soul that had haunted him. "I was just preparing some chicken alfredo. There's more than enough for three."
Farrat raised an eyebrow at his niece.
Remy stared at her for several seconds. How could this be? Had he gone mad? Then he frowned and looked away. "No t'anks, cherie. I ain't in de mood." He left before anything more could be said.
He mounted Wolverine's motorcycle and took off down the street. Something was terribly wrong--he knew it. But how was he to prove anything? He didn't even know what he was trying to prove. If Annabel was there, alive and well, why was she attacking mutants? He should have stayed longer, asked her questions, interrogated her... But she did not know who he was. The blank look of unfamiliarity in her eyes cleared his doubt. This was not the same girl.
Remy growled in confusion. He had to forget about this for now. He veered the bike to head back towards Bayville.
"'Stay for dinner'?" Farrat said, staring at the girl. He frowned severely. "What exactly had you hoped to accomplish with that?"
"It was another ploy to complete the affect," came the reply. "You saw the look on his face. He believed everything he saw." Ever so fluidly, the black curls began to fade, retreating towards the head and straightening into short, choppy locks. The youthful female body expanded into gaunt muscles and lost its curves to masculine linearity. Anabelle's creamy skin darkened to a tan hue as her appendages grew in length and size. When she looked up her eyes were no longer icy blue but a deep hazel and her face had lost all its feminine prettiness. A dark-haired boy stood in the parlor. He crossed his lanky arms.
Farrat regarded the mutant warily, "Mr. Sidney, he may very well have accepted your offer. What would we have done then?"
"You worry too much, Theodore."
Farrat turned towards the slithery voice. A tremor ran up his spine as he saw the all-red eyes glowing in the shadows of the hallway.
"Morph's actions were an effectual gambit." The laugh was airy and guttural, chilling. "You trouble yourself over minutiae, Theodore."
"I like to be careful," Farrat said. He turned back to the dark-haired boy. "Pretty convenient mutation you've got there, lad."
"Yes," he agreed monotonously.
Farrat narrowed his eyes. What had that soulless man done to the kid? He decided he didn't care; other pressing matters called for his attention. He looked back at the red pits of eyes. "You are the most conniving mutant I've ever met. How did you know Gambit would come?" If he was nervous or intimidated, he did not show it.
"Ever since your lovely niece started her attacks here, I have been keeping an eye on those X-men," the black mouth pronounced. "Gambit should have fallen comatose when she found him, but he didn't. She spared him, why I do not know. Now it seems they have forged some kind of connection. He is a threat that must be dealt with swiftly."
Farrat nodded as he calculated his options. "Then I'll send some men after him. They'll take care of it." He reached for his phone but paused, asking, "Why are you helping me?"
Inky lips twisted into a sneering smile, "All in the name of science. Your niece's rampage is indirectly handing me a myriad of mutants to experiment with."
Farrat nodded, beginning to understand the twisted plan this scientist had in mind.
"Remember, Theodore, you must obtain the girl for me."
"And if Annabel gets to her first?"
"It does not matter," the ashen face said confidently. "You will have your men seize Rogue and bring her to my lab--unspoiled. She will be the first for extraction. Make sure your baffoons do not endanger the other X-Men--and be wary since we do not know how many mutants reside there in actuality. Once the Xavier Institute is overtaken I shall claim the specimens."
Farrat narrowed his eyes, "How do I know you don't plan on adding my niece to your little collection?"
"I no longer have use for her, dear, ignorant Theodore. I believed Wraith was the only mutant with such abilities, but that is obviously not the case. I see now that second and third generation mutants have developed quite variable abilities. Your niece--albeit intriguing--has faculties that pose more as an inconvenience than a gift." A pondering silence befell his shadowed face. "A pity I did not pull Patricia from the fire in time, yes? She may have been useful in determining the origin of the mutant X-gene."
Farrat bristled. "You are indeed heartless," he accused.
"Heart is only an obstruction to science. Uncensored experimentation is necessary for commendable progress. Now, Theodore, execute the correct actions and all will occur as planned. Come along, Morph. We have much to prepare for." The eyes disappeared as he turned away.
Farrat watched as the young man followed his master. When both had left, he shook his head, reminding himself never to deal with mutants again. He made the necessary phone calls then grabbed the bottle of medicine.
The room was on the first floor, the only one in the house with a lock on the outside. Farrat unlocked the door and entered. The dim light was useless to see by but he knew his way around the room. He went to a small cupboard in the wall, pulled off the lock. Minutes later he was ready, a syringe filled with the sedative poised in his hand.
A girl lay in the bed, her head of long, bouncy curls tilted slightly off to the side. Her eyebrows twitched, her eyelids twitching ever so subtly. She was awakening.
Farrat slowly injected the sedative into her bloodstream--only a little bit. The new chemical was powerful and required small doses a few times a day. When he was finished, Farrat tossed the needle away and took off the gloves. He held a cottonball to the puncture and then taped over it with a Band-Aid. As he stood back he realized just how exactly like Annabel the shapeshifter had looked. That boy could fool anybody with such gifts.
"Not like you, dear niece," he said to the unconscious girl. "Your powers only ever caused trouble, killed innocents, like Patricia. This is better for everyone." He watched as she stopped stirring. She fell back into motionless rest as the sedative took effect. "And what are you doing now, hmm? How are you still preying on people even in this state?" Of course, he didn't receive an answer.
He left the room after putting away the materials and locking the cupboard. He made sure the door was locked before walking away. Soon all would be over and he could enjoy his riches in peace. Whether or not it had been a mistake to hire the thief, he didn't care. That problem would soon be resolved.
I mentioned a new character entering this story a while ago and you've just met him--Morph's original alias was Changeling when he was part of the X-Men in one of the earlier comic titles. Man, the grief of finding a biography on him! In X-Men TAS, he is known as Morph, the tortured and slightly-schizophrenic shapeshifter who Wolverine quotes, "Could always make me laugh." I remembered that line because Morph was Wolverine's best friend even though he has no major role in the Marvel comicverse. I was originally going to use Mystique in Morph's place but then realized I would be altering the Evolution universe too much because Mystique, at this point, has been imprisoned by Apocalypse to become one of his Four Horsemen. So yeah, that's the reasoning behind Morph's little cameo.
Sorry if this was later than usual! But one of my favorites chapters is next!
Next Chapter: Love In Vain