Thanks go out to Sophia, Tania, LeochickX, Tedabug, Yellowdragon Fly,
Gethmane8 and Ddrinki4. Cheers! xx
Warning: there will be a piece of extreme violence in this chapter.
S'endormir= go to sleep.
Chapter.7.
The long weighty strings of colourful ceramic beads rattled and clattered as Remy pushed them aside, holding them back for Ororo to take up as they went through the doorway. It was almost as deathly silent inside as it was out, only outside, there had at least been a subtle chorus of bats squeaking their high pitched calls and the incessant croaking of frogs. But their symphony was almost melodious...soothing. Now they were inside the small house, that some would have classed a glorified shack, the noises of the swamps seemed to fall away as did the humidity that was even more compressed out here than it had been on the city streets of the Big Easy. The air was so thick that it became an effort simply to breath and contrary to the norm; as the early morning hours rolled on, the heat worsened.
Remy took the lead down the short but narrow, lamp-lit hallway; its raw wooden walls littered with faded pictures of the New Orleans of yesteryear, with its elegant street trams, men in tailored suits and top hats and women in finely cut white lace dresses holding dainty parasols to block out the searing sun. Most had turned sepia with age as had the various newspaper clippings of long forgotten events that constituted the hotchpotch 'wall paper' on the slightly heat-warped pine slats. Their was an open doorway on the left hand side, near to the end of the hall wherein Remy stopped close to its exhale of pale orange light, simply looking, almost apprehensively, through the opening at whoever it was that occupied the room. Ororo stopped too, but couldn't see who or what he was looking at; being stood just behind his slightly taller frame. She waited patiently, letting her eyes roam over the few cuttings and photographs that were tacked onto the wall closest to her. Suddenly she stopped her random wandering when her eyes fell on someone who looked distinctly familiar. A boy, no older than seven, perhaps eight, caught in mid action of swinging on a length of thick rope attached to a tree on the banks of, she assumed, the Mississippi. The picture had been snapped at the precise moment that the child was about to let go; his face beaming with that curious mixture of playful terror and exquisite joy, mouth open wide in a screaming smile, eyes shut tight in anticipation of impact with the chocolate coloured muddy waters below, floppy, longish auburn hair flying upwards with his immanently downwards momentum...
"'Tantie?" Ororo's attention was drawn from the photograph back to Remy as he hesitantly spoke the name then quickly ran his finger over his top lip to wipe away the beads of sweat caught in his stubble.
"I' been expectin' yo' Remy." A burly yet somehow fragile female voice answered him; cracked at its edges.
"I know." He replied simply and then went through the doorway into the soft light that bathed him. Ororo noticed a strong spicy scent as she went through right behind Remy; spice and the dense, smoky scent of musk-type incense. Delicate swirls of wispy, white smoke danced slowly about the small room that appeared to have another one on the far wall where the pair had entered. But the room they were in now was very much like the hallway with photos, maps of the city and swamps and nineteenth century advertisements set in frames as keep-sakes. There was also a lot of cloth; cloth of cerulean blue, violet, vivid orange and lemon yellow, all draped from the ceiling like billowing parachutes and then over the two windows that were on the left-hand wall, becoming makeshift curtains.
There was a figure sat or rather hunched on a large silk pillow on the floor; the great curve of her cardigan and shawl covered back practically all that could been seen of her from where Ororo and Remy stood silently waiting; the top of a mound of jet black dread-locked hair being the only other discernable feature. In front of her was a low down, fairly long table loaded with thick white church candles all of odd sizes through frequent use and in the middle of this creamy white congregation stood several figures, catholic icons; several miscellaneous praying angles with flaxen hair and bowed heads, then a much taller statuette of a blue clad Virgin and a crucifixion of roughly the same height was carefully positioned next to her. The woman's body was still rocking slightly as if in silent prayer at her personal alter even though she'd had company for several minutes now. But Remy knew to be patient; 'Tantie Mattie had ways and means of doing things. She would start when she was ready...
Suddenly she stopped her gentle sway and began to shift. There was a soft clattering sound; the white beads that ran around the edges of her dreads' falling against each other as she moved forwards onto her knees, coming close to the shrine-like table she'd set up. She muttered a hastily spoken but whispered 'Hail Mary' as she kissed the statue of the 'blessed virgin' and then blew out the candle that stood directly in front of it, repeating the ritual with the crucifixion. Eventually she made to get up; pulling her shawl, clasping it tight at her breast as she leant against the table to help her stiff body from the ground with some measure of difficulty. It was a mixture of age and having sat in that saint-like devotion for nearly four hours now, never once waning. 'Tantie turned to face the pair, fixing Remy with her large dark eyes, the same tone as her ebony skin. After a moment of silent exchange, the robust woman smiled and opened her arm out wide, the other still clinging to her saffron coloured shawl.
"C'mere boy," she chimed; a look of sadness in her eyes despite the smile. Remy moved obediently over to her, embracing her as she did him, patting her hand comfortingly on his back, like old mothers or aunts do, "I swear yo' grow a li'le bit mor' ev'ry time yo' go away!" She said as she pulled away to look up at his towering form, again her voice cracking slightly but this time it seemed to be more heavy with tears than the sound of age.
"Mebbe." He mumbled as he let his hands drop from her, feeling her sadness keenly.
She reached up and cupped his cheek fondly. "Yo' shouldn' leave it so long t' come an' see ol' 'Tantie, Remy." She admonished regretfully, sad in the knowledge that they could only snatch the odd reunion because it was still so dangerous for him to be here. After gazing up at him a little longer she finally turned her attention to Ororo; her countenance instantly lightening. She moved off from Gambit, brushing his arm affectionately as she passed, fixing Storm with a genuinely kind smile, "'Ain't yo' gonna introduce us?" She directed the question at Remy but still had her eyes on Ororo.
"Oui, pardon," he apologised absently for his lack of manners, "Dis is Ororo, Ororo Munroe."
"I' heard so much about yo' girl," The older woman beamed as she let go of the shawl and took one of Ororo's hands into both of hers, holding it in a warm and instantly familiar clasp that actually made Storm feel a little uncomfortable. She wasn't used to strangers being so immediately forthcoming in their affections. They usually reacted to her with obvious distain or a cautious awe---either way they tended to keep their distance. "I feel like I know you already."
"Really?" Ororo said rather nervously, more at the intensity of the woman than anything else. She glanced over and Gambit, then asked, "What has Remy been saying about me? All good I hope?" 'Tantie said nothing, simply continuing to smile up at Ororo, glued to her by some unknown fascination. It was almost as if she considered her some precious idol like the ones she'd been fawning over when they'd first arrived. "Remy has told me much about you also." she then said slightly hesitantly, trying to break the peculiar silence as she noticed quickly Remy's smirk from the corner of her eye. There was nothing quite like 'meeting the mother'.
Suddenly, the old woman let go of Storm's hand and the spell seemed broken as she shuffled her way back over to the blue silk cushion, with its beautifully embroidered pattern depicting a flock of angles, and sat back down on it, but facing outwards and not at the table. "Sit."
Remy and Ororo did as they were told, both taking up a position on the floor in front of Mattie, settling down on the intricately patterned rug below, into lotus positions. "Now...now..." She murmured distractedly to herself, pulling at her shawl, heaving it up about her large, rounded shoulders so that it wrapped her like a caterpillar's cocoon. Remy watched her carefully, feeling strangely comforted by her almost scattered behaviour. She'd always been a character, a wonderful eccentric. Though he didn't fail to notice that as her years advanced, the changes became more pronounced in between each snatched, infrequent visit. Looking down at the ground, 'Tantie was still mumbling, when suddenly, "Yo' want mah help." She blurted out the statement quite solidly, shocking them in her abrupt change of demeanour.
"Yah." Remy reached out and took her hand into his, "T'ings nevah change, hien?" He said with an easy fondness in his voice, the type of which Ororo truly believed she'd only heard from him one or two times before. Sure, he could turn on the sass and charm like it was a light switch, but it was only on rare occasions that his manner was true to how he felt inside...like now, with his mother.
As 'Tantie stared down at the floor again, her hand that was clasped in his trembled a little. He tried to steady it by tightening his grip, but no to much, as he continued, "I need to know ev'ryt'in' yo' know 'bout de Carcoccia."
At that 'Tantie's head snapped up to hold Remy with a wide eyed look. She shook her head, the beads at the tips of her hair smashing into each other with vigour. "Why?" She implored.
Remy didn't answer; instead he reached into the left inside pocket of his coat and took out the wooden tube. It's once drab dark appearance became glossy in the candlelight, like silk. Reluctantly letting go of her still quivering hand he pulled of the lid with a dull *pop*; the same musty smell and vague cloud emerging from it as before. He removed the map and then set the lid and tube carefully on the ground. Rather deliberately, he unravelled it, casting a look over it once more and then handed it over to 'Tantie. But she didn't take it immediately, gazing at it as if he were trying to hand a rattlesnake over to her---then, unexpectedly she practically tore it from his grasp, lifting it close to her face as her eyes roamed over it urgently. Remy could feel that Ororo was giving him a look but he refused to acknowledge it, concentrating on the woman sat before him. He cleared his throat, making a swift, gravelly sound before asking, "Does dis look 'kosher' t' yo'?"
For a moment, she seemed lost in what was before her; her dry lips moving with silent utterances as her finger ran along the map, tracing the lines with fervent movements. She began shaking her head, rattling the beads again as the movement of her lips sped up and air hissed out to from harshly whispered words; words that neither of them could understand. Remy could feel that look of Ororo again and this time he did turn to face her, but all he saw there was the same disquiet as he was feeling on the inside, currently doing so well to hide. "Well?" He prompted, attempting to break this strange condition she'd lapsed into. He knew she was extremely weary of things such as this nowadays, even voodoo was off-limits for her now. She only ever practiced it when the Guild asked her to, out of a sense of loyalty to them. "What yo' t'ink chére?" He asked softly, trying to encourage her.
Her mouth stopped moving then; lips held open somewhat pensively as she shook her head again, looking up a Remy with suddenly pleading eyes. "Yo' don' do dis." She told him, her hands starting to shake fully this time, not just a minor tremor. The parchment of the map began to make a sound like a fan being wafted as it was jerked up and down with the rapid movement. "Yo' promise Mattie, yo' promise now---yo' hear?" She was near frantic by this time, her grip threatening to ruin the fragile map.
"Why 'Tantie?" Remy reached for her hands again, laying his over hers to stop them from moving so. "Why?" He repeated quietly, the look of fear that was now replacing the pleading driving a hot, sharp knife into his gut. He couldn't stand seeing her like this. It just wasn't right.
"De Carcoccia---it---it's bad Remy, oh Lord it's bad." Quickly she dropped the parchment from her hands and gripping Remy's as tight as she could she lurched forwards so that she was practically on her knees in front of him, "Yo' promise me boy...yo' promise 'Tantie now..." Her timbre falling to nothing more than a pleading lull.
"It' okay 'Tantie," He assured her out of reflex and then, with some difficulty, extricated his hands from hers, wrapping his arms about her in a comforting hug as she had done for him on many occasions in the distant past. "Hush now...it' okay...it' okay."
"Oh Remy no...no it' not! It's evil!" She suddenly cried out, now wrapping her arms around Remy's torso as she pressed her face to his shoulder. He continued to try and hush her but her cries remained although they slowly became less virulent. "No...no-one mus' evah have it---no-one...it's evil Remy, it's evil...." She kept on repeating that truncated phrase, until eventually the muffled words against his trench-coat faded into nothing. Nobody moved for a while and everything became silent save for the croaking from the swamps rising into sudden prominence from outside, though the squeal of the bats had ceased with the gradual coming of the dawn; the sky already becoming a dark amethyst with dark blue swirls running through it like loosely mixed paint. There was a noise like a tap dripping---plip-plop- --it was the sound of two tears starting from the face leaning into Remy's left shoulder, dropping onto the leather of his duster that rested over his thigh.
"Will she be okay?" Ororo eventually asked in a careful voice, not wanting to say anything until the scene had played itself out.
Remy nodded as his hand shifted where it had settled at the back of her head, holding to the thick black and greying dreadlocks. "Oui." He stated, but once he'd decided it sounded like he was more trying to convince himself, he confessed, "I don' know chére...she 'as dese turn's ev'ry now an' den."
Ororo pushed herself up onto her knees and moved closer to them with a sympathetic look. Placing her hand on his arm, she tried to offer some comfort to him, "Maybe she is just exhausted Remy," She cast a look at the table-made-shrine, noting that some of the candles had near burnt out; their spent wax in globed and misshapen ivory puddles on the floor; their waterfalls of wax frozen it mid-action in places, hanging over the sides in stasis. "It does look like she has been here doing this for a long time." She reasoned, hoping to convince him that he needn't think the worst.
"Mebbe." He muttered, not entirely convinced. Something about the Carcoccia had spooked her and spooked her good. Most worrying to Remy right now was the fact that predictions and intuitive knowledge almost always turned out to be spot on.
Ororo stood up then and went to the sofa that sat against the wall at their backs, just inside the doorway with no door. Hastily, she rearranged the heavy cotton throws that draped it, spreading them out like sheets. "Bring her over here." She called over her shoulder as she pulled the last navy throw down from the back of the settee.
Remy looked back at her and nodded before turning back down to the woman in his arms. "C'mon 'Tantie." He said to the sprawling crown of her head; her face was still pressed to the leather at his shoulder. "Yo' get some sleep now, hien?" Carefully he began to move her, the fact that she'd already fallen into a semi-stupor making it that much more difficult. But he did eventually managed to manoeuvre her the couple of yards between them and the couch; laying her down as Ororo pulled the make-shift sheets over her. She moved back to stand just behind him, as Remy kneeled down at the side of the sofa, pulling the last bit of the navy throw so that it stopped just beneath her chin. Mattie was still murmuring and her eyes occasionally flickered open again. "S'endormir chére." He whispered close to her forehead as he stroked his hand over her coarse hair, "S'endormir..."
*
Ororo stood out on the veranda just off the living room, in her black combats and vest top, looking out over the swamp in the reddish orange morning light; the sun having rose to just half its height, nestling between thin reams of pink, blue and purple clouds. The heat pressed down blisteringly already, but with a small gesture of her hand, a soft breeze ascended from the mist-caressed surface of the swamp to encircle her in its placid blanket. She took a sip from the tall tumbler of water she'd brought out to quench the dryness she felt setting in her throat as she listened to the swamp coming to life in the early splendour. The water had warmed somewhat in the half an hour the weather witch had been outside, but it did the job. This moment of calm finally gave her time to process everything that had gone on over the last few hours. They may have been few but they were certainly hectic. Issuing a light sigh, she tried to get her head around what she and Remy were about to do. A definite sense of apprehension had been quite prominent in her mind even before coming out here to see 'Tantie Mattie, but after that little display earlier it was now set in stone. The old woman's reaction to the mere idea of this thing getting into any ones hands had worried Storm greatly. Over the years she and her team mates had had to contend with many things similar to this and the outcome had never been particularly good. The very thought of an organisation such as the Guild, either of them, having access to something with such great power as she supposed this thing had almost caused her to shiver--- especially if she was to bare it on her conscience that she had helped deliver it into their hands. But, at the end of the day, a promise was a promise...
"Penny fo' 'em."
Ororo looked round on hearing the dusky voice cut a swathe through the ambient noise to see Remy leaning against the doorway that led out onto the veranda; his leather duster hanging from the tips of two fingers and swung casually over his right shoulder, his other hand in his pocket.
"I was just thinking," She began as she turned back towards the vast stretch of swamp that spread out all the way to the horizon, "that it is really quite beautiful in a way." She paused as his footsteps started towards her, sounding hollow on the wooden boarding underfoot and in the quiet of the morning. "You would not expect it, would you?"
"Expect what?"
"For a swamp to be so pleasing to the eye."
"Yah well," He slung his jacket over the balustrade and then leant on it's fairly wide, flat top with both hands as he looked out to the ever changing sky, "Dis place is full o' surprises petit."
Ororo nodded absently in agreement, letting her eyes drift closed for a moment. It was only when she did that that she realised just how heavy her lids were; taking all of her effort in her tired body to will them open again.
"Yo' should get some sleep too 'Roro," he suggested as he watched his best friend rub the back of her neck tiredly, twisting it slowly one way and then the other.
With her hand still cupped at the back of her neck she gave a small shake of her head, "I will be fine Remy, honestly." She took another sip of the tepid water, hoping that would refresh her a little. "How is she?"
Remy took a meaningful breath and then shrugged as he let it out it loud sigh. "She be sleepin' now---I t'ink." He shook his head ruefully, "I seen her freak befo'e but man--- I ain't nevah seen her get like dat. I mean, I know she not into dat shit no mo'e; powers an' spells an' dat, but..." He shook his head again, bereft, "I got a bad feelin' 'bout dis."
Ororo set her glass down no the flat of the wooden rail and stepped closer to him. Placing her hand on his back in comforting gesture, she said, "It is okay to worry about her," she told him as she rubbed her hand back and forth up his back briefly, sensing that he was trying to keep a check on just how concerned he really was, attempting to hold up that stolid persona he so often hid behind, "You care for her." She stated simply.
"Yah, I know mon chére." He turned to look Ororo in the eye, "But I know she'll be alrigh'---dat woman's a tough cookie an' no mistake." He looked back into the room where he could just about see the edge of the sofa that she lay on. His forehead was creased as he turned back to the swamp that glowed like orangeade on fire beneath a white blanket, "I jus' hate de fact dat I'm gonna 'ave to do dis in spite o' wha' she say." He finished regretfully.
"There is no chance then that you might heed her words?" She asked him as she slipped her arms around his midriff and he lifted one arm up to let her in; settling it down around her. When she received no answer she tried to stifle a small yawn, and then said, resignedly "I thought not." Resting her head against him, Ororo felt her eyes shutting against her will once more and just being near to him like this tempted her to do so. Remy'd rocked her to sleep often in the past, as she laid her cheek close to his heart beat, his arms wrapped around her, tight...
"Yo' dozin' girl?"
Ororo snapped her eyes opened, uttering a noise of mild surprise as she realised she had been perilously close to drifting off there. "Oh, sorry." She offered as she pulled her head back and looked up at him; the blacks of his eyes reflected the colours of the ever brightening sunrise from their marble surface. A thought that had often come to her in the past ran through her head; how oddly beautiful they still appeared, for all their peculiarity. Still beautiful...
For a while a kind of contented silence settled over them, only the reverie around them connecting them to any semblance of the real world. It was like they'd transgressed several hours and were back on the roof of the mansion-- -everything in between Jean coming up to see them and being here now, standing on a veranda in Louisiana may as well have not happened for all their sudden peace. When alone in each others company they both had the uncanny knack of creating the illusion that nothing else mattered and the rest of reality simply...faded away. Ororo kept herself alert by concentrating on the breeze that was currently keeping them in a pocket of coolness whilst Remy absently tracked a flock of cranes crossing through the burning sky; their long graceful forms in black silhouette, making them seem cut out figures in a Japanese silk work.
Resting his cheek atop of her head his mind was dragged, involuntarily, back to what 'Tantie had said to him. *No-on mus' evah have it---no-one--- it' evil Remy...it's evil...* It had certainly rattled the hell out of her that was for sure, but what could he do? He had absolutely no illusions, he knew these people, what they craved, what they desired, what they would spill blood for. Opportunities such as this come up but once in a lifetime and there was nothing those Guilds wouldn't do to get there hands on a prize so precious, so coveted. He was reluctant to admit to himself that even now a part of him, some dark corner was excited by the idea of getting his hands on something this big. If he'd still been a Guild member he'd have clamoured over all and sundry to be the one who would risk his neck, receiving the undoubted prestige of being the one to claim the legendary Carcoccia. But the truth of the situation was that, what he was looking at now was being destined to cement his place in infamy instead. That's if he already hadn't---though he was pretty damn sure he had. Did he really want to go down in history as the one who gave the Thieves Guild unimaginable and unlimited power? From his perspective it didn't look like he really had all that much choice in the matter. What's another black letter against the name Remy LeBeau anyhow? He would have smiled wryly at that if he had the heart for it.
Taking in a slow and audible breath Remy held the woman he had in his arms that little bit tighter, relishing the simplicity of body to body contact. He'd be the first to admit that he'd always been a very...tactile man. Though nobody---but nobody, could make him feel so at ease as when he held his padnant, his Stormy in his arms. When he did so he it was as if he could finally rest; no pretence necessary and all cares were temporarily arrested. She healed his hurts, soothed his heart---he'd never known anyone like her, so giving without restraint; a love unconditional. The woman would probably walk over hot coals for him and had, in fact, done much more, much worse on the strength of their bond, their friendship. And that's exactly why he couldn't let her do this with him; it was a step too far. This was his cross to bear, why should he foist that upon her too?
"Yo' don' 'ave t' do dis 'Ro...I don' wan' yo' t'." He said suddenly, then grinned, albeit sardonically, "Fuck, I don' even wanna do it---but dere's no need fo' yo' t' dirty yaw hands wit dis. Yo' can still leave 'ere now." With a pause (that seemed to Ororo to be hesitant, rather than encouragement for her to bail, perhaps because she wanted to read it that way), he then added, "If yo' wan'?"
Smiling, the Windrider shook her head, "I have never backed down from a challenge in my life," she replied with all the dignity he had come to expect from the former goddess as with a graceful sweep of her hand she brushed aside a lock of auburn that hung over his right eye, the soft tips of her fingers ghosting down over his cheek, " and I do not intend to now." Giving him a well-meant reproving look, softness telling in her eyes, she continued, "If I can take on fights to the death in the sewers of Manhattan, what makes you think I will back away from this?"
Remy chuckled slightly as he took his other hand from the waist-height rail and let it join the other one around Ororo, repositioning them so that they enfolded her trim waist; interlocking his long fingers close to the grove at the small of her back, "Non," He said with a kind of bemused resignation, "I know mah Stormy's way too headstrong fo' dat," He moved his head down closer to her, holding his lips close to hers, "even if it is de bes' t'ing fo' her. Sometime', she jus' don' know when t' let uddah people look out fo' her stubborn hind." He cocked an eyebrow at her during his knowing statement, that heart melting smile on his mouth as he laid a soft kiss on her lips like he was used to doing. It was only brief, nothing more than a good friends fleeting peck ought to be, but then he didn't move to pull away, leaving their lips close but not touching; a hairs breadth. For some reason Remy felt that he couldn't move, or simply didn't want to, he couldn't tell which. All at once he became painfully aware of the pulse beating its muffled rhythm in his jugular and the heat of the reborn sun bearing down on the right side of his body, fierce like he was standing too close to a raging fire as one...two...three...four...five seconds ticked by. His eyes were still very much open, but his face was too close to her to focus on anything but a smooth ocean of delicately shaded chocolate skin that had turned the warm amber of whiskey in the radiant light, the gentle, sandy mounds of the Nairobi Desert. Too much time had passed now, although in truth it was only seconds, in these circumstances even that was far too long for him to brush it off and hope she wouldn't regard that something odd had just passed. But then, with a rush of familiar adrenaline, the type that so often coursed through him when the sweet touch of female lips was immanent, he realised that he didn't wish to, he didn't care...
Letting his eyes drift shut, Remy moved onto her lips again, slowly, barely touching them at first, just gently brushing them, making it clear that they were in fact desperate to taste, but by some miracle of reserve or strength, they held back the seemingly inevitable. He found it impossible engage his mind in order to think at this moment; his head becoming a light and vacuous space, filled with the vivid orange of the illuminated swamp that floated behind his closed eyelids. A certain kind of fear that he'd never experienced before wouldn't allow him to. The warm, sweet feel of her breath just barely escaping her lips to caress his, so close...so close...
Ororo felt a shiver run down her, to the very tips of her toes as she felt Remy's large hands tighten at her back and the touch of his lips began to press against hers, sensing that at any moment they would move, pulling her into something that was unknown. The stubble above his upper lip pressed to her skin, prickling it like tiny barbs, taking her attention away from the fact that she was allowing him to gradually pry apart her mouth with his own. That dry, scratching sensation like the mild prick of a thousand tiny needles was all she could concentrate on in this surreally alien moment she'd found herself propelled into without warning. But with all her well focused constraint she soon forced herself back to reality and the reality was that she was standing here with her best friend, none of this was real...
"Um...maybe we should go and get some sleep." Storm's richly toned voice sounded strangely delicate as she pulled back from the Cajun, looking down at the floor and then over to the doorway that lead back into the house, back to sanctuary. She took her arms from around his torso as without protest, he dropped his from her body too. Running her hand down the back of her short, silky crop, she finally looked up at him. "Are you coming inside?" She asked, some of her assuredness coming back.
Remy shook his head, that lock she'd pushed back earlier falling back down heavily again as he broke from her gaze and he rubbed his hand several times across his dark, rough chin, "I be in in a minu'e," He reached into the pocket of his duster that hung limply next to him, pulling out his smokes, "I finish one o' dese firs'."
Ororo cleared her throat, having to remind herself to swallow, "Well do not be too long---you need rest before we leave."
"Oui." He answered shortly, looking out over the swamp as her footsteps disappeared behind him, receding off into the house. He waited for a moment, staring out as the mist rose, evaporating in the heat; desperately trying to hold onto the blank feeling that still clung to his mind---a blissful state of numbness. But he knew it wouldn't last much longer. "Fuck." He growled to himself, irritated, as he yanked out the last cigarette in his packet and struck it up quickly, releasing a noisy exhale of smoke to join the retreating mist as he leant forwards on the flat length of warm, smooth wood before him, slamming his hands down on it with a keen *smack* as he did so.
* * *
Jackson, Mississippi...
The dark featured girl idly fanned herself with the laminated room-service menu that she'd grabbed from the bedside table, but it wasn't helping to push back the stale air much, so she threw it back onto the table. It caught on the edge of the small cabinet and slowly slipped off, hitting the ground silently. The stiff and uncomfortable polyester sheets of the hotel bed scratched against her bare skin, all save her arms, chest and the one leg that she had hung over the side to try and cool it. Idly she swung it back and forth in order to create a breeze, but even that was hot. Looking over to the side a scowl beset her strong featured face as she laid eyes on her bedfellow; his pock marked olive skinned face crinkled up against the cheep pillow cover, his bad eye hidden in its creased folds. Every now and then he let out a rasping snore that sounded as if he were choking to death. As she watched him it was all she could do not to attempt it for real. She sighed heavily as she turned her head back up to the white ceiling; the grey/blue light from the window mixed with a streak of orange from the street light that had yet to be switched off from last night. Her dark eyes fell down to the clock just above the dresser that was directly opposite the bed. Six o'clock.
It had been four hours then since she and Senor Velasquez Lopez had returned from Natchez and he'd decided they should stay here until morning and then return to San Diego first thing in the morning. But she didn't mind really---apart from this particular 'obligation', it also gave her chance to finish off some business of her own. Looking over at the sleeping man again, she slipped carefully out of the bed, trying not to shift the hard sheets. Once out, she grabbed her plastic, tortoise-shell grip from the bedside table and pulled back her dry, thick, dark hair, struggling slightly to pull the unruly mass all into one manageable pony tail at the nape of her neck. Finally securing it, forcing the clasp shut until it caught with a neat clack, she picked up the heaped pile of her clothing from the ground and reluctantly put it back on. She hated wearing this garbage, just for appearances sake, especially this Guild attire. With all its metal plating it would make a racket when she put it back on, so she gathered it all up into her arms and crept over to the bathroom to change into the offending items, closing the door slowly behind her.
When she emerged from the tiny, white tiled, fluorescent lit room, she was all set and ready to go. But as she got to the door she looked back at the bed where-on Lopez was now spread-eagled across it, his mouth agape, that bad eye that never quite closed revealing some of its hidden pearl. A parting gesture might be in order she thought to herself slyly but then ruled it out. This wasn't a time for her usual tricks; there was a job to do and she prided herself on being a professional. She could save her amusements for afterwards if needs be. A wicked smile tugged at her lips as she watched him lying there and then without further ado, opened the main door of the room to let herself out as quietly as she could; shutting the cheap hunk of hardboard with a mute click.
*
Her stride was swift, assured and with definite purpose as she walked down the mostly quiet streets of Jackson. There were still a few late-night-come- early-morning revellers stumbling about in loud, yet weary groups, trouping their way home with the nasty taste of stale beer and cigarettes in their mouths. But mostly there was no-one at this end of town; no-one but the Latino girl in the stiff, strange get up. It was enough to make sure nobody bothered her with leering looks or half sober shouts. Soon she was off the main road and striding purposely down a less public path and then down another one; lined on both sides by tall, red-bricked buildings with black metal fire-escapes criss-crossing down their flanks like a large game of snakes and ladders---sans the snakes. She took no note of her surroundings as she left the scattered sounds of the street behind her; the occasional car or early morning delivery lorry rumbling along to its destination. Her focus was one-hundred percent on what was at the end of this side street that stopped with a dead end; a brick wall at least ten foot high, topped with razor wire. Their was a large green dumpster against the wall with it's the lid not shut properly, all the rubbish on top threatening to spill forth, but her dark, emotionless eyes were on what was next to it; an old white Chevet, parked right next to the wall in front and to its right so that it was boxed in.
As the girl approached the car, she took a single key from a small pocket at her breast and slotted it with out fuss into the round protruding lock on the edge of the boot door. The trunk popped open immediately but then pitched back down again with its own momentum. Above the springing squeak of it opening there was a muffled cry from within. Placing one hand on the open lid so that it didn't fall back down again she gazed down into the back of the car with those blank, emotionless eyes. Her lips were the only things that moved, holding a mark of cruelty as she took in the sight of the bound and gagged figure dressed in nothing but a thin plain T-shirt and a pair of knickers; arms tied behind her back and in turn tied to her feet that were bent upwards, close to her back so that she was bound like a turkey waiting for the oven.
The captive squinted in the face of the sudden flood of natural light at the same time as heaving in through her nose all the fresh air she could muster after being enclosed in the retched heat for so long. The white rag that constituted a gag pulled viciously one the sides of her mouth, biting in at the very corners. There was even a spot or two of blood were it had worn down her skin as she'd tried to scream for help, hoping that somebody, anybody might hear her desperate, though muffled, pleas. But they hadn't come and now after who knows how long locked in such a small, stifling dark space her unknown tormentor had come back for her. After several stuttered attempts to open her eyes fully, they flickered for the last time and as they did so there almost black orbs widened to an unimaginable degree. What they took in sent her into a shocked paralysis and suddenly her binds ceased to hurt and she near forgot to breath, for what she saw looking back at her with a mask of cruelty was---herself.
"What you say me and you go for a short walk little girl?" Her doppelganger taunted in a voice that even matched hers.
At last she regained her wits and began to scream as best she could, once again making vain attempts to free her black gaffer-tape bindings. The car shook as she thrashed, bouncing noisily on its ample suspensions but it only earned her a contemptuous laugh and that was the only difference in this likeness of herself. That laugh was twisted and it seemed to echo on itself. But the eerie noise stopped abruptly as her captor reached into the trunk, taking her by an arm and a leg and dragged her out onto the ground; dropping her on the concrete and grit like she were nothing more than a heavy suitcase, her chin hitting the ground painfully, scrapping off some skin as it did on her bear knees. She heard the boot slam shut again above her and tried to turn her head to look up at whoever it was that had done this to her. Immediately she wished she hadn't as her eyes widened once more at the sight of her impostor reaching into an inner pocket and drawing out a sleek, ridged edged Bow knife. She closed her eyes tight and against her dirty, blood stained gag muttered a Latin prayer or two with fevered, fearful words. With her eyes squeezed shut she waited for what she was sure was coming but relief filled her very being when she felt the binds that tied her feet to her hands being cut with a sharp tearing sound like someone ripping off a piece of sticking tape with their teeth. She was harshly rolled over then, as her feet binds were cut away completely and then submitted freely to being yanked up from the ground. The true San Diego thief only had a few short seconds to ascertain whereabouts she was, quickly taking in a confusing array of brick, metal, and a thin sliver of early morning sky or was that late evening? Unable to get her bearings, she was roughly dragged through a door on the left hand side of the street that she didn't notice until she was shoved, nearly thrown through it.
It was dark at first, although the young thief wasn't sure whether it was her fear that was blinding her or the surroundings. She found herself being tossed through another door close to initial one that had banged shut behind them on entry; the iron grip that had been around the top of her right arm releasing her fleetingly, only to take it up again seconds later. The girl tried desperately to get a foothold on the bare concrete floor in this new unfamiliar space but she was being pulled along far too quickly so that her foot simply slipped from beneath her every time she tried to gain purchase, scratching clumsily and painfully at the ground. The room she found herself in now was much lighter than when they'd originally entered the building. It was full of boxes and large wooden haulage crates with large black words stamped on their sides reading; This Way Up, and above that a pointing, thick arrow in the direction indicated. She took all this in within seconds, her profession demanding that variety of attention to detail whether it was useful or not. Unfortunately the one useful detail about the room that she did notice was that there was no other way in or out save for the door that was by now far at the other side of the long room.
By the time her captor had thrown her down onto a solitary chair amongst the various sized boxes, she had fought back some of her composure and cunning. She was, after all, a member of the Thieves Guild she reminded herself coolly, she should be prepared for situations like this as they were quiet common; the feud between the San Diego clan and the nearby Chula Vista Assassins had been going on for quite some time. It was one of the most vicious and one of the most bloody wars ever fought between the two rival groups. #That's it#, she thought to herself rationally, this was just another Assassin's trick, nothing more. Perhaps they'd heard about the map Senor Lopez had discovered. But that thought only filled her with another kind of dread; the Chula Vistas were renowned for their skills as tortures as well as implementers of swift clean deaths. It depended which one served their current purpose. She had once been told, or 'advised' as the clan elder had tactfully put it to her, that should she ever have the misfortune to fall into their hands it would be best, if the opportunity arose, to kill herself. It was a much more appealing fate than the alternative, or so she'd been led to believe. But if she did truly believe in their warnings, or simply regarded them as scaremongering dished out to the younger members of the clan, at this moment in time that distinction became quite pointedly irrelevant.
The mirror image of her stood motionless for a moment, gazing down at her as she mustered enough steel to return the look with contempt and bile. She tried to move her mouth again but the taut cloth opened up the red abrasions at each corner, and she could feel the warm seep of blood from the wounds soaking into the gag.
The ruse had gone on long enough, the girl that was standing thought to herself; to wear these clothes was bad enough, to wear a semblance of human skin was much, much more offensive to her sensibilities. And so it was that with sheer force of will, a flicker in the mind that was instinctive, Raven Darkholme shed the dusky coloured shell she'd been hiding behind for close to twenty four hours now. With a noise that mimicked a suction cup being slowly pulled from a hard surface, the smooth sun-browned skin beneath the uniform was consumed by a coarser blue. At first it sprang up like several small blemishes, marking the face until it rapidly raced over the entire surface, which in itself altered its physiognomy. Even her height altered to some degree, making the clothes she wore just a little too small in the arms and legs. The dark locks that had been dragged back at the neck shrunk, creeping slowly upwards, converting to a fiery 'Irish' red as the plastic clip that had held the mock hair in place fell to the ground with a clatter that echoed in the hush.
"Well, I have to say, Senorita Jacqueline," Her crystalline, naturally sallow eyes taunted mercilessly, "Pedro certainly learnt a few things about you last night that he hadn't seen before." The words reverberated on themselves strangely, as that cruel laugh had moments ago.
Several small tears sprung up in the large black plates of the girl Jacqueline's eyes as her teeth tried to clench but were unable to. The panic in her was rife by now; the control gleaned, now lost once more. Up until the moment the woman had changed into...this, she had begun to use all her mastery and learnt skill to ease her hands from the tightly wound gaffer-tape but her clandestine work had ceased hastily on the sight that was now before her. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, an innate fear of mutants working away at her mind once she'd realised the truth of who, or what had been the one to knock her unconscious last night and stash her in the back of a car in deathly temperatures. But she soon forgot about half baked notions of mutant terror when an unwelcome object reappeared into her view.
Mystique reached into the jacket she was wearing and pulled the large, serrated Bow out of her pocket. Taking a firm grip of the glazed tiger-bone handle, she held it up before her, examining the blade as if it's sharp, shinning length absolutely fascinated her. A mumbling noise from below caught her attention back to the matter at hand; it seemed as if the girl were trying to say something from behind the bloody rag. Never one to be a bad sport she decided the last words should at least be heard, even if they weren't heeded. Reaching down she roughly yanked the rag from around the girl's mouth; ripping it right off and tossing it to the side. "What was that?" She asked like she pretended to care; full of a blatant insincerity, "I didn't quiet catch it."
Jacqueline gasped for a moment, even the warm air refreshing to her although after having the gag in her mouth for so long its impression was still indented hard on her skin, making it feel as if it were still physically present. For a moment she struggled to find her voice, until she forced out a speedily spoken plea, "You can not kill me Senorita," She stopped for a greedy breath, before launching back in, "If you cause me harm you will make mortal enemies of one of the fiercest clan's in the entire Thieves Guild. It is a matter of honour that they avenge their dead, at any cost."
Darkholme gave a sly chuckle as she watched the blade, twisting its deadly point against the tip of her extended index finger, ever-so-lightly. "I am shaking little girl," She sneered mockingly, "No really, I am." At that she couldn't stop herself from guffawing out loud, even going so far as to throw her head back as the cruel noise bounced around the large room, off the walls and stacked boxes.
"Assassin bitch!" The girl screamed in one last surge of courage, she drew in another breath which would have continued her diatribe had she not felt a knocking blow to her throat and then a white hot, searing pain. Her lips remained parted as she felt the warm flood of tears running down her cheeks, mercifully aware of little else for a suspended moment in time; her eyes open wide. Mystique pushed the knife that bit deeper, to which a death rattle-esque noise shuddered from the girls lips, clawing its way out. Satisfied that the single blow was enough, the red-headed mutant tired to withdraw the blade but she'd rammed it in with such force and power that it caused her trouble to move. She had to physically put her hand to the girls shoulder and hoist her leg up so that the sole of her boot rested at the edge of the wooden chair before pulling with all her strength. She let out an indulgent, gratified sigh as finally the knife gave, almost stumbling as she propelled backwards with the tiger-bone handle clenched firmly in hand. A note of surprise flittered across her face as looked back down at her victim for she wasn't quite dead yet and there was nowhere near as much blood as she'd expected.
Raven watched intently whilst the girl tried again and again to gulp in air; her face a horrifying mask of shock as with each movement of her throat the three inch horizontal slit gaped open then flapped closed like a caught fish's gills as it fights for life by breathing in the oxygen that will ultimately kill it. The noises she made every time she made the action became louder and louder and more frantic as with one last great gasp, there was only a long low gurgle to follow. As the girls head finally slumped down like a lead weight against her chest, Mystique's briefly piqued interest was satisfied as to why there was little to no blood from the wound; it must have run down her throat and wind-pipe and filled up her lungs. She had literally drowned in her own blood. But the killer didn't muse over it for long, she had to get back before her absence was noticed. Going back into one of the other inside pockets and replacing her knife, she retrieved two items; a small yellow can and a cheap box of matches. Breaking the seal on the palm-sized metal tin by placing it between her teeth and twisting it several times until it gave, she bit off the top and spat it without thought to one side. She began to spray the water-like liquid from the can all around and onto the presently cooling corpse. Once the tin was empty she threw it to the ground; it landed at the dead girl's bare feet. There was absolutely no emotion on her face as she went about her macabre task. Her movements and actions were nothing short of considered---proficient---professional.
Without further ado, she turned and walked more-or-less ten meters away from where the body sat awkwardly in the chair, the hands having fallen down limply at the sides, fingers half curled in on themselves as the head kept on inching down extremely slowly at an ever more unnatural angle. Facing the body again, a match was produced and struck; sailing through the air with all the grace of a shooting star it exploded into a glorious supernova as it hit the puddle on the ground in front of the young thief. Her body was consumed in a frightening instant but Mystique didn't see it. She was already out of the door, heading out of the building, with someone else's face, someone else's voice, someone else's life to play with while the need suited her.
-TBC-
A/N; I don't know if Storm has ever met 'Tantie Mattie before. I had a flick through my back issues and couldn't find any where she had. So if she has, according to my AU comicverse, she hasn't.
Warning: there will be a piece of extreme violence in this chapter.
S'endormir= go to sleep.
Chapter.7.
The long weighty strings of colourful ceramic beads rattled and clattered as Remy pushed them aside, holding them back for Ororo to take up as they went through the doorway. It was almost as deathly silent inside as it was out, only outside, there had at least been a subtle chorus of bats squeaking their high pitched calls and the incessant croaking of frogs. But their symphony was almost melodious...soothing. Now they were inside the small house, that some would have classed a glorified shack, the noises of the swamps seemed to fall away as did the humidity that was even more compressed out here than it had been on the city streets of the Big Easy. The air was so thick that it became an effort simply to breath and contrary to the norm; as the early morning hours rolled on, the heat worsened.
Remy took the lead down the short but narrow, lamp-lit hallway; its raw wooden walls littered with faded pictures of the New Orleans of yesteryear, with its elegant street trams, men in tailored suits and top hats and women in finely cut white lace dresses holding dainty parasols to block out the searing sun. Most had turned sepia with age as had the various newspaper clippings of long forgotten events that constituted the hotchpotch 'wall paper' on the slightly heat-warped pine slats. Their was an open doorway on the left hand side, near to the end of the hall wherein Remy stopped close to its exhale of pale orange light, simply looking, almost apprehensively, through the opening at whoever it was that occupied the room. Ororo stopped too, but couldn't see who or what he was looking at; being stood just behind his slightly taller frame. She waited patiently, letting her eyes roam over the few cuttings and photographs that were tacked onto the wall closest to her. Suddenly she stopped her random wandering when her eyes fell on someone who looked distinctly familiar. A boy, no older than seven, perhaps eight, caught in mid action of swinging on a length of thick rope attached to a tree on the banks of, she assumed, the Mississippi. The picture had been snapped at the precise moment that the child was about to let go; his face beaming with that curious mixture of playful terror and exquisite joy, mouth open wide in a screaming smile, eyes shut tight in anticipation of impact with the chocolate coloured muddy waters below, floppy, longish auburn hair flying upwards with his immanently downwards momentum...
"'Tantie?" Ororo's attention was drawn from the photograph back to Remy as he hesitantly spoke the name then quickly ran his finger over his top lip to wipe away the beads of sweat caught in his stubble.
"I' been expectin' yo' Remy." A burly yet somehow fragile female voice answered him; cracked at its edges.
"I know." He replied simply and then went through the doorway into the soft light that bathed him. Ororo noticed a strong spicy scent as she went through right behind Remy; spice and the dense, smoky scent of musk-type incense. Delicate swirls of wispy, white smoke danced slowly about the small room that appeared to have another one on the far wall where the pair had entered. But the room they were in now was very much like the hallway with photos, maps of the city and swamps and nineteenth century advertisements set in frames as keep-sakes. There was also a lot of cloth; cloth of cerulean blue, violet, vivid orange and lemon yellow, all draped from the ceiling like billowing parachutes and then over the two windows that were on the left-hand wall, becoming makeshift curtains.
There was a figure sat or rather hunched on a large silk pillow on the floor; the great curve of her cardigan and shawl covered back practically all that could been seen of her from where Ororo and Remy stood silently waiting; the top of a mound of jet black dread-locked hair being the only other discernable feature. In front of her was a low down, fairly long table loaded with thick white church candles all of odd sizes through frequent use and in the middle of this creamy white congregation stood several figures, catholic icons; several miscellaneous praying angles with flaxen hair and bowed heads, then a much taller statuette of a blue clad Virgin and a crucifixion of roughly the same height was carefully positioned next to her. The woman's body was still rocking slightly as if in silent prayer at her personal alter even though she'd had company for several minutes now. But Remy knew to be patient; 'Tantie Mattie had ways and means of doing things. She would start when she was ready...
Suddenly she stopped her gentle sway and began to shift. There was a soft clattering sound; the white beads that ran around the edges of her dreads' falling against each other as she moved forwards onto her knees, coming close to the shrine-like table she'd set up. She muttered a hastily spoken but whispered 'Hail Mary' as she kissed the statue of the 'blessed virgin' and then blew out the candle that stood directly in front of it, repeating the ritual with the crucifixion. Eventually she made to get up; pulling her shawl, clasping it tight at her breast as she leant against the table to help her stiff body from the ground with some measure of difficulty. It was a mixture of age and having sat in that saint-like devotion for nearly four hours now, never once waning. 'Tantie turned to face the pair, fixing Remy with her large dark eyes, the same tone as her ebony skin. After a moment of silent exchange, the robust woman smiled and opened her arm out wide, the other still clinging to her saffron coloured shawl.
"C'mere boy," she chimed; a look of sadness in her eyes despite the smile. Remy moved obediently over to her, embracing her as she did him, patting her hand comfortingly on his back, like old mothers or aunts do, "I swear yo' grow a li'le bit mor' ev'ry time yo' go away!" She said as she pulled away to look up at his towering form, again her voice cracking slightly but this time it seemed to be more heavy with tears than the sound of age.
"Mebbe." He mumbled as he let his hands drop from her, feeling her sadness keenly.
She reached up and cupped his cheek fondly. "Yo' shouldn' leave it so long t' come an' see ol' 'Tantie, Remy." She admonished regretfully, sad in the knowledge that they could only snatch the odd reunion because it was still so dangerous for him to be here. After gazing up at him a little longer she finally turned her attention to Ororo; her countenance instantly lightening. She moved off from Gambit, brushing his arm affectionately as she passed, fixing Storm with a genuinely kind smile, "'Ain't yo' gonna introduce us?" She directed the question at Remy but still had her eyes on Ororo.
"Oui, pardon," he apologised absently for his lack of manners, "Dis is Ororo, Ororo Munroe."
"I' heard so much about yo' girl," The older woman beamed as she let go of the shawl and took one of Ororo's hands into both of hers, holding it in a warm and instantly familiar clasp that actually made Storm feel a little uncomfortable. She wasn't used to strangers being so immediately forthcoming in their affections. They usually reacted to her with obvious distain or a cautious awe---either way they tended to keep their distance. "I feel like I know you already."
"Really?" Ororo said rather nervously, more at the intensity of the woman than anything else. She glanced over and Gambit, then asked, "What has Remy been saying about me? All good I hope?" 'Tantie said nothing, simply continuing to smile up at Ororo, glued to her by some unknown fascination. It was almost as if she considered her some precious idol like the ones she'd been fawning over when they'd first arrived. "Remy has told me much about you also." she then said slightly hesitantly, trying to break the peculiar silence as she noticed quickly Remy's smirk from the corner of her eye. There was nothing quite like 'meeting the mother'.
Suddenly, the old woman let go of Storm's hand and the spell seemed broken as she shuffled her way back over to the blue silk cushion, with its beautifully embroidered pattern depicting a flock of angles, and sat back down on it, but facing outwards and not at the table. "Sit."
Remy and Ororo did as they were told, both taking up a position on the floor in front of Mattie, settling down on the intricately patterned rug below, into lotus positions. "Now...now..." She murmured distractedly to herself, pulling at her shawl, heaving it up about her large, rounded shoulders so that it wrapped her like a caterpillar's cocoon. Remy watched her carefully, feeling strangely comforted by her almost scattered behaviour. She'd always been a character, a wonderful eccentric. Though he didn't fail to notice that as her years advanced, the changes became more pronounced in between each snatched, infrequent visit. Looking down at the ground, 'Tantie was still mumbling, when suddenly, "Yo' want mah help." She blurted out the statement quite solidly, shocking them in her abrupt change of demeanour.
"Yah." Remy reached out and took her hand into his, "T'ings nevah change, hien?" He said with an easy fondness in his voice, the type of which Ororo truly believed she'd only heard from him one or two times before. Sure, he could turn on the sass and charm like it was a light switch, but it was only on rare occasions that his manner was true to how he felt inside...like now, with his mother.
As 'Tantie stared down at the floor again, her hand that was clasped in his trembled a little. He tried to steady it by tightening his grip, but no to much, as he continued, "I need to know ev'ryt'in' yo' know 'bout de Carcoccia."
At that 'Tantie's head snapped up to hold Remy with a wide eyed look. She shook her head, the beads at the tips of her hair smashing into each other with vigour. "Why?" She implored.
Remy didn't answer; instead he reached into the left inside pocket of his coat and took out the wooden tube. It's once drab dark appearance became glossy in the candlelight, like silk. Reluctantly letting go of her still quivering hand he pulled of the lid with a dull *pop*; the same musty smell and vague cloud emerging from it as before. He removed the map and then set the lid and tube carefully on the ground. Rather deliberately, he unravelled it, casting a look over it once more and then handed it over to 'Tantie. But she didn't take it immediately, gazing at it as if he were trying to hand a rattlesnake over to her---then, unexpectedly she practically tore it from his grasp, lifting it close to her face as her eyes roamed over it urgently. Remy could feel that Ororo was giving him a look but he refused to acknowledge it, concentrating on the woman sat before him. He cleared his throat, making a swift, gravelly sound before asking, "Does dis look 'kosher' t' yo'?"
For a moment, she seemed lost in what was before her; her dry lips moving with silent utterances as her finger ran along the map, tracing the lines with fervent movements. She began shaking her head, rattling the beads again as the movement of her lips sped up and air hissed out to from harshly whispered words; words that neither of them could understand. Remy could feel that look of Ororo again and this time he did turn to face her, but all he saw there was the same disquiet as he was feeling on the inside, currently doing so well to hide. "Well?" He prompted, attempting to break this strange condition she'd lapsed into. He knew she was extremely weary of things such as this nowadays, even voodoo was off-limits for her now. She only ever practiced it when the Guild asked her to, out of a sense of loyalty to them. "What yo' t'ink chére?" He asked softly, trying to encourage her.
Her mouth stopped moving then; lips held open somewhat pensively as she shook her head again, looking up a Remy with suddenly pleading eyes. "Yo' don' do dis." She told him, her hands starting to shake fully this time, not just a minor tremor. The parchment of the map began to make a sound like a fan being wafted as it was jerked up and down with the rapid movement. "Yo' promise Mattie, yo' promise now---yo' hear?" She was near frantic by this time, her grip threatening to ruin the fragile map.
"Why 'Tantie?" Remy reached for her hands again, laying his over hers to stop them from moving so. "Why?" He repeated quietly, the look of fear that was now replacing the pleading driving a hot, sharp knife into his gut. He couldn't stand seeing her like this. It just wasn't right.
"De Carcoccia---it---it's bad Remy, oh Lord it's bad." Quickly she dropped the parchment from her hands and gripping Remy's as tight as she could she lurched forwards so that she was practically on her knees in front of him, "Yo' promise me boy...yo' promise 'Tantie now..." Her timbre falling to nothing more than a pleading lull.
"It' okay 'Tantie," He assured her out of reflex and then, with some difficulty, extricated his hands from hers, wrapping his arms about her in a comforting hug as she had done for him on many occasions in the distant past. "Hush now...it' okay...it' okay."
"Oh Remy no...no it' not! It's evil!" She suddenly cried out, now wrapping her arms around Remy's torso as she pressed her face to his shoulder. He continued to try and hush her but her cries remained although they slowly became less virulent. "No...no-one mus' evah have it---no-one...it's evil Remy, it's evil...." She kept on repeating that truncated phrase, until eventually the muffled words against his trench-coat faded into nothing. Nobody moved for a while and everything became silent save for the croaking from the swamps rising into sudden prominence from outside, though the squeal of the bats had ceased with the gradual coming of the dawn; the sky already becoming a dark amethyst with dark blue swirls running through it like loosely mixed paint. There was a noise like a tap dripping---plip-plop- --it was the sound of two tears starting from the face leaning into Remy's left shoulder, dropping onto the leather of his duster that rested over his thigh.
"Will she be okay?" Ororo eventually asked in a careful voice, not wanting to say anything until the scene had played itself out.
Remy nodded as his hand shifted where it had settled at the back of her head, holding to the thick black and greying dreadlocks. "Oui." He stated, but once he'd decided it sounded like he was more trying to convince himself, he confessed, "I don' know chére...she 'as dese turn's ev'ry now an' den."
Ororo pushed herself up onto her knees and moved closer to them with a sympathetic look. Placing her hand on his arm, she tried to offer some comfort to him, "Maybe she is just exhausted Remy," She cast a look at the table-made-shrine, noting that some of the candles had near burnt out; their spent wax in globed and misshapen ivory puddles on the floor; their waterfalls of wax frozen it mid-action in places, hanging over the sides in stasis. "It does look like she has been here doing this for a long time." She reasoned, hoping to convince him that he needn't think the worst.
"Mebbe." He muttered, not entirely convinced. Something about the Carcoccia had spooked her and spooked her good. Most worrying to Remy right now was the fact that predictions and intuitive knowledge almost always turned out to be spot on.
Ororo stood up then and went to the sofa that sat against the wall at their backs, just inside the doorway with no door. Hastily, she rearranged the heavy cotton throws that draped it, spreading them out like sheets. "Bring her over here." She called over her shoulder as she pulled the last navy throw down from the back of the settee.
Remy looked back at her and nodded before turning back down to the woman in his arms. "C'mon 'Tantie." He said to the sprawling crown of her head; her face was still pressed to the leather at his shoulder. "Yo' get some sleep now, hien?" Carefully he began to move her, the fact that she'd already fallen into a semi-stupor making it that much more difficult. But he did eventually managed to manoeuvre her the couple of yards between them and the couch; laying her down as Ororo pulled the make-shift sheets over her. She moved back to stand just behind him, as Remy kneeled down at the side of the sofa, pulling the last bit of the navy throw so that it stopped just beneath her chin. Mattie was still murmuring and her eyes occasionally flickered open again. "S'endormir chére." He whispered close to her forehead as he stroked his hand over her coarse hair, "S'endormir..."
*
Ororo stood out on the veranda just off the living room, in her black combats and vest top, looking out over the swamp in the reddish orange morning light; the sun having rose to just half its height, nestling between thin reams of pink, blue and purple clouds. The heat pressed down blisteringly already, but with a small gesture of her hand, a soft breeze ascended from the mist-caressed surface of the swamp to encircle her in its placid blanket. She took a sip from the tall tumbler of water she'd brought out to quench the dryness she felt setting in her throat as she listened to the swamp coming to life in the early splendour. The water had warmed somewhat in the half an hour the weather witch had been outside, but it did the job. This moment of calm finally gave her time to process everything that had gone on over the last few hours. They may have been few but they were certainly hectic. Issuing a light sigh, she tried to get her head around what she and Remy were about to do. A definite sense of apprehension had been quite prominent in her mind even before coming out here to see 'Tantie Mattie, but after that little display earlier it was now set in stone. The old woman's reaction to the mere idea of this thing getting into any ones hands had worried Storm greatly. Over the years she and her team mates had had to contend with many things similar to this and the outcome had never been particularly good. The very thought of an organisation such as the Guild, either of them, having access to something with such great power as she supposed this thing had almost caused her to shiver--- especially if she was to bare it on her conscience that she had helped deliver it into their hands. But, at the end of the day, a promise was a promise...
"Penny fo' 'em."
Ororo looked round on hearing the dusky voice cut a swathe through the ambient noise to see Remy leaning against the doorway that led out onto the veranda; his leather duster hanging from the tips of two fingers and swung casually over his right shoulder, his other hand in his pocket.
"I was just thinking," She began as she turned back towards the vast stretch of swamp that spread out all the way to the horizon, "that it is really quite beautiful in a way." She paused as his footsteps started towards her, sounding hollow on the wooden boarding underfoot and in the quiet of the morning. "You would not expect it, would you?"
"Expect what?"
"For a swamp to be so pleasing to the eye."
"Yah well," He slung his jacket over the balustrade and then leant on it's fairly wide, flat top with both hands as he looked out to the ever changing sky, "Dis place is full o' surprises petit."
Ororo nodded absently in agreement, letting her eyes drift closed for a moment. It was only when she did that that she realised just how heavy her lids were; taking all of her effort in her tired body to will them open again.
"Yo' should get some sleep too 'Roro," he suggested as he watched his best friend rub the back of her neck tiredly, twisting it slowly one way and then the other.
With her hand still cupped at the back of her neck she gave a small shake of her head, "I will be fine Remy, honestly." She took another sip of the tepid water, hoping that would refresh her a little. "How is she?"
Remy took a meaningful breath and then shrugged as he let it out it loud sigh. "She be sleepin' now---I t'ink." He shook his head ruefully, "I seen her freak befo'e but man--- I ain't nevah seen her get like dat. I mean, I know she not into dat shit no mo'e; powers an' spells an' dat, but..." He shook his head again, bereft, "I got a bad feelin' 'bout dis."
Ororo set her glass down no the flat of the wooden rail and stepped closer to him. Placing her hand on his back in comforting gesture, she said, "It is okay to worry about her," she told him as she rubbed her hand back and forth up his back briefly, sensing that he was trying to keep a check on just how concerned he really was, attempting to hold up that stolid persona he so often hid behind, "You care for her." She stated simply.
"Yah, I know mon chére." He turned to look Ororo in the eye, "But I know she'll be alrigh'---dat woman's a tough cookie an' no mistake." He looked back into the room where he could just about see the edge of the sofa that she lay on. His forehead was creased as he turned back to the swamp that glowed like orangeade on fire beneath a white blanket, "I jus' hate de fact dat I'm gonna 'ave to do dis in spite o' wha' she say." He finished regretfully.
"There is no chance then that you might heed her words?" She asked him as she slipped her arms around his midriff and he lifted one arm up to let her in; settling it down around her. When she received no answer she tried to stifle a small yawn, and then said, resignedly "I thought not." Resting her head against him, Ororo felt her eyes shutting against her will once more and just being near to him like this tempted her to do so. Remy'd rocked her to sleep often in the past, as she laid her cheek close to his heart beat, his arms wrapped around her, tight...
"Yo' dozin' girl?"
Ororo snapped her eyes opened, uttering a noise of mild surprise as she realised she had been perilously close to drifting off there. "Oh, sorry." She offered as she pulled her head back and looked up at him; the blacks of his eyes reflected the colours of the ever brightening sunrise from their marble surface. A thought that had often come to her in the past ran through her head; how oddly beautiful they still appeared, for all their peculiarity. Still beautiful...
For a while a kind of contented silence settled over them, only the reverie around them connecting them to any semblance of the real world. It was like they'd transgressed several hours and were back on the roof of the mansion-- -everything in between Jean coming up to see them and being here now, standing on a veranda in Louisiana may as well have not happened for all their sudden peace. When alone in each others company they both had the uncanny knack of creating the illusion that nothing else mattered and the rest of reality simply...faded away. Ororo kept herself alert by concentrating on the breeze that was currently keeping them in a pocket of coolness whilst Remy absently tracked a flock of cranes crossing through the burning sky; their long graceful forms in black silhouette, making them seem cut out figures in a Japanese silk work.
Resting his cheek atop of her head his mind was dragged, involuntarily, back to what 'Tantie had said to him. *No-on mus' evah have it---no-one--- it' evil Remy...it's evil...* It had certainly rattled the hell out of her that was for sure, but what could he do? He had absolutely no illusions, he knew these people, what they craved, what they desired, what they would spill blood for. Opportunities such as this come up but once in a lifetime and there was nothing those Guilds wouldn't do to get there hands on a prize so precious, so coveted. He was reluctant to admit to himself that even now a part of him, some dark corner was excited by the idea of getting his hands on something this big. If he'd still been a Guild member he'd have clamoured over all and sundry to be the one who would risk his neck, receiving the undoubted prestige of being the one to claim the legendary Carcoccia. But the truth of the situation was that, what he was looking at now was being destined to cement his place in infamy instead. That's if he already hadn't---though he was pretty damn sure he had. Did he really want to go down in history as the one who gave the Thieves Guild unimaginable and unlimited power? From his perspective it didn't look like he really had all that much choice in the matter. What's another black letter against the name Remy LeBeau anyhow? He would have smiled wryly at that if he had the heart for it.
Taking in a slow and audible breath Remy held the woman he had in his arms that little bit tighter, relishing the simplicity of body to body contact. He'd be the first to admit that he'd always been a very...tactile man. Though nobody---but nobody, could make him feel so at ease as when he held his padnant, his Stormy in his arms. When he did so he it was as if he could finally rest; no pretence necessary and all cares were temporarily arrested. She healed his hurts, soothed his heart---he'd never known anyone like her, so giving without restraint; a love unconditional. The woman would probably walk over hot coals for him and had, in fact, done much more, much worse on the strength of their bond, their friendship. And that's exactly why he couldn't let her do this with him; it was a step too far. This was his cross to bear, why should he foist that upon her too?
"Yo' don' 'ave t' do dis 'Ro...I don' wan' yo' t'." He said suddenly, then grinned, albeit sardonically, "Fuck, I don' even wanna do it---but dere's no need fo' yo' t' dirty yaw hands wit dis. Yo' can still leave 'ere now." With a pause (that seemed to Ororo to be hesitant, rather than encouragement for her to bail, perhaps because she wanted to read it that way), he then added, "If yo' wan'?"
Smiling, the Windrider shook her head, "I have never backed down from a challenge in my life," she replied with all the dignity he had come to expect from the former goddess as with a graceful sweep of her hand she brushed aside a lock of auburn that hung over his right eye, the soft tips of her fingers ghosting down over his cheek, " and I do not intend to now." Giving him a well-meant reproving look, softness telling in her eyes, she continued, "If I can take on fights to the death in the sewers of Manhattan, what makes you think I will back away from this?"
Remy chuckled slightly as he took his other hand from the waist-height rail and let it join the other one around Ororo, repositioning them so that they enfolded her trim waist; interlocking his long fingers close to the grove at the small of her back, "Non," He said with a kind of bemused resignation, "I know mah Stormy's way too headstrong fo' dat," He moved his head down closer to her, holding his lips close to hers, "even if it is de bes' t'ing fo' her. Sometime', she jus' don' know when t' let uddah people look out fo' her stubborn hind." He cocked an eyebrow at her during his knowing statement, that heart melting smile on his mouth as he laid a soft kiss on her lips like he was used to doing. It was only brief, nothing more than a good friends fleeting peck ought to be, but then he didn't move to pull away, leaving their lips close but not touching; a hairs breadth. For some reason Remy felt that he couldn't move, or simply didn't want to, he couldn't tell which. All at once he became painfully aware of the pulse beating its muffled rhythm in his jugular and the heat of the reborn sun bearing down on the right side of his body, fierce like he was standing too close to a raging fire as one...two...three...four...five seconds ticked by. His eyes were still very much open, but his face was too close to her to focus on anything but a smooth ocean of delicately shaded chocolate skin that had turned the warm amber of whiskey in the radiant light, the gentle, sandy mounds of the Nairobi Desert. Too much time had passed now, although in truth it was only seconds, in these circumstances even that was far too long for him to brush it off and hope she wouldn't regard that something odd had just passed. But then, with a rush of familiar adrenaline, the type that so often coursed through him when the sweet touch of female lips was immanent, he realised that he didn't wish to, he didn't care...
Letting his eyes drift shut, Remy moved onto her lips again, slowly, barely touching them at first, just gently brushing them, making it clear that they were in fact desperate to taste, but by some miracle of reserve or strength, they held back the seemingly inevitable. He found it impossible engage his mind in order to think at this moment; his head becoming a light and vacuous space, filled with the vivid orange of the illuminated swamp that floated behind his closed eyelids. A certain kind of fear that he'd never experienced before wouldn't allow him to. The warm, sweet feel of her breath just barely escaping her lips to caress his, so close...so close...
Ororo felt a shiver run down her, to the very tips of her toes as she felt Remy's large hands tighten at her back and the touch of his lips began to press against hers, sensing that at any moment they would move, pulling her into something that was unknown. The stubble above his upper lip pressed to her skin, prickling it like tiny barbs, taking her attention away from the fact that she was allowing him to gradually pry apart her mouth with his own. That dry, scratching sensation like the mild prick of a thousand tiny needles was all she could concentrate on in this surreally alien moment she'd found herself propelled into without warning. But with all her well focused constraint she soon forced herself back to reality and the reality was that she was standing here with her best friend, none of this was real...
"Um...maybe we should go and get some sleep." Storm's richly toned voice sounded strangely delicate as she pulled back from the Cajun, looking down at the floor and then over to the doorway that lead back into the house, back to sanctuary. She took her arms from around his torso as without protest, he dropped his from her body too. Running her hand down the back of her short, silky crop, she finally looked up at him. "Are you coming inside?" She asked, some of her assuredness coming back.
Remy shook his head, that lock she'd pushed back earlier falling back down heavily again as he broke from her gaze and he rubbed his hand several times across his dark, rough chin, "I be in in a minu'e," He reached into the pocket of his duster that hung limply next to him, pulling out his smokes, "I finish one o' dese firs'."
Ororo cleared her throat, having to remind herself to swallow, "Well do not be too long---you need rest before we leave."
"Oui." He answered shortly, looking out over the swamp as her footsteps disappeared behind him, receding off into the house. He waited for a moment, staring out as the mist rose, evaporating in the heat; desperately trying to hold onto the blank feeling that still clung to his mind---a blissful state of numbness. But he knew it wouldn't last much longer. "Fuck." He growled to himself, irritated, as he yanked out the last cigarette in his packet and struck it up quickly, releasing a noisy exhale of smoke to join the retreating mist as he leant forwards on the flat length of warm, smooth wood before him, slamming his hands down on it with a keen *smack* as he did so.
* * *
Jackson, Mississippi...
The dark featured girl idly fanned herself with the laminated room-service menu that she'd grabbed from the bedside table, but it wasn't helping to push back the stale air much, so she threw it back onto the table. It caught on the edge of the small cabinet and slowly slipped off, hitting the ground silently. The stiff and uncomfortable polyester sheets of the hotel bed scratched against her bare skin, all save her arms, chest and the one leg that she had hung over the side to try and cool it. Idly she swung it back and forth in order to create a breeze, but even that was hot. Looking over to the side a scowl beset her strong featured face as she laid eyes on her bedfellow; his pock marked olive skinned face crinkled up against the cheep pillow cover, his bad eye hidden in its creased folds. Every now and then he let out a rasping snore that sounded as if he were choking to death. As she watched him it was all she could do not to attempt it for real. She sighed heavily as she turned her head back up to the white ceiling; the grey/blue light from the window mixed with a streak of orange from the street light that had yet to be switched off from last night. Her dark eyes fell down to the clock just above the dresser that was directly opposite the bed. Six o'clock.
It had been four hours then since she and Senor Velasquez Lopez had returned from Natchez and he'd decided they should stay here until morning and then return to San Diego first thing in the morning. But she didn't mind really---apart from this particular 'obligation', it also gave her chance to finish off some business of her own. Looking over at the sleeping man again, she slipped carefully out of the bed, trying not to shift the hard sheets. Once out, she grabbed her plastic, tortoise-shell grip from the bedside table and pulled back her dry, thick, dark hair, struggling slightly to pull the unruly mass all into one manageable pony tail at the nape of her neck. Finally securing it, forcing the clasp shut until it caught with a neat clack, she picked up the heaped pile of her clothing from the ground and reluctantly put it back on. She hated wearing this garbage, just for appearances sake, especially this Guild attire. With all its metal plating it would make a racket when she put it back on, so she gathered it all up into her arms and crept over to the bathroom to change into the offending items, closing the door slowly behind her.
When she emerged from the tiny, white tiled, fluorescent lit room, she was all set and ready to go. But as she got to the door she looked back at the bed where-on Lopez was now spread-eagled across it, his mouth agape, that bad eye that never quite closed revealing some of its hidden pearl. A parting gesture might be in order she thought to herself slyly but then ruled it out. This wasn't a time for her usual tricks; there was a job to do and she prided herself on being a professional. She could save her amusements for afterwards if needs be. A wicked smile tugged at her lips as she watched him lying there and then without further ado, opened the main door of the room to let herself out as quietly as she could; shutting the cheap hunk of hardboard with a mute click.
*
Her stride was swift, assured and with definite purpose as she walked down the mostly quiet streets of Jackson. There were still a few late-night-come- early-morning revellers stumbling about in loud, yet weary groups, trouping their way home with the nasty taste of stale beer and cigarettes in their mouths. But mostly there was no-one at this end of town; no-one but the Latino girl in the stiff, strange get up. It was enough to make sure nobody bothered her with leering looks or half sober shouts. Soon she was off the main road and striding purposely down a less public path and then down another one; lined on both sides by tall, red-bricked buildings with black metal fire-escapes criss-crossing down their flanks like a large game of snakes and ladders---sans the snakes. She took no note of her surroundings as she left the scattered sounds of the street behind her; the occasional car or early morning delivery lorry rumbling along to its destination. Her focus was one-hundred percent on what was at the end of this side street that stopped with a dead end; a brick wall at least ten foot high, topped with razor wire. Their was a large green dumpster against the wall with it's the lid not shut properly, all the rubbish on top threatening to spill forth, but her dark, emotionless eyes were on what was next to it; an old white Chevet, parked right next to the wall in front and to its right so that it was boxed in.
As the girl approached the car, she took a single key from a small pocket at her breast and slotted it with out fuss into the round protruding lock on the edge of the boot door. The trunk popped open immediately but then pitched back down again with its own momentum. Above the springing squeak of it opening there was a muffled cry from within. Placing one hand on the open lid so that it didn't fall back down again she gazed down into the back of the car with those blank, emotionless eyes. Her lips were the only things that moved, holding a mark of cruelty as she took in the sight of the bound and gagged figure dressed in nothing but a thin plain T-shirt and a pair of knickers; arms tied behind her back and in turn tied to her feet that were bent upwards, close to her back so that she was bound like a turkey waiting for the oven.
The captive squinted in the face of the sudden flood of natural light at the same time as heaving in through her nose all the fresh air she could muster after being enclosed in the retched heat for so long. The white rag that constituted a gag pulled viciously one the sides of her mouth, biting in at the very corners. There was even a spot or two of blood were it had worn down her skin as she'd tried to scream for help, hoping that somebody, anybody might hear her desperate, though muffled, pleas. But they hadn't come and now after who knows how long locked in such a small, stifling dark space her unknown tormentor had come back for her. After several stuttered attempts to open her eyes fully, they flickered for the last time and as they did so there almost black orbs widened to an unimaginable degree. What they took in sent her into a shocked paralysis and suddenly her binds ceased to hurt and she near forgot to breath, for what she saw looking back at her with a mask of cruelty was---herself.
"What you say me and you go for a short walk little girl?" Her doppelganger taunted in a voice that even matched hers.
At last she regained her wits and began to scream as best she could, once again making vain attempts to free her black gaffer-tape bindings. The car shook as she thrashed, bouncing noisily on its ample suspensions but it only earned her a contemptuous laugh and that was the only difference in this likeness of herself. That laugh was twisted and it seemed to echo on itself. But the eerie noise stopped abruptly as her captor reached into the trunk, taking her by an arm and a leg and dragged her out onto the ground; dropping her on the concrete and grit like she were nothing more than a heavy suitcase, her chin hitting the ground painfully, scrapping off some skin as it did on her bear knees. She heard the boot slam shut again above her and tried to turn her head to look up at whoever it was that had done this to her. Immediately she wished she hadn't as her eyes widened once more at the sight of her impostor reaching into an inner pocket and drawing out a sleek, ridged edged Bow knife. She closed her eyes tight and against her dirty, blood stained gag muttered a Latin prayer or two with fevered, fearful words. With her eyes squeezed shut she waited for what she was sure was coming but relief filled her very being when she felt the binds that tied her feet to her hands being cut with a sharp tearing sound like someone ripping off a piece of sticking tape with their teeth. She was harshly rolled over then, as her feet binds were cut away completely and then submitted freely to being yanked up from the ground. The true San Diego thief only had a few short seconds to ascertain whereabouts she was, quickly taking in a confusing array of brick, metal, and a thin sliver of early morning sky or was that late evening? Unable to get her bearings, she was roughly dragged through a door on the left hand side of the street that she didn't notice until she was shoved, nearly thrown through it.
It was dark at first, although the young thief wasn't sure whether it was her fear that was blinding her or the surroundings. She found herself being tossed through another door close to initial one that had banged shut behind them on entry; the iron grip that had been around the top of her right arm releasing her fleetingly, only to take it up again seconds later. The girl tried desperately to get a foothold on the bare concrete floor in this new unfamiliar space but she was being pulled along far too quickly so that her foot simply slipped from beneath her every time she tried to gain purchase, scratching clumsily and painfully at the ground. The room she found herself in now was much lighter than when they'd originally entered the building. It was full of boxes and large wooden haulage crates with large black words stamped on their sides reading; This Way Up, and above that a pointing, thick arrow in the direction indicated. She took all this in within seconds, her profession demanding that variety of attention to detail whether it was useful or not. Unfortunately the one useful detail about the room that she did notice was that there was no other way in or out save for the door that was by now far at the other side of the long room.
By the time her captor had thrown her down onto a solitary chair amongst the various sized boxes, she had fought back some of her composure and cunning. She was, after all, a member of the Thieves Guild she reminded herself coolly, she should be prepared for situations like this as they were quiet common; the feud between the San Diego clan and the nearby Chula Vista Assassins had been going on for quite some time. It was one of the most vicious and one of the most bloody wars ever fought between the two rival groups. #That's it#, she thought to herself rationally, this was just another Assassin's trick, nothing more. Perhaps they'd heard about the map Senor Lopez had discovered. But that thought only filled her with another kind of dread; the Chula Vistas were renowned for their skills as tortures as well as implementers of swift clean deaths. It depended which one served their current purpose. She had once been told, or 'advised' as the clan elder had tactfully put it to her, that should she ever have the misfortune to fall into their hands it would be best, if the opportunity arose, to kill herself. It was a much more appealing fate than the alternative, or so she'd been led to believe. But if she did truly believe in their warnings, or simply regarded them as scaremongering dished out to the younger members of the clan, at this moment in time that distinction became quite pointedly irrelevant.
The mirror image of her stood motionless for a moment, gazing down at her as she mustered enough steel to return the look with contempt and bile. She tried to move her mouth again but the taut cloth opened up the red abrasions at each corner, and she could feel the warm seep of blood from the wounds soaking into the gag.
The ruse had gone on long enough, the girl that was standing thought to herself; to wear these clothes was bad enough, to wear a semblance of human skin was much, much more offensive to her sensibilities. And so it was that with sheer force of will, a flicker in the mind that was instinctive, Raven Darkholme shed the dusky coloured shell she'd been hiding behind for close to twenty four hours now. With a noise that mimicked a suction cup being slowly pulled from a hard surface, the smooth sun-browned skin beneath the uniform was consumed by a coarser blue. At first it sprang up like several small blemishes, marking the face until it rapidly raced over the entire surface, which in itself altered its physiognomy. Even her height altered to some degree, making the clothes she wore just a little too small in the arms and legs. The dark locks that had been dragged back at the neck shrunk, creeping slowly upwards, converting to a fiery 'Irish' red as the plastic clip that had held the mock hair in place fell to the ground with a clatter that echoed in the hush.
"Well, I have to say, Senorita Jacqueline," Her crystalline, naturally sallow eyes taunted mercilessly, "Pedro certainly learnt a few things about you last night that he hadn't seen before." The words reverberated on themselves strangely, as that cruel laugh had moments ago.
Several small tears sprung up in the large black plates of the girl Jacqueline's eyes as her teeth tried to clench but were unable to. The panic in her was rife by now; the control gleaned, now lost once more. Up until the moment the woman had changed into...this, she had begun to use all her mastery and learnt skill to ease her hands from the tightly wound gaffer-tape but her clandestine work had ceased hastily on the sight that was now before her. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, an innate fear of mutants working away at her mind once she'd realised the truth of who, or what had been the one to knock her unconscious last night and stash her in the back of a car in deathly temperatures. But she soon forgot about half baked notions of mutant terror when an unwelcome object reappeared into her view.
Mystique reached into the jacket she was wearing and pulled the large, serrated Bow out of her pocket. Taking a firm grip of the glazed tiger-bone handle, she held it up before her, examining the blade as if it's sharp, shinning length absolutely fascinated her. A mumbling noise from below caught her attention back to the matter at hand; it seemed as if the girl were trying to say something from behind the bloody rag. Never one to be a bad sport she decided the last words should at least be heard, even if they weren't heeded. Reaching down she roughly yanked the rag from around the girl's mouth; ripping it right off and tossing it to the side. "What was that?" She asked like she pretended to care; full of a blatant insincerity, "I didn't quiet catch it."
Jacqueline gasped for a moment, even the warm air refreshing to her although after having the gag in her mouth for so long its impression was still indented hard on her skin, making it feel as if it were still physically present. For a moment she struggled to find her voice, until she forced out a speedily spoken plea, "You can not kill me Senorita," She stopped for a greedy breath, before launching back in, "If you cause me harm you will make mortal enemies of one of the fiercest clan's in the entire Thieves Guild. It is a matter of honour that they avenge their dead, at any cost."
Darkholme gave a sly chuckle as she watched the blade, twisting its deadly point against the tip of her extended index finger, ever-so-lightly. "I am shaking little girl," She sneered mockingly, "No really, I am." At that she couldn't stop herself from guffawing out loud, even going so far as to throw her head back as the cruel noise bounced around the large room, off the walls and stacked boxes.
"Assassin bitch!" The girl screamed in one last surge of courage, she drew in another breath which would have continued her diatribe had she not felt a knocking blow to her throat and then a white hot, searing pain. Her lips remained parted as she felt the warm flood of tears running down her cheeks, mercifully aware of little else for a suspended moment in time; her eyes open wide. Mystique pushed the knife that bit deeper, to which a death rattle-esque noise shuddered from the girls lips, clawing its way out. Satisfied that the single blow was enough, the red-headed mutant tired to withdraw the blade but she'd rammed it in with such force and power that it caused her trouble to move. She had to physically put her hand to the girls shoulder and hoist her leg up so that the sole of her boot rested at the edge of the wooden chair before pulling with all her strength. She let out an indulgent, gratified sigh as finally the knife gave, almost stumbling as she propelled backwards with the tiger-bone handle clenched firmly in hand. A note of surprise flittered across her face as looked back down at her victim for she wasn't quite dead yet and there was nowhere near as much blood as she'd expected.
Raven watched intently whilst the girl tried again and again to gulp in air; her face a horrifying mask of shock as with each movement of her throat the three inch horizontal slit gaped open then flapped closed like a caught fish's gills as it fights for life by breathing in the oxygen that will ultimately kill it. The noises she made every time she made the action became louder and louder and more frantic as with one last great gasp, there was only a long low gurgle to follow. As the girls head finally slumped down like a lead weight against her chest, Mystique's briefly piqued interest was satisfied as to why there was little to no blood from the wound; it must have run down her throat and wind-pipe and filled up her lungs. She had literally drowned in her own blood. But the killer didn't muse over it for long, she had to get back before her absence was noticed. Going back into one of the other inside pockets and replacing her knife, she retrieved two items; a small yellow can and a cheap box of matches. Breaking the seal on the palm-sized metal tin by placing it between her teeth and twisting it several times until it gave, she bit off the top and spat it without thought to one side. She began to spray the water-like liquid from the can all around and onto the presently cooling corpse. Once the tin was empty she threw it to the ground; it landed at the dead girl's bare feet. There was absolutely no emotion on her face as she went about her macabre task. Her movements and actions were nothing short of considered---proficient---professional.
Without further ado, she turned and walked more-or-less ten meters away from where the body sat awkwardly in the chair, the hands having fallen down limply at the sides, fingers half curled in on themselves as the head kept on inching down extremely slowly at an ever more unnatural angle. Facing the body again, a match was produced and struck; sailing through the air with all the grace of a shooting star it exploded into a glorious supernova as it hit the puddle on the ground in front of the young thief. Her body was consumed in a frightening instant but Mystique didn't see it. She was already out of the door, heading out of the building, with someone else's face, someone else's voice, someone else's life to play with while the need suited her.
-TBC-
A/N; I don't know if Storm has ever met 'Tantie Mattie before. I had a flick through my back issues and couldn't find any where she had. So if she has, according to my AU comicverse, she hasn't.