Uncanny Introduction

Disclaimer: As I am not Stan Lee (note the pseu-nom) and I own nothing but a rather torn sweater, I claim no ownership to the rights and usage of these fictional characters. They have been used without permission, but I hope Marvel can overlook that. If you dare, read on.

Tic. Toc. Tic. Toc.

Jean's eyes narrowed on the little clock that dangled right above mister Smithers' desk.

Tic. Toc. Tic. Toc.

In her mind, she focused, and like a film, tiny images of its meaningless screws came to her vision. She saw them twisting, ever so meticulously yet still so slowly. Her concentration deepened.

Tic, toc. Tic, toc. Tic, toc.

"Psst!" Kitty hissed. Jean held up a momentary hand, acting like some sort of remote control that, when topped with a wink, sufficed as a response.

The tiny hands of the object glared defiantly from the glass, their music ever continuous. Her attention seeped even further and, to her delight, she saw the hands quicken, one tick at a time.

"As we see in past historical circumstances, the desire of war overrides the true political and economical sanctioning on such a scrupulous…" M. Smithers continued on, his monotony in perfect rhythm with the time bomb. Kitty bit her tongue, watching as the ticks sped on, and on and on until the sharp shriek of the dismissal bell cut through the lecture. The instructor threw a startled gasp to the clock behind him. "B-but, we still had a half hour!" he sputtered indignantly.

Knowing his attempt to retain the already rejoicing student body would end only in vain, he let them by, misery etched in his sour gaze (directed mostly at Jean). Grinning pleasantly, she giggled as Kitty linked arms and waved an appreciated farewell.

"Great class today, Sir!" and off they pranced, into the hallway, ready to enjoy the rest of their day.

Scott rested his head against the cool material of his 2003 corvette. Three summers of full time work as landscaper/garbage boy had earned him almost enough money, the remaining bill a gift from the professor. Admiring its sleek crimson, and white sport stripes running horizontally, he thought of another red head that would complete the ensemble.

"Hey, Scott! Waiting long?" He needn't raise his head to recognize the voice, but he did anyway, pulling his mouth into a mock frown.

"Yeah. What took you guys so long?" Kitty smiled sheepishly.

"I, like, totally took the wrong book from my locker-"

"And we all know how useless she is without me as a guide!" Jean quipped, dodging a quick smack from the shorter brunette. After a small exchange of tom-foolery both girls jumped quickly in, Jean as shotgun ("Where else would I sit?") Without a moment's hesitation, Scott revved the engine and off they sped.

Jubilee examined her nails. Actually, there wasn't much of it left. For some reason, she felt a deep nervousness in the pit of her stomach and no amount of swallowing seemed to wash it away. She lifted another finger to her lips, nibbling softly on the cuticles. The familiar metallic flavor spilled into her mouth and she cursed mentally at the juvenile habit.

"You shouldn't do that, darlin'." Wolverine's voice rumbled like gentle thunder. "Looks like it might hurt." Though she rolled her eyes, her hand dropped to her side, resisting the urge to smooth jagged edges. Logan eyed her carefully.

Both decided to leave school early that day (he knew he'd be hearing about that later tonight) and He'd decided on treating her to a shopping spree. Instead of her ripped jeans and baggy sweaters, she now sported a pair of fitted low-rise pants, a chestnut colored top and (much to his disbelief) a long yellow trench coat.

"It's so hot!" she'd said. Jabbing his stomach, she reminded him pointedly that "Plaid's been out since the nineties Wolvie. I don't think your advice on fashion counts for much."

Now they lounged in the parking lot; him leaning against his adored racer, a cigarette hanging from his lips and she standing straight before him, nose crinkled in a disgusted look, hands hard on her hips.

"That really is a nasty habit," she commented, lifting a brow. He shrugged, tacking a long drag and blowing it her way.

"Hey, no more'n ten years ago, it was the thing to do." Lolling her eyes (apparently a favored response) she snagged it from his fist.

"Peer pressure too much for ya'?" her eyes looked heaven ward, a mockingly cute pleading face staring the length of the smoking poison. "Poor muffin." He reached to grab his stolen treat when her hands glowed, dissipating the remaining butt.

"Hey!" he snarled. She smirked.

"Addicted much?" he frowned, throwing another leg over his cycle.

"Let's 'git goin' girl" He felt the uneasiness return to her demeanor and he cocked his head back. "Lost all your spunk now, hmm?"

Reaching down by her feet, Jubilee gripped the ragged duffel and slung it securely over her shoulders. Grabbing the helmet from the seat, she turned it over as if it were a magical eight ball whose answers needed only gentle psychic cajoling. When she looked back up, she saw concern in Logan's eyes.

Okay girl, she breathed. This is it. Grinning reassuringly, she strapped the helmet snuggly and tried to lace her fingers about Logan's waist.

"Whoah boy!" She said. "Lay off the beers maybe- aaaAAAAHH!" she cried as the engine revved and tires smoked, pulling the front end up as it sped off. Her grip tightened on his jacket and insults swelled on her dry tongue. "WOLVIE!"

Kurt leaned lazily over the edge of the couch. His lean, attractive face currently swelled red as the blood rushed to his brain.

"Agh!" he groaned. "Vhy did ve have to come so soon from school?" his German accent reminded Bobby of those old Commanders he saw in Hollywood films, the evil undertakers of the plot. "Sheizzar! I'm bored…" he droned.

"Shut up Kurt," Bobby said. "No one cares." Rogue stifled a laugh at their antics. It never was safe to encourage these two. Last time, they'd ended with the tops of all the toilet seats frozen. She had not been pleased.

Brushing a strand of white bang from her eyes, she glanced around to the others. Of course, Jean and Scott cuddled closely together, singing disgusting tunes of 'No, I love you more's' followed by tiny pecks and innocent giggles.

Kitty yakked un-intellectually to her newest boy interest on the phone while Storm, Beast and the Professor spoke quietly amongst themselves.

Gazing out the window, Marie was surprised to see Logan had not yet arrived. When they had been informed the previous night that a new (tentative) edition would be met, she'd assumed not even the mighty Wolverine would be exempt from the welcoming committee.

Just as the room began growing discordant, the faint roar of an engine sounded, sputtering slowly to silence. As expected, the parlor doors echoed their arrival. All nine heads spun in that direction, though nothing could be seen from the closed doors. Xavier nodded to his two associates and he alone proceeded past the door, motioning for them all to remain still. Secretly, Marie felt a pang of excitement. Who could this new girl be?

Jubilee hid nervously behind Logan's muscular frame. The closing of the heavy cherry-wood doors announced finality to her decision, the closing of one chapter of her life and the opening of another. She hoped is would not be from the dramatic section. Comedy perhaps? As her mind filled with inconsequential thoughts, her eyes gazed the new surroundings.

The door sat upon a raised platform and to enter the main hall before her, they descended three steps. The entire décor seemed reminiscent of the English Victorian age, the finishing's all deep and rich and shiny on the wood, the tall staircase splitting in many directions on many floors and the banisters all polished to a rich bronze. If she hadn't felt intimidated before, she certainly felt so now.

She heard a sound to the left and tensed.

"Relax Darlin'; it's the Professor." Logan said this as though it was a regular occurrence she experienced. He's only a member of elite society, born of old money, leader of a secret mutant organization and controller of minds. Regular indeed.

Peaking shyly from his side, she studied him. A man of definite stature she could see regality oozing from his presence. Though he was bald, his smooth skin and high cheekbones added an incomparable youth. His tall frame folded gracefully in the arms of a smooth electric wheelchair. Even from this distance she could smell the clean leather and rubber tires.

His eyes caught hers and she felt caught. As if he could see straight into her mind…she blinked and mentally strengthened her reserves. He couldn't yet be trusted. No one could.

"You must be Jubilation Lee?" his voice had a soft musical tone, laced with a refined British accent. Logan moved slowly to the side so that she was in clear view. Feeling slightly vulnerable, she squared her shoulders and dropped her shades. Not trusting her voice to sound as strong as she wished, she simply nodded in approval. "Very well."

"You alright?" Logan nudged her toward him. Again she nodded slowly. Logan signaled the Professor. He smiled warmly.

"Well, then; shall we proceed?" and the doors before him opened, and a light filtered through so that she could not see the other side. The entire production had so heavenly an effect she half expected the emergence of gospel hymns.

Instead she was met with faces- both young and familiar. At first they simply stared and then slowly, recognition dawned and she could feel the wonder in all their eyes. She saw Jean Grey, captain of the soccer leagues and Kitty-something-or-other, captain of the prep-brigade. A tall guy in the back with colored lenses stood centered, as though he were their leader, a blue (could she believe it? Blue and furry- like an elf! With a tail? Oh, she bit the urge to pull it) fellow and his antonymous partner standing to either side.

Xavier watched her reactions closely, but she let very little show, save for an initial surprise. "Welcome, if you will my x-men, Jubilation Lee."

He might have extended such an invitation, but she no longer heard him. Shivers rippled her skin and her gaze drew to the back window. It stretched over the entire wall, paned and gleaming luminescent. Behind it were wooded grounds. She stopped. And there were eyes- angry, hate filled eyes. She gazed intently, matching the hate and the intensity. Her mouth tightened defiantly.

It watched from the shadows. No gender could be associated, not after all it had seen- all it had done. That would associate a sense of humanism that which it no longer regarded, that which it openly mocked and destroyed. It watched from the shade of the trees, through the high glass that sparkled in the warming weather. It watched her enter and look awestruck- It watched her weakness emerge. Then, It saw her tense and browsed Its way. She caught Its eye but did not falter. She was challenging It. Her eyes said it all. I will kill you- soon. I will find you and gut you and make you writhe torturously, just like you did to me.

It smirked, fangs glinting ravenously. So it shall be, frail. So it shall be.

Whoo, been quite a while, hasen't it? I feel awful, I really, reallydo. Bright side, my Coz (I think she goes by Amon's Girl, or something of the latter) has begun posting (she's really quite talented. If you like Witch Hunter Robin, you might consider her story) and she's been getting on my case about posting more than say, oh, every five months. So good news for you. Not so good for my sanity. It's much overated though, isn't it?

Merry Christmas all

dizzy4