It's a Family Affair
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"regular communication"
'telepathic communication, thoughts'
titles
emphasis, flashbacks, languages
journal entries
Chapter Two, Part One (2,1 … II,I)
Introductions
Recreation Room : 10.28 am
The group of unfortunate teenagers had migrated and found themselves to be in the hallway outside the Recreation Room, huddled and crowded against the glass double doors where they snuck a quick peek at their future children. There the juveniles were being detained until their surrogate parents came to retrieve them. The older, more problematic adolescents were surprised to calculate twenty-or-so children playing with each other and the countless toys scattered across the carpeted floor harmoniously. Tots of many ages ran about, ranging from the age of the terrible twos to the nightmarish nines…
Hank McCoy and his associate, Sean Cassidy, alias Banshee, beckoned for them to enter and form a civilized line. The door slowly creaked closed behind them.
10.30 am
"Scott. Jean."
Together, arm in arm, hand in hand, both stepped forward, their footwork in complete unison. Sean handed them a medium sized manila folder and a bulky white envelope addressed to a Mr. and Mrs. Summers. The jacket was the first thing they peered into; it held a directory, blank checks, a slip with a bank account and pin number inscribed on it, and a plastic charge card. Additionally, there were also three one-hundred peach colored Monopoly game bills. Held in the files were numerous loose leaves of printed paper, all describing their particular child: a profile, descriptions of food and drug allergies, special medical information, and medications. They first page they beheld read:
Name: Emma Grace Frost
Age: 9
Gender: female
Nationality: American
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Height: 4 ft. 6 in.
Weight: 70 lbs.
Eye Color: blue
Hair Color: brown
Jean cocked her head to the side and gave her husband a lopsided grin. "We, Mister Summers," she whispered, "have been blessed with a healthy, beautiful little girl…" She held up a single photograph of traditional black and white coloring for him to view and admire.
When they finally lifted their heads, they noticed a brown haired girl, tall and of perfect posture, being led to them by Hank. The youngling's sharp azure eyes, alert, shifting, and fearless, warily analyzed her new guardians. Safely tucked in the crook of her arm, hugged close, was a delicate china doll with painted features, looking to cost a hefty sum. Unquestionably, Emma Frost was well-endowed with her flowing ivory silk dress, stainless stockings, matching heeled shoes, and dangling diamond earrings that glinted in the light filtered through the paned windows. Jewel encrusted pins were lodged in her mane and the smell of hairspray lingered upon her, doubtlessly perking usually limp locks. And hanging from her arm was a milky white Prada handbag, her name decoratively stitched into the side.
Clean, pretty, and quiet, she was Jean's perfect candidate for a daughter.
Hank laid a supportive hand atop Emma's shoulder and introduced her to the couple. "I present to you Emma Frost."
Scott squatted down—resting his own hands on his muscled quadriceps—to be level with the girl and held out a friendly hand towards her. "I'm S—"
Emma rolled her eyes. "Please." She fixed a blank, boring stare on the two. "I am a telepath, after all… You are Scott Summers. Codenamed Cyclops. And that is Jean Grey, your girlfriend…" She then turned her attention to Hank. "And I would appreciate it if next time, Dr. McCoy, you would let me speak for myself."
Jean was taken aback by Emma Frost's arrogant, knowing manner. But still, she kept her calm. "So, Emma, sweetie, did you bring any bags with you?"
"I would prefer it if you did not treat me like a child, Ms. Grey. As you can probably see, I am very mature for my age and don't need your babying. And as for the answer to your question: no," she answered simply. "Didn't your headmaster inform you of the circumstances? The brochure we received in the mail said to just bring a favored toy. Nothing else. It said we would be provided with everything we would need during our delayed stay here. Are you informing me that I was mistaken? Because I am sure that my father, the acclaimed millionaire Winston Frost, would love to hear this."
The couple exchanged nervous glances.
'Don't worry, Scott,' Jean sent telepathically. 'We'll know soon enough.'
10.37 am
"Remy. Rogue."
Melancholy emerald orbs begged upon a distraught face. Pathetically, Rogue whimpered, "Sean, yah cannot be serious," as she reluctantly reached out to accept the thick manila folder and envelope from the older mutant who held them out to her. "Ah'll do chores foah a month! Anythin'! Just—please don't pair meh up with him!"
Sean shook his head sympathetically. "Sorry, lass. There be nothing I can do for ye. It's the Big Guy's rules, ye know? I suggest ye learn how to endure 'im, or else it's going to be a long three months…" He turned to the next couple.
Subsequently, Remy LeBeau wrapped an arm around Rogue's shoulder and possessively pulled her close to him. He wound her thick, bouncing auburn curls around his index finger, breathed warm, steamy breath against the sweating nape of her neck, and blew against he ear, tickling the sensitive skin of the lobe. Huskily, he whispered, "Aw, chère, y' wound Remy. Y' at least have t' give dis po' ol' Swamp Rat a chance, non? Now, why don' we start over an' try dat again, oui?"
His experienced hands, gloved, of course, snaked beneath her shirt and explored the curves of a worked, flat stomach. And after identifying himself with the territory, Remy began his seize—his nimble fingers made their way up and down her sides, causing Rogue to launch into a shrieking fit which caught everyone's attention.
He smirked to himself as he watched her chest rise and fall erratically and her squirm in his embrace/
"Y' really should smile mo' often; y' look trés belle, chère. Now, what d' y' say?" he asked, temporarily ceasing his assault.
Rogue, pink from embarrassment, answered, "Ah'm sorry, Cajun!"
Remy beamed, totally satisfied with her apology. He patted her head adoringly, praising her. "Bonne fille." He then began rifling through the papers Rogue had dropped during his siege.
Name: Carol Susan Jane Danvers
Age: 6
Gender: female
Nationality: American
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Height: 3 ft. 10 in.
Weight: 50 lbs.
Eye Color: blue
Hair Color: blonde
From the corner of her eye, Rogue detected Beast coming at her and Remy with a small girl in tow. The child—she guessed her to be Carol Danvers—had a head full of golden curls and bright, shining sapphire oculi. It was noted that she was missing one of her front teeth and that a bigger one was beginning to grow in its place. She wore a pair of blue jeans, a white tanktop, and layered over that, a vertically striped button-down shirt. In her hands, she held a miniature jet and a toy soldier who swung from a plastic parachute. She looked exactly like the delighted child in the picture Remy held, taken only a month ago.
As the two traipsed towards them, Rogue pushed Remy off of her and straightened her clothing.
"This is Carol Danvers. Carol's powers are super strength, durability, and flight. Dear, this is—"
Remy rushed forward, cutting Hank's preliminary short. He gently took hold of the small hand dropped at Carol's side and laid a kiss across her knuckles. "Enchanté, ma petit chéri. It be time fo' introductions, Remy be guessin'. As I already said, I be Remy LeBeau, also known as Gambit… also known as mon amour's préfére Swamp Rat, as she passionately calls moi. Specialties include: bein' a master t'ief an' an expert gumbo chef. And de jolie fille standin' beside me… well, dat be m' girlfriend, Roguey."
"I ain't his girlfriend," Rogue hastily interjected. Carol nodded her comprehension.
"Don' listen t' 'er, petit. She jus' be humble, 's all."
"No, no. I ain't… uh… Swamp Rat!"
10.45 am
"Kurt. Amanda."
"Muffin, you know, you don't have to participate," Kurt reasoned with his girlfriend of only a few months, Amanda Sefton. "I mean, you didn't do anything wrong, so why should you be punished as well?"
Amanda smiled and caressed his three-fingered paw with her thumb, gently stroking the fluffed indigo fur. She lifted his hand to her lips, relishing in his touch, and then moved it to his own mouth, silencing his pleas. "Please, Kurt. I want to. Besides, it kinda sounds like fun, don't you think? I mean, you and me… raising a kid of our own… sharing an apartment…" As she cupped his face in her hand, causing shivers to race down his spine, she suggested, "Just think of this as the next step in our relationship. Okay?"
"O-Okay."
"Great." Enthused, she added, "Now, what do our papers say? I want to see who we got."
"Well, it's a girl."
"Oh, Kurt." Amanda playfully smacked his arm and snatched the documents away, quickly scanning through the material for herself.
Name: Clarice Ferguson
Age: 4
Gender: female
Nationality: American
Ethnicity: UNKN
Height: 3 ft. 3 in.
Weight: 37 lbs.
Eye Color: shining white, no visible pupils
Hair Color: pinkish-purple
She looked to Kurt. "That's weird. It doesn't mention anything about special abilities or mutant powers. Maybe they want it to be a surprise?"
Kurt shrugged. "Maybe, Liebling."
While flipping through the many pages of useful information, Amanda came across an old, bent photograph. The picture showed a toddler sitting in a mall Santa Claus's lap, her void eyes spilling tears as she tried to tear away from the impostor. Amanda continued to study the picture intently, feeling the girl was familiar to her in some way. In fact, she resembled Kurt. The two shared similar characteristics: their pointed ears, colorful eyes, and strangely colored skin, all of which were immediate giveaways to their mutant heritage. The semblance was uncanny.
"So, do you have an illegitimate daughter you want to tell me about?" Amanda teased.
"What?" Kurt inquired. Amanda handed him the picture and Nightcrawler observed it carefully. "Wow. She does look like me, ja?"
In the background, someone cleared their throat. Kurt and Amanda regarded Hank standing before them with a small creature hiding behind his bulking figure. The girl, assumed to be Clarice, wore a ratty dress and a worn green cloak that wrapped around her shoulders and hung loosely over her frail body. Her hair, a pinkish-purple hue, was let down in gelled, wet ringlets. In her left hand, Clarice held a Wonder Woman action figure which greatly quivered. With her other hand, she clutched onto Beast and peeked in and out from behind the massive mutant.
"This is Clarice. And Clarice, this is Kurt Wagner and Amanda Sefton, the people who will be taking care of you while your mommy and daddy are away…" He gave her a slight push in the couple's direction. "Her powers are those of teleportation; she can displace people and objects. She can also form javelins that will teleport its target from the energy of her portals."
Kurt held out a hand to the girl and hesitantly, she took it. "Greetings, Prinzessin."
"Y-You're not scared of me?"
Nightcrawler softly smiled. "Of course not, Prinzessin. You are like me, and that makes you extra special in my book." He patted his heart, suggesting his admiration for her.
Clarice returned his smile with a delighted look of her own when he picked her up and slung her onto his back, crouched down on his hind legs. "Now," he told her, "what do you say we go get settled in, hä? I'm starving." He rubbed his roaring stomach and Clarice laughed, as did Amanda who took hold of his hand and squeezed lovingly. Nightcrawler tightly shut his eyes and teleported his family away—BAMF!—leaving a waft of brimstone behind them.
10.50 am
"Warren. Betsy."
"Bets! Bets! It's a girl!"
Elisabeth Braddock filched the insightful documents from her fiancé, Warren Worthington III. His face began its sagging, so to amend his loss, she tossed him the Monopoly cash and credit card from the envelope she had brutally torn open. He caught the items with ease and slipped them into the safety of his pants' pocket, now content.
She blew him a kiss and went on to, carefully, with an expertly trained eye, examine the other contents of the envelope postmarked Mr. and Mrs. Worthington—she loved the way that sounded to her ears—and the filed papers Sean had handed them. She took her time leisurely glancing over the impressive report for significant information. Using her telepathic talents, Betsy relayed the intelligence she deemed imperative to her boyfriend.
'Name: Theresa Rourke
Age: 3
Gender: female
Nationality: Irish
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Height: 3 ft.
Weight: 30 lbs.
Eye Color: blue
Hair Color: reddish blonde'
At that moment, Beast stepped up to them with a rusty-haired toddler sitting contentedly on his hip. Her face, plump and round, was deeply snuggled in Hank's blue fur, hidden away from the couple. The girl was dressed in a yellow shirt and dirtied purple overalls. Her hair was tied up in messy pigtails, various pieces sticking up here and there, the hairpins imbedded in her head standing at unusual angles, looking to be the work of an amateur. She held a naked Barbie and a set of clothes for the vulnerable doll. Her other hand was, at the moment, indisposed, as it was tightly curled up, the only erect extremity being her thumb which was currently being used as a sucking device.
"I'd like you two to meet Theresa Rourke. Theresa, here, can emit powerful sonic screams and can use those sonic vibrations to propel herself through the air, ergo flight." Hank handed the child to Warren who, having never held a baby before, cradled her awkwardly, not exactly knowing what to do with her. "Theresa, this is Warren Worthington and Elisabeth Braddock. They're the ones who are going to take care of you."
Warren broadly grinned. "Hello."
The girl's eyes widened significantly as she studied Warren and his feathered wings. The sunlight which penetrated the windows' blinds illuminated his handsome physiognomy, producing a heavenly glow.
"Ye a aingeal!" Theresa proclaimed.
Betsy tittered, her blue eyes glimmering with motherly affection for her newly adopted daughter. She pushed away Theresa's bangs and tenderly kissed her forehead before taking the girl into her own comfortable, caring arms. She supported Theresa's weight on her hip and jounced the three-year-old. "Sorry, luvey. Warren's not an angel. He's just a regular mutant… like you and me. But he is handsome, isn't he?"
She sighed. "Now, this is Warren or Dad. And I'm Betsy, but you, luvey, can call me Mum," Elisabeth said, holding out a hand to be shaken.
"Your hair is purple!" the girl shouted, astonished. She ignored the outstretched hand.
Betsy studied a lock of her hair. "I guess it is."
"Uh-huh," Theresa replied, a weariness to her voice.
"Umm, Elisabeth, darling, I think we've stalled enough, don't you?" Warren arched his elongated neck and nodded his head in the direction of an in-and-out dozing Theresa is Psylocke's arms. Her head, weighing heavy atop her narrow shoulders, bobbed from side to side. Her eyes insanely fluttered open and closed as she attempted to retain consciousness at all cost. "Let's make way to our new living quarters, shall we? I'm absolutely exhausted."
"Yes," Betsy answered. "And Warren's not the only one, is he luvey? It looks to Mummy like a certain someone needs a nap too, hmm?"
Upon the utterance of the word nap, Theresa shook off her sleepiness and began to protest.
"I'm this many!" she declared, holding up three stubby, little fingers. "Unca Tom says I'm a big girl now! An' big girls don't take naps an'more. And I gotsa secret… Ye wanna know?"
The two adults leaned in, interested in hearing what their daughter seemed so extremely willing to share with them, mere strangers.
Theresa stood up on the tips of her toes and confidently, she confided to her confidants, "I can use the big girl potty now, too." She flashed a proud smile.
Warren broke into a thunderous, hearty, warm hoot and tousled Theresa's already mussed hair even further. "I see," he said jovially. "Well… I do believe that that secret is better than any of the secrets I have—or have even heard, as a matter of fact. What about yours? Does it beat any of yours, my love?"
Betsy chuckled. "I do think so, War."
10.58
"John. Wanda."
Wanda Maximoff held out her palm expectantly while the other hand that hung at her side clenched itself into a fist. "I swear, Pyro… I have this much patience for you and your dumb jokes today." She used her fingers to display the slight measure of tolerance she harbored for her spouse. "Now, give me the papers or I won't hesitate to hex you right into next month!"
The seconds ticked off, one by one, and her fingers began glowing a ghoulish blue. "Pyro…"
St. John pouted. "Ya don't even trust moy with a packet of papers, Sheila?"
"No! And this is the last time I'm going to ask you nicely… Hand them over, now!" Her arm and hand remained straightened, waiting and anticipating, her veins enlarging and looking ready to pop from beneath her alabaster skin.
John pulled a lighter from his back pocket. "But Sheila, they're so flammable!" he whined as he dangerously dangled the folder over the dancing fire's flames.
In the blink of an eye, Wanda had suddenly thrust her arm out towards John and the blue glow that once shrouded her own hand now shrouded his entire body, paralyzing the hyper teenage male from the neck down. The metal mechanism that John had threatened the files with fell to the hardwood floor with a loud, resounding clank and the papers with a whoosh, landing in a messy flurry. The metal mechanism that John had threatened the files with fell to the hardwood floor with a loud, resounding clank and the papers with a whoosh, landing in a messy flurry. She bent over to pick up the lighter and tucked it away in her own pocket.
"I'll be keeping this," she told him as she re-ordered the papers.
John struggled. "No need to chuck a wobbly. Let's not have an argy bargy," he retorted. "What say ya 'bout the ankle biter, Sheila?"
Wanda groaned and massaged her temples and the stressed features of her face while John pressed on, questioning her. "This can't be right," she mused aloud. "Just what I really needed. And immature partner and two impish children. What else could possibly go wrong? I'm beginning to think Father has it out for me…" Following her monologue, she read the profiles to John:
"Name: Susan Storm
Age: 7
Gender: female
Nationality: American
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Height: 3 ft. 11 in.
Weight: 52 lbs.
Eye Color: blue
Hair Color: blonde
Name: Jonathan Storm
Age: 5
Gender: male
Nationality: American
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Height: 3 ft. 6 in.
Weight: 40 lbs.
Eye Color: blue
Hair Color: blonde"
Led to John and Wanda were two children. The kids sported the same exact blonde hair and blue eyes. The girl, apparently starting her teenybopper stage, wore a hot pink tanktop, low-cut blue jeans that advertised an adorable outie bellybutton, and pink Converse sneakers. Her brother was clad in a decaled t-shirt, jean shorts, sandals, and a NASCAR jacket which he seemed extremely attached to.
While the girl remained calm and walked with Beast, the little boy tugged away from the grip Hank had on his arm.
"I thaid let go!" the boy shouted with a marked lisp.
The two greeted Wanda, one with a friendly, endearing smile, and the other with a grim frown. Beast began, "This is Susan and her younger brother Jonathan Storm. Susan can render herself and others invisible and can generate force-fields. Jonathan is a pyrokinetic; he can control heat energy and envelop his body in a fiery plasma."
"I can fly too!" Jonathan claimed.
"No, you can't, Johnny," Susan countered.
"Uh-huh, Suzie."
"Nah-uh."
"Uh-huh."
The children began quarreling between themselves whilst Hank, Wanda, and John stood back and watched… at least, until the fists started flying—figuratively speaking. Johnny wielded his pyrokinetic powers and flew around Susan, surrounding her in a large, flaming tornado. Fortunately, Susan put up a force-field before the blaze could come in contact with her. Forcefully, she pushed him away. Johnny fell back with a thud and began to cry.
Wanda released her hex on John and pointed a hand at each of the kindred, stopping the children in their destructive tracks. "Enough!" She moved Susan to the left and Jonathan to the right. "You stay on your side and you stay on yours.
"Now, we're going up to our suite. If either one of you so much as utters a single word to each other, I'll wring your necks so tight… Am I understood?" she asked with a hostile glare.
The children nodded fervently.
The foursome retreated to their suite. As they left, St. John turned to the other X-Men who had caught Wanda's threats and whispered, "That's moy Sheila, and she's on fiiire!"
(in order of appearance)
chère – dear
non – no
oui – yes
trés belle – very beautiful
bonne fille – good girl
enchanté, ma petit chéri – enchanted, my little darling
préfére – preferred
moi – me
jolie fille – pretty girl
petit – little
liebling – darling
ja – yes
prinzessin – princess
hä – eh
aingeal – angel
Sheila – girl
chuck a wobbly – to have a fit of temper
argy bargy – argument
ankle biter – small child
So, this is the second chapter to It's a Family Affair. I hope you're liking it so far, because there's so much more to come. I mean, this is only part one of the second chapter. Three more to go! So, you've now met Emma Frost, Carol Danvers, Theresa Rourke, Clarice Ferguson, Susan Storm, and her brother Jonathan Storm. Who else is to come? Please stand by.
P.S. REVIEW!
Completed. 12/31/05. 10.51 am.
Updated. 12/31/05. 10.51 am.