Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am to a spiritual level beyond material possessions. Therefore, I must borrow everyone else's.
thoughts
~~la
la singing/music~~
NINE TO FIVE: Chapter Thirteen - Something Like Rex Manning Day
A young college student dressed in jeans and a worn lifeguard tee from Salvation Army looked at his watch set in Eastern Standard Time: 2:59 pm. Sly looked up to see Rogue drag herself into Vinyl Vintage through the double doors.
"Wow, Rogue. Was high school so mind numbing today that you are showing physical symptoms or what?" the punk boy asked as he threw his schoolbag on his back.
Rogue looked at him through half-open eyes. "High school? Ya mean nap time?" By this time, Rogue had made it across the store to Sly at the check out. "No, ah broke curfew this weekend, among other things, so on top o' being grounded fo' three weeks, ah had ta get up at the butt crack o' dawn an' work out this morning."
"Ouch, physical punishment on top of sociological," Sly sympathized as he punched out and headed toward the door. "Guess you won't be going to that Kittie concert after all."
Rogue set her bag down behind the counter and smiled mischievously. "Actually Ah am."
"How'd you pull that off?" Sly asked as he pushed open the door.
"Ah have mah methods," the Goth responded.
Sly squinted at her, trying to analyze the meaning behind her words. "Blackmail or espionage?"
"A little o' both actually."
"Crafty," Sly winked and pointed his finger at her. "Well I better get to class. Bon voyage!" Sly waved to the half-conscious mutant behind the register.
Rogue lazily walked to the backroom and punched in. She apathetically took her post behind the cash register. Surveying her surroundings uncovered only one customer in the store, and he was busy at a listening station. The goth considered taking a nap but decided it would be bad work ethic. Not that Jamal would be particularly upset, but she did want him to think highly of her when she gave him her two weeks notice that night. Back ta livin' off the Professor's horoscopes. This blows. All ah wanted was some independence. Now ah have ta give it up 'fore Jamal an' his family get hurt, 'cause he hired a mutant. Ah hate people. Well, just stupid people. Why the hell are there so many stupid people? An' how did they ever get inta positions of power? Ah know not everybody's brother is the governor of Florida. Rogue opened the CD player and slammed in old school Nirvana. She then pulled Farewell to Arms out of her book bag. She held the book closed in her hands and stared at the cover. An' who ever decided that ya were a good author? Ah almost wish we were still readin' Steinbeck. At least the women in his novels ain't all sufferin' from severe Florence Nightingale syndrome and know words to describe somethin' other than their love an' eternal devotion ta a character ya obviously wish was you. Rogue set Hemmingway down on the counter and again reached into her book bag. Success. Girl, Interrupted hopped into her hands and she started to read.
At the completion of chapter eighteen, the bells upon the front entrance jingled. The man at the listening station had left several minutes prior, so Rogue knew she was getting new customers. After brushing that damn strand of white hair out of her face, Rogue looked up and her eyes met the familiar stroll of our favorite Cajun. He was in his usual get-up minus his trademark trench coat. A look of annoyance was transfixed on his face.
"What's wrong?" Rogue asked the Acolyte.
"John," Remy answered. "Dere be somethin' not quite right goin' on in dat big empty head o' his."
Rogue looked at Remy quizzically. "It took ya this long ta figure that out?"
Remy shrugged and leaned up against the counter, cocking a half-smile. "You're in a better mood today."
Springing up like someone who was sleeping in class and just poked with a stick by a teacher, Rogue responded skeptically, "What gave ya that idea?"
Remy raised his hand and pointed to the ceiling speakers as Smells like Teen Spirit played. "Dey be screamin' at me in English today."
Rogue relaxed and gave him a funny look, "You think Kurt Coban is singin' in English?" alluding to the indistinguishable human-speak coming from the stereo.
"Good point." Remy leaned his elbow on the counter, "You want to know why I think St. John is especially bizarre today?"
Rogue read the look in his face and decided that maybe she wouldn't ask questions she didn't want to know the answer to today. She would triumph over curiosity. "No."
"Too bad." Remy smiled and pointed toward the entrance. "'Cause your gonna find out anyway." Remy pointed to a suspicious looking figure making his way toward Vinyl Vintage. The stranger had on a long, ratty, tan trench coat, a matching fedora, and dark sunglasses. As he made his way toward the store he would hid behind mailboxes and then try and act inconspicuous leaning against buildings. A briefcase swung in his left hand as he entered. Rogue noticed that his sunglasses were not normal sunglasses but the ones with the fake nose and plastic mustache. The man looked around as if to make sure there were no spies in the store. He then walked determinately up to Rogue and plopped his briefcase on the counter.
The cashier did not realize whom this weirdo was until she heard him say in his natural Australian accent: "You got the merchandise?" At this question, Remy responded with unrestrained laughter. Although Remy could not keep a straight face, Rogue remained remarkably placid as she raised her eyebrow. John sighed irritably at Remy's reaction. He looked around, slightly embarrassed, then his eyes settled on Remy, and he said, "You know, I'm trying to create an atmosphere; work with me here." Remy bit his lip and somehow suppressed his laughter to his head.
Rogue shook her head as she reached into her book bag and pulled out two lariats. "Ah have the passes right here."
"You mean, 'merchandise', chere?" Remy spurted out before breaking into another fit of laughter. Rogue ignored him and nonchalantly held out the lariats for him to take.
John clicked open his briefcase and pulled out a manila envelope. Reaching over the counter, he handed it to Rogue. "And here is what you wanted." They made the exchange. St. John slipped his passes into the briefcase, shut, and locked it.
The "spy" pushed up his sunglass disguise with his index finger, "It was a pleasure doing business with you." And with that, the Australian tipped his fedora, turned to leave.
Remy cleared his throat. "Aren't you forgetting something, mon ami?"
"Oh yeah," John realized as he pealed off Remy's coat and handed it to him. "Here ya go. Thanks a bunch." John exited the building still in his fedora and sunglass combo.
Remy looked down and shook his head. "I don' know what I'm gonna do wit' dat homme."
"Release him back inta the wild?" Rogue suggested.
The bells over the door jangled again, suspending their conversation. Five young whipper snappers entered, a group of three and two singlets. Rogue left Remy at the counter to play with the buttons while she played good salesgirl. The group of three and one of the singlets did not wish to be helped. The other singlet, a high school freshman with long blonde hair and no makeup, had never been to Vinyl Vintage, so Rogue gave the young hippie girl a free two-cent tour. While Rogue was racking her brain, trying to come up with some good folk groups to recommend, a young dark haired man dressed in a black turtleneck and jeans waltzed in.
"Hey Lucas," Rogue greeted her coworker.
He stopped and gave a short wave, "The new schedule up in the back?"
"Yah," Rogue nodded. Lucas did a 360 scrutinizing each of the customers in the store, stopping for a split second at the other single shopper in the ball cap, baggie jeans, and powder blue jacket. He then disappeared into the backroom.
"Dammit!" everyone looked up when they heard the exploitative come from the backroom. Rogue took a second to set the hippie girl up at a listening station, then asked Lucas after he emerged, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I just have to open Saturday, and I wanted to go to Atlantic City with a friend of mine whose coming to visit," a disappointed Lucas said.
Rogue thought for a minute: Spend all Saturday grounded at the mansion or get in a few extra hours before your two weeks notice will be up. "If ya want, ah can work your shift," she offered.
"Really? That would be excellent! Thanks a million, I could kiss you," Lucas declared. Remy's eyes shot to Rogue to see her reaction to Lucas' offer.
"Ah wouldn't, unless ya wanna be in a coma for the rest o' the night," she said as if she wasn't hurting inside anytime anyone mentioned touching.
Lucas looked confused for several minutes, then the light bulb went off. "Oh, yah, mutant powers. Are you the mutant working here with the devilishly handsome, thieving, boyfriend?"
"Ah don't have a boyfriend," Rogue said, ignoring Remy's fake coughing. "Where did ya hear that?" Lucas didn't respond right away as he was watching the baseball cap kid again. This opened a spot for Remy to comment.
"And what am I, chere?" he interjected after realizing that his coughing tactic wasn't working. "I think I fall quite nicely into the devilishly handsome thief category."
"Yes, Remy, ya are a thief. It's the boyfriend part ah have a problem with."
Remy smiled and made a grab for her hand. "So you do d'ink I'm devilishly handsome." He raised his eyebrows suggestively.
Rogue wretched her hand from his grasp. "Only in your own mind."
"And Ashley's," Lucas cut in, turning away from the customer. "I worked with her on Sunday. All she talked about was you, I guess." Lucas nodded in the thief's direction. "Stealing her shoelaces." Rogue gave Remy a strange look. He responded with a shrug and handed her a neon pink shoelace. Rogue promptly threw it behind the counter with disgust, Pink, eww. Rogue shuddered and Lucas continued, "And Sly's new girlfriend."
"Sly's got a new girlfriend?"
"Yeah, he went out with some strange girl who came into the store Saturday night. Ania, I think. I'm not entirely sure, Ashley only mentioned her name once, and from then on she referred to her as the 'Canadian slut who thinks she can steal my punk boy toy.'"
"That girl needs some professional help," Rogue said about Ashley.
"Or a swift kick in the derrière," Lucas suggested as he continued to look at the customer in the ball cap.
"Wait…she isn't working on Saturday, is she?" Rogue asked her coworker suspiciously.
Lucas tuned back in. "No, hell no. I would not submit you to such torture. Jamal and Sly are on the schedule."
"Good."
Just then the phone behind the counter rang, Rogue reluctantly left the company of her devilishly handsome boyfriend and her equally adorable coworker to answer it.
The phone was picked up on the third ring, "Hello, Vinyl Vinage. This is The Rogue speaking, how can ah help ya?"
There was silence for a few moments. Rogue started to hang up the phone when she hear a raspy voice say something.
"Sorry, ah didn' catch that. What did ya say?"
"Freaks like you should be put on display," the voice repeated.
"'cuse me?" Rogue could not believe what she was hearing.
"You should all be locked up and kept out of sight of normal people," the voice went on.
Rogue grew irate at the voice's implications. "Sorry, sugah, you're a bit late comin' up with that idea, 'cause ah'm already locked up fo' seven o' so hours of the day. It's called high school. But by the way you're talkin' ah doubt your familiar with it." And with that Rogue slammed down the receiver.
While Rogue was on the phone, Lucas turned to Remy. "Normally I like to handle these situations myself," he nodded toward the kid in the ballcap and powered blue jacket behind him. "Love the chase. But I have to jet, so I'm going to leave it to you and the Rogue to take care of." And with that, Lucas turned and exited.
Remy was not at all surprised that the salesman had noticed the shoddy thieving going on. De kid dresses suspiciously, acts suspiciously, an' frickin' stumbled the last time he slipped a CD inta his pocked. De kid's got no skill, no talent, an' no style. Rogue came back over to Remy.
"What ya starin' at?" Rogue followed his glaze to Powder Blue. Just then the kid looked from left to right and slipped another CD into the bulky pockets. "Looks like ah've gotta chase scene comin' up," Rogue announced.
Remy put his hand to his chest. "Non, let me. Someone who actually works here should stay here. 'Sides, dis kid gives thieves everywhere a bad image."
Rogue shrugged. "Suit yourself."
Remy cracked his neck and started stretching. He didn't stop despite the eye rolling going on behind the counter. He walked up to the ballcap kid as the kid picked up another CD. "Nice selection.(1)"
The kid looked up from under the ballcap at the Cajun towering over him, "What?"
"Help you wit' anything?" Remy asked the kid.
"Dude, do you even work here?"
Remy backed off a bit, paused for dramatic effect, then shook his head. "Non, not really."
The powder blue jacket's eyes rolled and he put the CD back on the rack.
Remy was thoroughly enjoying freaking the kid out. He could see sweat building up underneath the ballcap. "Sure I can't help you wit' anything?"
The kid chuckled a little at the weirdo in the sunglasses. "No. I'm alright, thanks." To his dismay, this dismissal did not have the effect the kid was hoping for. Remy continued to hover around.
"You like music?" the Cajun asked.
"Uh, yeah." The ball cap kid started to walk away but with one swift step Remy was on the other side of him blocking his escape route.
"Me too," Remy said. Then he whispered, "De fat man walks alone," into the kid's ear.
"What?! Stop. What are you, some kind of weirdo?!" the kid exclaimed.
"You d'ink I'm weird?" Remy put his had to his chest. "You should meet my roommates." Remy changed the subject. "Dat's a big coat you're wearing, lots of pocket-room."
"Yeah, so does yours." The kid got in Remy's face. They stared each other down for a bit. Eventually the kid broke and looked away. "Yeah, see ya." The kid waved on the way out.
"I'm sure I'll bump into you," the prince of thieves called after him.
The door bells jingled and one of the group of three customers, who had all been watching the show, sipped his slurpie noisily before yelling out, "SHOPLIFTER!!!!"
As if a gun had gone off, Remy sprinted out of the store after powder blue. Rogue and the three customers watched at Remy chased the shoplifter around the corner. They went out of sight for awhile, but reappeared shortly, surprisingly back in the store.
"Hey," the kid with the slurpie said, "isn't it customary to leave the scene after committing the crime?"
"Definitely an amateur," his friend commented.
Remy and the shoplifter continued to chase each other around the store, jumping over displays and records. Considering the small size of the shop, they quickly ran out of placed to go. The kid somehow made it to the door and took off to the streets. Through the recently cleaned full size front windows, the audience was able to see leaping over fire hydrants and weaving in and out of people and parking meters. Remy got out his bo staff and used it to catapult himself over the crowd and the kid to block the escape. The shoplifter was able to skid to a stop before colliding with the Cajun. Instead of admitting he was caught, the kid shot across the street. After narrowly missing some opportunities to become road kill, the kid in the ball cap tried again to lose Remy but watching where he was going. He ran right into the front of a parked car. Everyone in the store flinched and groaned. But running into a parked car didn't stop the kid, he rolled right over the top. After coming out on the other side of the car, the shoplifter tried to run around it, keeping the car between himself and Remy but only succeeded in running into an open car door, falling backward, and hitting his head on the pavement.
The kid was still dazed as Remy dragged him by the collar of his jacket into the store. He stopped just short of Rogue, who had just gotten off the phone with the cops. Remy snatched the shoplifter's hat off and thick shoulder length jet black hair fell into the shoplifter's face. The girl in the powder blue jacket glared at Remy and tried to snatch her hat back, but being a foot taller than she was, he easily kept it out of her reach.
"So, what's your name, kid?" Rogue asked shoplifter as she got out the Polaroid camera out from underneath the counter.
"Warren Beatty," came her smart-mouth remark.
Rogue raised an eyebrow in her direction. "Warren Beatty? Your parents big fans?"
"Yeah, right." The kid looked around for an escape.
"Your parents have bad taste," Remy insulted as he tightened his grip on her collar. "Hey, Rogue, de tag in her shirt says Laura."
The girl in the jacket grew nervous. "I, uh, stole the shirt."
"Recalling your shoplifting abilities, I doubt it," Remy said as he pulled out a handful of CDs from her pocket and handed them to Rogue.
"'kay, Warren, stand up. Ah want ya ta hold these against your chest, stand against the wall, so ah can take a picture of ya," Rogue instructed.
Laura "Warren Beatty" didn't like that idea. "Why don't you shove 'em up your ass?"
"Cause, that would hurt a lot, Warren." Rogue did not let the pip-squeak get to her. When Laura "Warren Beatty" still
didn't move, Remy assisted her to the wall.
"Smile, Warren. Not you, Remy. Ah think there are probably enough pictures of ya caught shopliftin'."
"Nope, notta one. No one has ever caught de prince o' thieves." Remy continued to show his debonair smile.
"Just get your cocky, bayou ass outta the picture." Remy backed up a few steps and Rogue snapped a few pictures of the annoyed teen. "Thanks Warren. Your ride will be here soon ta pick ya up."
Remy took the girl back over to the counter. "Meanwhile, you need to learn a few d'ings. First, let's look at what you took: rap, metal, rap, metal, metal, Whitney Housten?"
The girl's face turned read but she tried to cover it up. "It's for my mom, okay."
"Sure it is," the professional thief said. "You know, someone like you needs to diminish their criminal impulses, not magnify them. Maybe some Jazz or some Classical."
Rogue snorted. "Like ya should talk, swamp rat."
"Hey, I'm just tried to help de kid out. She obviously has no talent for de thievin'; I'm just tryin' to spare her some embarrassment." Remy brought his hand to his chest. "Now, moi, is a professional, wit' style and talent. Plus, I can control myself."
Rogue crossed her arms over her chest. "Ashley's pink shoelace ring any bells?"
"Now if I couldn't control myself both of her shoes would be gone, along wit' her purse, but I stopped at one shoelace," the thief defended himself. "Now where was I? Yes, Warren, Jazz is quite an impressive music genera -" The phone rang, and the lesson ended, because two police officers waltzed into the store.
"Hello, Vinyl Vintage, this is Rogue…" While the cops cuffed "Warren," Remy watched his girl's face grow cold and angry in response to the caller. "…No, ah'm sorry, ya must have meh confused with somebody else, 'cause ah had mah flu shot." SLAM, the receiver almost shattered the cradle.
"What's wrong, chere?" Remy's face was full of genuine concern.
"Apparently, Ah am a plague on humanity," she said, trying to sound nonchalant.
Remy reached for her hand and kissed it. "If you are a plague on humanity den I wish everyone were infected 'cause dere be a lot more pretty faces for me to look at."
As they dragged Warren away she called: "This is bullshit, man. She's a mutant freak and he's a professional thief and I'm the one that goes to jail!"
"That's enough," the policeman said, irritated.
"Take care of yourself, Warren. Don't de man get you down." Remy waved goodbye to the inexperienced shoplifter.
"Ah don' wanna see ya back in the store, Warren," Rogue added.
"I'm the victim here!" She tried to throw her body back into the store.
Rogue just gave her funny look, and Remy called, "Bye, Warren."
"I'm gonna get you! I'm not playing this time. I'll be back and you'll be sorry! You're gonna pay for this!" The two policemen struggled to get the writhing teenage girl in the powder blue jacket into the car. In a few moments they were gone.
"What was her problem?"
*DING DOOONNNNGGGGK* The door bell at the Brotherhood Boarding House tried desperately to ring. Although pitiful, it succeeded in its task as it alerted the residents of a visitor.
Lance, the unofficial door opener of the house (A/N: Anyone else notice that he practically always opens the door?), was met with a strange man dressed in dark slacks, a white work shirt and tie, and to top it all off, a fedora on his head. Normally Lance would have assumed he was a Jehovah's Witness and slammed the door in his face, but the visitor was also wearing a pair of dark sunglasses. Dark sunglasses with a fake plastic nose and mustache attached. Lance did not remember that being a part of the Jehovah's Witness uniform.
"Can I help you?" Lance asked skeptically, figuring this guy was tripping on something and lost.
"Hello, is Wanda home?" came the Australian's reply.
"Yeah, what do you want?"
"I want to see her, o' bright one," St. John clarified.
Lance looked him up and down, then shrugged. "Sorry, just didn't realize she was making appointments for pity beatings." Before John could retort, Lance was stomping up the stairs calling for Wanda.
John took the liberty of stepping into the entryway to take a look around. "What a dump," he concluded.
"Yo, maybe if Magneto didn't spend all his money on flamboyant costumes for his pets, he could fix this place up a bit." Todd hopped into the foyer.
"Cane Toad," John greeted dryly. "What a pleasure seeing you again. Too bad it isn't a pleasure smelling you."
"What are you doing here, Croc Hunter?" Todd's eyes narrowed.
John turned red in anger at the insult then took a deep breath. "One, two, three,…okay I'm better now." John looked back at Todd. "Came here to see the lovely Wanda. We have a date. Seems Frog Prince got a little strong for her," John pinched his nose with one hand and waved the other to circulate the air.
Todd remained motionless, too infuriated to act. So John continued. "You know what makes a Cane Toad smell better. Just a little fire." John flicked open his lighter in the blink of an eye.
John looked up just in time to see a dirty, angry mutant leap at his face. Luckily, the past few days of avoiding Sabertooth had quickened his reaction time. The Aussie grabbed the doorknob and took a step back. *SMACK* Todd was splattered against the back of the door.
"My god," Wanda groaned as she saw St. John in his spy glasses and fedora at the foot of the stairs. "You just had to go back and buy them."
"Buy what? Come on, time's a wasting." John turned to have Wanda follow him out the door. Instead Wanda crossed her arms and stood with her feet firmly planted.
A few steps out the door John noticed he was alone. "What's the deal? Thought we were going out today."
"Don't expect to have my company with you walking around in those." Wanda pointed to his secret spy glasses.
John did not feel like giving up so easily today. "What you don't want to be seen with me? Don't wanna be given strange looks by passersby? I thought you didn't care what other people thought of you." John tried to argue. Wanda stayed firm. The fireboy just shrugged. "Fine, you wanna stay in this dump and make-up with your frog prince, it's your choice." John turned and started to walk toward the Acolyte's vehicle. Wanda shifted her wait and looked from John's retreating figure to the half-conscious Todd behind the door, to Freddy hoarding down on the new shipment of groceries in front of the TV, then back to John.
Lance then came down the stairs and pushed past the debating Wanda. "Catch ya later, got a date with Kitty."
Great, Lance is leaving which would stick me with dumb and dumber for the rest of the afternoon. Wanda sighed and walked out of the Brotherhood Boarding house and stood in front of John's vehicle. John looked up from the deliberately long process of buckling his seat belt. Wanda looked him straight in the ridiculous sunglasses. "I hate you." She then walked around to the passenger side and hopped in.
The gentle purr of the Jeep engine was cut, and the driver put the car into park but made no movement to exit the vehicle.
"Okay, Kitty, what's wrong?" Lance asked at the normally talkative freshman that just sat in the passenger seat looking at her hands in her lap. "I know something's wrong, you've barely said three words since I picked you up."
Kitty sighed at looked out the window. How can I do this? Maybe I should just wait and tell him tomorrow, or call him, or write him a letter. She finally gathered up the courage to look at her first boyfriend. No, I owe him more than that.
"Lance," she started and paused. She didn't continue right away.
"Yes," Lance said to fill the silence.
"Are you, like, happy with our relationship as it is?" she sincerely asked.
Lance groaned inwardly and slumped in his seat at the realization that he was getting "the talk." "What do you mean, Kitty?"
"I mean, do you feel that our relationship is in a lull or anything?"
"You think our relationship is in a lull?" Lance asked in a slightly hurt voice.
"No, I mean, yes," Kitty meekly answered.
"Is this about Friday night?"
"A little, yeah," Kitty confessed.
"I'm sorry Kitty, I just don't get into stuff like that."
"But I do!" Kitty protested. "I like the theater and ballets and stuff." Kitty paused to gather her thoughts and her courage. "I think we should take a break from each other for a while."
"WHAT?!" Lance exclaimed. "All because I didn't like some stupid musical that you dragged me to without telling me what it was?"
"No, that's not all Lance," Kitty's confidence grew. "We're young and I just want to get to know me and what I want in a relationship before we get all serious. I want to know that if what we have is what I want."
Her now ex scrutinized her. "Is there someone else?" He turned so he could look straight into her baby blue eyes.
Kitty squirmed a little but wouldn't look away. She saw the concern and hurt behind his glaze. "Not in the way that you are thinking."
Lance sat back straight in his seat and looked straight out the windshield. His hands gripped the wheel tightly, and Kitty could hear the deep breaths he was taking.
After a couple of minutes of silence, Kitty called his name: "Lance…?"
"Get out, Kitty," he said just above a whisper.
"Lance…" Kitty wanted to say something to make everything right again but couldn't without going back on everything she just said and felt inside. Her eyes began to fill with tears.
"Get out of the car, Kitty," Lance repeated, a little louder this time.
Kitty took heed and gathered up her purse and opened the door. She walked all the way to the sidewalk with her head high, but then couldn't take the weight of her own tears. She turned around and watched the Jeep pull away and disappear around the side of the mall. Her eyes fell to the concrete, her mind replaying everything over and over. After a minute she breathed again, sighed and concentrated on what to do now. She decided that she would take the time and walk home, to let her head clear. Granted it would take her forever, but she did have a lot on her mind.
Kitty did not get out of mall's parking lot before a familiar Jeep pulled up along side her again. The passenger side window rolled down, and Kitty saw her Ex in the driver's seat.
"Sorry, just let me drive you home, at least," he apologized.
Kitty saw his eyes were a little red and his voice a little horse. She nodded and hopped in. They drove in silence back to the Institute.
On the other side of town, in another vehicle, a little more talking was going on.
"I got a surprise for you," a non-spy glasses wearing John (apparently the mustache was giving his lip a rash) told Wanda excitedly. She smiled at the fact that John couldn't keep still in his seat. He was obviously very proud of his surprise.
"What's that?" she asked.
"Open the briefcase," John nodded toward the back seat. Wanda turned around and saw the old brown leather suitcase. She grabbed it and set it in her lap. After hexing the combination, the lid popped up to reveal two backstage passes to tomorrow night's Kittie concert.
"No way!" the witch exclaimed. "Where did you get these?!"
"I have my connections," he tried to be mysterious.
"Rogue, right?"
"Uh, yeah."
"I can't believe this!" John smiled at Wanda's excitement. "I wanted to see this show for so long, but now I can't."
John broke hard. "What do you mean, you can't?!"
Wanda sighed, and put the passes back into briefcase and locked it. "Got a lead on the Etch-a-Sketch thing. There's a plane that leaves tomorrow afternoon that I was going to stowaway on."
"But, but you gotta come!" John protested. "You can get revenge on Magneto any day but how often does your boyfriend get you backstage passes to a sold out Kittie concert?!"
"So you consider yourself my boyfriend now?" Wanda changed the subject.
"I think I've earned it."
Wanda just smiled and shook her head. "I'll think about it."
"Fine. How about tonight?" John asked. "You have any revenge schemes going on tonight?"
"Nope, tonight is revenge free."
"Great, the Rocky Horror Picture Show is playing downtown tonight, wanna go?"
Wanda shrugged. "Sure, why not. What is it about anyway?"
For the second time that day, John slammed on the brakes.
"Geez, John-boy, I think one brake test is enough," Wanda told him.
John was flabbergasted at Wanda's unfamiliarity with the Rocky Horror Picture Show. "You've never heard of the Rocky Horror Picture Show?! It's only one of the best participation movies ever!"
Wanda's blank expression prompted John to expand. "The movie itself is frickin' hilarious with Tim Curry as a singing, cross-dressing alien from Transsexual Transylvania, but the best part is that the audience is actually encouraged to yell things at the screen and throw stuff. It's great! I can't believe you've never heard of it."
Wanda responded sarcastically. "Oh, yeah, the Rocky Horror Picture Show. They showed that every Friday at the Insane Asylum. Something about singing and dancing cross-dressing aliens had a calming effect on the patients."
John looked at his shoes sheepishly. "Oh, yeah. I forgot about that." Then he got an idea, more of a mission than an idea.
"You've missed out on the past six years of sub-pop culture! Don't worry, young grasshopper, I will catch you up."
Wanda looked up and said to no one in particular. "What have I gotten myself into?"
The phone rang for the third time that day. "Ah swear, if it's another one of those mutant hatin' crank callers, he's gonna be shittin' his phone out of his ass." Rogue angrily picked up the phone. "Hello, Vinyl Vintage."
"I gotta remember not to get on dis fille's bad side," Remy said to himself as he picked up Rogue's book off the counter and started to flip through it, losing the Goth's spot.
A gloved hand slapped the gambler's as she listened to the ducebag on the other end: "You know, mutants aren't that bad… after they are dead."
"Yeah, well Ah plan on livin' forever, so far so good," was her torte response.
"Don't be so cocky little missy! Forever may come sooner than you think!" The phones on either end were simultaneously slammed down on the cradle.
The phone rang again, almost immediately after Rogue hung up. She assumed it was the crank caller again and tried to beat him to the punch. "Look ya wart-hogged faced buffoon (2) -" Rogue didn't get any farther before the caller interrupted her.
"Excuse me?!" Brooke Collins, Jamal's wife, exclaimed into phone. "Ya betta not be answerin' our business phone like that!"
"Mrs. Collins, Ah'm sorry," Rogue stammered. "Ah've had this crank caller botherin' meh all day an' ah just hung up on him so ah thought he was you -"
"Yah, know, never mind. I don' wanna hear it," Mrs. Collins said in a stressed out voice. "I better not catch you doin' it again. We're tryin' to run a business here."
"Sorry," Rogue said sincerely one more time.
"I just called to ask you favor," she started. "I wondered if you would be available to close tonight at ten, if I got Sly in to help."
"Ah'd have ta make a couple calls, but yeah. Why? What happened ta Jamal?" the employee asked, sensing something urgent in Mrs. Collins' voice.
There was a sigh on the other end of the line. "He's in the hospital. He was attacked by a gang of mutant haters today. He'll be all right, just not up to working for the rest of the week. Ashley's taking most of his shifts, but she's got class tonight."
"Ah'm so sorry, Mrs. Collins. This is all mah fault. Don' worry, it won' happen again 'cause, well, Ah was gonna tell Jamal tonight, but Ah'm quitting," the Goth confessed.
"Like hell you are!!" Mrs. Collins yelled. Rogue was taken aback. "I spent the last few weeks arguing night after night with Jamal about hiring you and he remained firm that he was taking a first step in equal rights for mutants and that it was the right thing to do no matter how much I argued that he was putting his family in danger. And after today, I was ready to insist on him firing you. Then here in the hospital I saw this mother in here with her sick baby in the emergency room. Her kid was coughing up a storm, and as a nurse I knew that the kid was much more urgent than all of the other cases I saw go in, but because the mother was obviously a mutant, her baby was not seen. I mentioned something to staff, but they still hesitated. I don't know how long they were there, since they were there long before I was, but they were never seen and the child died in her arms in the waiting room.
"I realized that Jamal was right all along, and if we stop standin' up for what's right, then more babes are gonna die, and I won't stand for it. So you're quittin' over my dead body. I will not have my family's suffering be for nothing," Mrs. Collins concluded.
"Ya can' stop meh from quittin'," Rogue responded.
"Fine, if your equality means that little to you, then go ahead and quit." Rogue remained silent. Mrs. Collins continued, "Good, you're closing at ten and Sly will come in around then to help. Is there anything else you need?"
Rogue was silent again, but this time it wasn't because she did not have an answer. "Warren Beatty" was marching back into the store.
Rogue put her hand over the receiver and called to Laura, "Warren, get out of the store."
Warren's hand went into her jacket pocket, "You can't tell me what to do, freak." She pulls her hand out and in it is a small handgun.
"What are you doing with a gun?" Remy asked.
"What do you think I'm doing with a gun?" Warren wondered at the stupidity of the question.
"Who has a gun? What's going on?" the concerned owners wife asked Rogue over the phone.
"This crazy kid who got caught shopliftin' earlier just came back with a gun," the employee summed up the scenario.
Warren was rambling when she tripped on her baggy jeans and fell to the floor, causing the gun to go off. Luckily it was aimed upward and only made crumbs of a ceiling tile.
"What the hell was that?" Mrs. Collins yelled into the phone.
"Christ. Holy shit, man," Warren exclaimed as she jumped up, unfortunately before Remy could jump her. "Stay back," she pointed her gun at the Cajun.
Rogue gave Mrs. Collins an update. "It's Warren, she's shooting up the place. She's almost as good as Wanda in wreaking the place."
"I do not appreciate your sarcasm, young lady," Mrs. Collins replied.
"Yeah, your right, Wanda does a much better job."
"I'm crazy and I got a gun. Rogue. Hey, skunkhead." Rogue tuned back into Warren's ramblings. "Did you see that, man? Did you see that? Wasn't that brilliant? Yeah! Didn't you just love that? You told me not to come back, well here I am."
Rogue raised her eyebrow. "Brilliant? No, ya need a much more extravagant entrance than trippin' over your own feet ta impress me, Warren. Ah'll tell ya what would really impress meh. Ya give meh the gun."
"I'll give you the gun." Warren shots the gun again and shatters another ceiling tile.
Remy decided it was time to end this escapade and started to walk straight toward Warren.
"Remy, what are you doing?"
"I want to have a little chat with Warren." Remy stopped and stood arms length away from the vandal.
"Yeah? Have a little chat with my gun." She pointed the gun right between his eyes. Remy wasn't phased; in fact, he smiled and winked.
"What do you want, Warren?" he said, more to the gun barrel than to her.
"Stop calling me Warren. My name isn't frickin' Warren!" Her eyes burned with angry and fear and longing.
"Okay, Ms. Beatty," Laura "Warren Beatty" gritted her teeth at Remy's address. "You should put dat gun away now 'cause, well, you can't kill me Warren 'cause I'm de devil." Remy pulled off his sunglasses to reveal his glowing red and black eyes.
Warren didn't even flinch. "You're no devil, you're just a mutant freak, like her." Warren nodded in Rogue's direction.
"Damn," Remy exclaimed and rubbed his eyes and looked back at Warren. She just gave him a funny look. Remy looked over to Rogue. "My eyes are still red and glowy, right, chere?"
"Yeah, Remy."
"But de eyes always work! Dey are scary and unnatural." Remy turned back to Warren, "Why aren't you scared of my eyes?"
"No, I take it back. You're not a freak, you're a psycho. You are psycho. What the hell is wrong with you people? You all belong in the loony bin. Everyone of ya. Forget you guys, I don't need you. You think you're so good and damn great 'cause you work in a freaking record store. Well, you do," she said indicating Rogue. Warren turned to Remy. "You just seem to live here."
Rogue then heard Mrs. Collins say something. "What was that, Mrs. Collins?"
"I said 'Offer her a job,'" she repeated.
"What?!"
"Offer her a job," she repeated for a third time. "I saw it in a movie once," she added.
"Hey Warren, do ya wanna be a psycho too an' work in a record store?" Rogue called to her.
"No," came an unsure response.
"Ah think you're lyin', Warren," Rogue pushed.
"Why would anyone offer me a job?"
"Don' ask meh, ask the boss lady on the phone." Rogue held out the receiver for Warren to take.
Warren tossed the gun to Remy, who promptly charged it and threw it up into the air, then grabbed the phone from Rogue. "Hello…Laura…'cause that's what I told them it was…Really?!…Oh, yeah, sure…yeah, no problem… okay… okay… tomorrow training with Ashley… All right… Thanks, bye."
Laura turned and smiled at Rogue and Remy by her side, "I gotta job." Warren then just turned and went to exit as if nothing had happened.
"Dat was… strange," Remy mused.
"Yeah," Rogue agreed. "But ya know the strangest thing is that ah have this weird urge ta call out, 'It's Rex Manning day.'"
Later that night, another very strange scene befell the eyes of those at Vinyl Vintage. One strawberry blonde Australian in fishnets, pumps, lingerie, and a white lab coat burst through the doors with a small duffel bag in his hands. The Scarlet Witch in her usual getup followed in behind him at a safe distance.
St. John tossed the bag to Remy. "Hurry up and get ready, Rems. We're late." Remy started to protest but John shoed him into the unisex bathroom. The firebug then took out his lighter and warmed up the metal doorknob so Remy couldn't touch it without burning himself. "You're not coming out 'til you're dolled up in fishnets."
"I'll just charge up de door and den you can spend the rest of the night pulling splinters outta your ass," Remy threatened. The door then glowed and pulsed.
"Ya are not, Rembrandt Etienne LeBeau! Uncharge that door right now!" Rogue ordered. The golden glow of the door dissipated and grumbling could be heard inside.
"He's trained well," Wanda remarked.
Rogue whistled. "Nice legs, John."
"Why, thank you, Sheila," John straightened the collar on his coat and posed. Wanda just buried her head in her hand and groaned.
"Why aren' ya dressed up, Wanda?" Rogue asked.
"It's against my religion," she retorted.
"No, the young grasshopper here is a virgin when it comes to the Rocky Horror Picture Show," John explained.
"Ah'm surprised John didn't draw a big red V with lipstick on your forehead," she addressed the witch.
"He tried," Wanda's eyes narrowed. "That's why we're late."
The Goth decided that this time she would prevail and not ask questions or receive answers to questions she didn't want to know. Remy's emergence from the bathroom aided her success.
"No applause please, I know I look good in everything, even woman's clothes." Remy waltzed out perfectly in his spiked boots.
"Ya're awfully good at walking in those boots," Rogue teased. "Is there something ya ain't tellin' us?"
"Yes, I sometimes steal John's clothes and sub for him on the corner," Remy joked.
"Come on, come on." John started tapping his toe "Perform some sort of public affection so we can get outta here. We're gonna miss the giant lips."
As Rogue was busy being insulted by John's remark, Remy grabbed her gloved hand, kissed it, then winked as he left. "'til we meet again."
Rogue shook her head. "Just get outta here ya swamp rat."
"You were the one who was so worried about bein' late, yet you're lagging behind," Wanda managed to called back to John as they sprinted five blocks from their parking spot to the theater.
"Hey, I can't help it if I'm not as experienced pump wearer as Remy," John gasped back.
Meanwhile, a young couple walked around the corner. They had just gotten subs and drinks from subway and were going to eat them in the park under the moonlight.
"We have a few more hours 'til we have to pick Rogue up at ten, so what else do you want to do?" Jean Grey asked her boyfriend Scott Summers.
Scott didn't get a chance to answer before being overrun by a cross-dressing Cajun, a witch with an attitude problem, and a crazy Australian. Soda pop spilt all over, but due to Wanda, it all landed on the red-head and red-eyed couple.
"Bloody Hell!!" St. John exclaimed into Jean's ear. "I broke the heel on my shoe!"
"Come on, John-boy," Remy helped up the stocking foot John and they continued to run to the theater, John with his shoes in his hands.
Scott sat up. "Was that who I think it was?"
"Yes!" Jean screamed. "And they got my hair all sticky!" Jean picked up a mass of her matted red hair.
"They're not going to get away with it this time," Scott stood up and helped Jean to her feet. They took off after the three RHPS attendees.
"Yes, we made it," John said as he bent over to get a better breath.
"Don't look now, but we might have to run around the block again," Wanda said and nodded toward the direction where they had just come from.
John and Remy both looked over their shoulders. There were two people racing down the street. They were the couple they had run into a few minutes before. Long since they had abandoned their dream of a moonlit picnic as they were now covered in dirt and soda. They looked pissed and determined.
"No, if we just get into the theatre, we'll be okay," John predicted. "Come on, come on," he pushed their way to the front of the line, threw a twenty on the counter and ran into the darkening theatre.
Scott and Jean tried to run into the theater after them, but were hindered by a large man with greased hair, a leather jacket, and a large gash in his forehead. "Hey, you two didn't pay!" The bouncer took them by the shoulder and lead them to the back of the line.
"What is this a line for anyway?" Scott asked Jean.
"I don't know," Jean answered, although she didn't notice the mischievous grins on the people ahead of them. "But those three will pay for making my hair all sticky."
Scott paid for their ticket and he read the stub. "Rocky Horr -" Scott was interrupted when the people that were ahead of them in line ambushed them both. Large red V's were marked on their foreheads, among other things and they were stripped down to their undergarments (Scott was not wearing thongs today, much to everyone's relief). The two were carried to the front of the theatre and put in two cages temporarily set up in the front of the theater.
"Hey, what's the deal?!" was the only appropriate thing they shouted at their captors.
A woman with a top hat and a gold sequenced top time stepped on stage with a microphone. "Welcome everyone to the Green-light District's presentation of the Rocky Horror Picture Show, the movie! Someday we hope to get enough money to put on a real live action performance, but until then enjoy this. The only rules here are: do not get on the stage and no buttered bread. Thank you and enjoy the show." She started to descend from the stage, and then remembered one thing: "Oh, and a special thanks to the volunteers of Janet and Brad up here in the cages. You can pick up your clothes at the box office after the show." She smiled evilly and exited.
"We didn't volunteer!!" they screamed onto deaf ears and the curtain dropped.
At ten thirty Rogue had just finished sweeping the store and Sly counting the till.
"Hey Sly, is there anything else that needs ta be done?" Rogue asked the punk.
"Just take out the trash out back and make sure the back door's locked," he answered. "I got the rest covered, so you can just go ahead and punch out."
"Thanks, Ah'll see ya tomorrow," she said as she disappeared into the backroom. Rogue found the trash easily and headed out the back door to the alley, locking the door behind her. The dumpster was only twenty feet from the door, then Rogue planned to sit out in front of the store and wait for Jean and Scott to show up. Actually she was surprised they weren't there yet.
Something then happened to change her plans. Waiting for her at the dumpster were five large men, covered head to toe in black clothing, even their faces were covered.
"That her?" one of them asked as Rogue came out.
"Yeah, that's the freak that thinks she can work in the human world," another confirmed.
Rogue finally looked up and saw them. Despite their size, she refused to show any fear, "What? This dumpster some new water cooler for cat burglars?"
The one with a wooden bat hit his open hand menacingly. "No girl, we're here to teach you muties a lesson."
"Damn, an' Ah hate school," she retorted.
The men decided that there was enough talk and one charged her. She easily dodged him and he ran past her into the green dumpster. The second man threw a punch; she ducked and tried to run to his left. Can't be caught in a corner with this dumpster behind me. The man with the bat would have none of that and the ash made contact with her stomach. Rogue fell against the brick ally wall, gasping for air.
The man towered over her, threateningly. "Still feel confident about yourself, girly? Can't really fight back if you can't touch us, can you?"
That was it. Anger burned through her. The Rogue is not a damsel in distress! Rogue got in a crouched position with the bat man at her right side. She still held her stomach and panted. Just a little closer, she thought. As if the man heard her, he took another step and raised his bat again. Rogue straightened her left leg as her right leg shot out and made contact, first with his torso, then with his chin. Ignoring the pain in her chest, she jumped on the bat man's doubled over back and scissor-kicked the brute behind him across his face. Rogue landed on her hands and feet, but men number five and two were prepared. Five grabbed her by the back of her shirt and held her in a headlock. Number two punched her repeatedly in the stomach. Rogue coughed and number five loosened his grip a little. She took the opportunity to bite his arm. Number five let go and Rogue dropped into a crouched position on the ground, swung her leg out and tripped number two.
The X-man decided it was a better idea to try and get away then stay and fight, being out matched. Men in black were blocking both exits to the alley so the Goth ran to a nearby fire escape and jumped to pull down the ladder. She started to climb. One of the men, she couldn't figure out which from her numbering system, grabbed her foot. Rogue easily got him to let go by stomping her heavy combat boots on his face. Unfortunately she didn't make it much farther than the first landing when she was hit in the face with a wooden crate that at one time was sitting next to the dumpster. The smell of old Chinese food from the crate was the last thing Rogue remembered before she fell backward onto the poorly constructed side of the fire escape. The railing gave away and she fell down to the concrete and the assailants.
Sly had just turned the key in the front door lock of Vinyl Vintage when a red and white striped convertible pulled up behind him. "Sorry folks, we just closed," he told the couple who still had the remnants of red V's on their foreheads. After scrubbing for a half-hour in the bathroom, Jean and Scott still could not get the lipstick off their faces. Just goes to show that you should throw out makeup after it's a year old, instead of aging it twenty-five years.
"We're here to pick up Rogue," Scott explained to the manager.
"Rogue," he said, confused. "I told her she could leave about ten minutes ago."
Jean grew angry; this was not her day. "I bet she left with that Gambit guy again!"
"I don't think so," Sly defended. "She said she wanted to go straight home to bed after a day like today."
Meanwhile, Jean decided to do a general mental scan of the area. "Oh, no," she cried and ran down the alley to the back of the store. Scott and Sly followed her. As they rounded the corner, all three gasped at the sight. Rogue laid on the ground with her arm in a funny position with five large men, dressed in black standing over her.
"Get away from her!!" brotherly Scott yelled as he took off his glasses. A red beam shot from his eyes and sent one of the men sailing down the alley. Jean squinted and lifted two up in the air. They were checked into the wall. The fourth one got a right hook from Sly but wasn't fazed by the attack from the skinny stick boy. Sly was thrown up against the alley wall near Rogue's unconscious form. Scott jump-kicked number four in the back and sent him to the ground. The fifth man decided to count his loses and ran. The others followed suit shortly after.
"Rogue, are you okay?" Jean knelt down next to the Goth's body. Rogue was unresponsive. Her nose was bleeding, her left eye puffy and changing colors, her left arm was out of joint and it was probably broken too. At least she was still breathing. "Sly, go call and ambulance." Scott sat down next to Jean and Rogue. He took Jean's hand and squeezed it. With the other he brushed the stray white hair from Rogue's face, careful not to touch her skin. Sly rejoined them a few minutes later and waited until the screaming ambulance was heard in the background.
(1) Following scene and various others in this chapter are taken from the movie Empire Records. (2) Insult from the Princess Bride. A/N: There done. That was a beast to write. Sorry if it seems a little skeletal at times, I really wanted to get this baby out there. 'til next time : )