Rogue heaved herself out of bed, gingerly setting her feet on the floor.
Almost all her belongings were at the fancy hotel. She couldn't go back, because whoever had poisoned her must have put the poison in that gorgeous meal that she had eaten before taking a bath.
Sighing she headed towards the grungy bathroom and quickly showered, getting back into her jeans and shirt, but didn't put her sneakers on.
She was feeling better, although still light-headed. Her enemies must have underestimated her healing abilities and general immunity. If she had been absolutely normal she probably would have died. That could have well been what they were aiming for. As it was, she was still alive, and had to leave New Orleans.
She had her cell-phone, and enough money for quite a few motel rooms, food and some clothes. She also had her credit card, but that could probably be easily traced.
Looking out her window, she suddenly noticed that a black car had pulled up on the curb, and three figures had climbed out. The coat of one flapped open and she saw the glimpse of a malicious-looking gun peek out.
She froze, then ran frantically towards the bathroom…there was a small window in the corner. She could probably hoist herself out of it, and then run down the back alley that, hopefully, led to freedom.
Her shoes!
Quickly she headed towards the door where she had left her sneakers, but froze when a voice called "Madame Rouge?" in a decidedly French voice, from the hallway. Quickly she leaned forward and locked the door, grabbed her shoes and ran towards the bathroom, jumping up she positioned her hands on the sill, twisted her body and managed to jump through the limited space, just as the door was kicked open and someone hurried in.
She landed in the alley and got up, dropping her shoes in her haste as she began to run.
Someone shouted orders and presently she heard footsteps running behind her.
In her life as an X-man she had learned many things, and she had also, under the careful eye of Scott, been pushed beyond her limit in workouts. She was as fit, and lithe, as a deer as she sprinted around corners, jumped over mounds of dirt and rubbish and ducked around fire-escapes and other metal traps.
Finally, she reached an inevitable dead-end, and whirled around to face her pursuers. She punched one in the face and kicked the legs out of the other before one managed to wheeze, "Non, please. We come from Remy Lebeau."
An interesting twist, she thought. They knew a lethal enough poison for her, even though it hadn't managed to kill her, and they had followed her from the Ferris wheel to the motel, and they also know about her affiliation to Remy Lebeau.
"Liar," she hissed, before knocking him out, then jumped and grabbed some foot-holes in the wall, lithely jumping over the wall, and kept on running.
It was very strange that they hadn't fought her…not really. They had just raised their arms over their heads to try to protect themselves, but hadn't attempted a thing to hurt her.
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Remy tucked the phone away and whirled his motorbike around. His men had located Rogue in a small motel in the grungier area of New Orleans, and they had explained that she had run, seeming not to believe them.
As he sped through backstreets and construction sites, breaking speeding limits as he went, he wondered what it would be like to see her again.
Would she look much different? It had been such a long time since they had seen each other.
It was a cool, fresh morning, and he realized that he was heading towards the docks, where he guessed Rogue was.
"Don't hide, chere," he though out loud. "Don' be scared any more."
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The saleswoman had looked at her weirdly when she noticed that she had no shoes, but now had left her alone as Rogue looked through the racks of garments.
There was a nice pair of beige leggings, a black T-shirt with a sequin adornment of a butterfly and a cream-colored coat that belted around the middle with a red sash, as well as a pair of beige runners that combined elegantly with the clothes. They would be good for running but wouldn't actually look as though she was wearing them solely for the purpose of escape.
She changed in a cafeteria's bathroom, mingling with the late breakfast rush to avoid making it obvious that she hadn't put on the shoes yet, choosing to wash her feet first.
She also bought a red cap to hide her streaks of white hair. They would make her too obvious, even among the crowd.
Her best bet would be to head down to an amusement park or something, at least with so many people around she wouldn't be an easy target. Then she should make arrangements for a flight. The problem was that they could be at the airport…they could be anywhere.
She lunched on hotdogs in the park, then bought a cake to crumble up and feed to the pigeons, after that she rang the airport to ask about flights back to New York, after all, she still had her false passport, courtesy of the Brotherhood.
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Two hours later, Remy still had not found her. His men had continued looking, but it seemed she had left several dead ends all over the back streets. She certainly led a merry chase.
Returning back to his home, he received a fax with the names of people who had reserved flights back to New York in the last days. Only two names stuck out, Ann Dantes and Robin Holmes.
He sat back down with a sigh, wondering, not for the first time, if it was destiny that intervened every time he tried to get closer to Rogue…
The phone rang.
"She's at the Central park," someone informed him in French.
"Merci," he said simply, hanging up. He was already half way to the door, his hand reaching to grasp something that he had kept near him for five years.
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