Greetings from The Lady Mage! Read, enjoy, review!
Legalities: . . . Do we really need to do this every single time? I own Zosia, I own Sari, I own any other weird unknown names/faces/places in here, but sadly, no Victor . . .
FERITY: (fehr-iht-ee) - n.- 1.) The state of being wild or untamed. 2.) The state of being savage; ferocity.
. . . Let me tell you about love . . . About the moon and stars above . . .
The blonde behemoth rolled his eyes. He had to steal the only damn truck- the only damn truck in the whole fucking parking lot- with the only way to turn the radio OFF . . . broken.
And it was stuck on a country music station.
It wasn't blaring, but it was just loud enough that it was leeching its way into his subconscious, and he didn't like it one bit. Why country? Why couldn't it be something good- like ACDC, or some Black Sabbath- The Doors? At least they were worth listening to! Not this damn 'I'm so lonesome I could cry' shit! Hell, he'd even listen to that noisy shit Zoe had liked to listen to while she did her katas. He'd rather his ears hurt too bad to hear, than to hear this and hurt.
. . . It's what you've been dreaming of . . . Let me tell you about lo-
Finally, he reached out with his claws, and ripped the radio out of the dash, leaving a jagged, broken hole behind. With a growl, and a satisfied grunt, he tossed it out the truck window, smirking when the cars on the interstate behind him swerved to avoid it. "Shouldn't have been standing there, Shitstains."
It had taken him a good four hours to try to fall asleep that morning, and when he finally had managed to slip into slumber, it hadn't been worth the effort. Memories riddled his dreams, bouncing from pleasant thoughts of his Zee to nightmares of green military flak and of being controlled. But, the nightmares hadn't been what had startled him awake. The nerve endings beneath the scar on his neck had suddenly come alive, his mind on his mate- naked beneath him, eyes black-feral, fangs cutting into her lips as she bit them to hold in a moan. The next thing he knew, he'd lost his balance and started to fall. His claws caught hold of the branch just in time to save his ass from falling out of his tree.
'The fuck?'
Not long after, he had decided it was time to go ahead and find a car. He was far enough South of the Statue that the cops in this podunk town shouldn't yet be worried about him, so he slipped into civilization.
He'd found a shed in a suburban backyard, and had used a water hose to clean up his arms and face. In his satchel, Zoe had packed away all he'd need, and he pulled out a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved maroon hoodie, and a white undershirt. He paused, putting the clothes to his face, pressing his nose into them, and inhaling deeply.
Her scent was all over them- permeating into every stitch. He inhaled again. He could smell the cub, his cub, too, as though Zee had thought to lay the baby on the clothes before she packed them all away. A rare smile crossed his face for a few fleeting moments before he remembered that he must hurry. Quickly, he yanked the sweet-smelling clothes on, stuffing his leathers back into his pack before pulling on his manila work boots. His hair was brushed through with more care than even he thought he should give it- 'Zee loves my hair . .' -before it was pulled into a ponytail at the base of his neck.
Finally, he skirted out of the yard, and took off in a leisurely jog towards the busier streets East. There'd been a small shopping center not far from here, and he'd looked through the lot for a vehicle that would not be too conspicuous on the road- at least for a day or so. He'd learned a long time ago to only keep stolen cars for very short periods of time. Any longer, and you risked cops coming after you. Not that he minded slaughtering a couple of cops, but he didn't want them to know he'd been this far South- that he'd even been near West Chester . They would not find out about Zee. He would see to it.
He looked down at the dirty map he'd found in the glove compartment. If he stayed on Interstate 87, it would take him up through Albany , and then he'd cut on over towards Niagara where he knew he'd have an easy time crossing the border. It was a good couple hundred miles of boredom, of listening to the wind rushing past the window. After that, he wasn't sure what he would do, but it was more than likely going to include a new vehicle- one with a WORKING radio. If he could get to LaSalle in a couple of days, he could set up in one of his old hidey-holes, call a few contacts, set up a few…jobs…and try to keep himself busy while his mate- his Zee- and his cub- his Sari- were waiting for him in West Chester.
She thought that perhaps it was an alarm clock going off somewhere in the mansion. Maybe it was the buzzer on the dryer going off? Had she missed the first school bell- was it Monday already? No, the bell didn't vibrate against her side. Then again, neither did a distant alarm clock, or the dryer's timer. The windrider scowled softly. She was so comfortable, so warm, and she was going to have to open her eyes.
With a soft sigh, she did so, turning her head to where her alarm clock would be- where it always sat on the nigh stand by her bed beside her night lamp and the novel she was in the middle of reading again. Instead of the little silver bell clock, the lamp, or the book, her eyes met the top of someone's auburn-haired head. Suddenly, she remembered where she was- in the new girl's room to try to comfort her into a good sleep. She lay on her side, her arm curled under her head on the different pillow. The girl, the pretty feral, the mate to Sabretooth himself, was curled up against her. Their bodies were pressed together; chest to chest, stomach to stomach, and thigh to thigh, save for the little pocket of cub curled up between them.
The sound, unrecognizable in her half-sleep, still vibrated against her, and the realization finally hit her as to what it was. Zoe- Zee, she had asked to be called- was purring like a big, overgrown kitten beside her. In her sleep, her face was calm, relaxed, and child-like with the slight pout her expression wore. She was an endearing girl; at least she had seemed to be sweet, despite the original iciness that she had first displayed. The windrider had spent a few nights helping other children to adjust, but never a teen mother- one who had lived with the Brotherhood, no less.
'What could be scarier than that?'
Weapon X, she supposed. Logan had awakened her a handful of times screaming, too. His room had been directly beneath hers, on the floor with the children. Zosia was right down the hall from her- she could hear the baby cry from her living space. She remembered that she had asked Jean once about the things she had read from Logan 's mind- about the things he dreamt of- and the few scenes the telekine had popped into her head had been enough to make her think twice that night to take a bath. She ended up showering the next morning instead.
Beside her, the girl stirred, the purr fading away in her throat. A second or so later, she opened her eyes. She seemed confused for a moment, but then relaxed her face again, shifting her head to look Ororo in the eyes. "Guten Morgen. (Good morning.)" she said softly, turning onto her back to stretch out, looking very much like a cat in doing so. Between them, the cub hardly noticed, still curled up like a kitten.
"Morning." Ororo returned, sitting up. The girl watched her move. It made her nervous, the predatory look the girl seemed to give her, but the second she felt it, Zoe changed her expression. "It's almost eight." she said softly. "I need to go get dressed. I have papers to grade, and children to look after." The feral nodded, pulling the cub up onto her chest. "Do you have everything you need? A toothbrush and so on?"
"Don't worry about it, mon moka." Zoe all but purred her words, still a little groggy from her sleep. "I have basics. I will acquire what else is needed for us in due time. We were much too rushed to grab everything we needed before we left home a few nights ago." She finally let out her yawn, unknowingly reminding her sleeping partner of an over-grown lion cub.
"Well, today is Saturday." said Ororo. "We should be able to set aside a little time, perhaps, to take you into town. You will have to ask the Professor first, of course, but it would be no trouble."
"Any time is convenient, mon moka." Zee sat up on the bed, pushing the intact covers away from her legs. "I have clothes to last me for a short while. I shall only have to do laundry for myself. Victor has made sure that I am well provided for, thank you." The feral mother laid her sleeping daughter back between the pillows before walking to her satchel for her clothes, using the time while the baby slept, to hopefully shower and dress.
"I'm going to go get dressed now, Zee." Ororo announced, noticing the girl's small smile at the nickname. "I will see you downstairs for breakfast, alright?"
Zoe only nodded, watching her turn to go. When the windrider got to the door, but had yet to open it, she called out to her. "Ororo?"
"Yes?" The woman returned, looking over her shoulder at the girl.
" . . . Thank you . . . for staying with me. I appreciated the company. Greatly." said the girl, trying not to sound either ungrateful, nor overly so.
"You're welcome, Zee." returned the windrider.
Once the other woman was gone, Zosia dressed herself in another pair of dark blue jeans, and a silky red tiered camisole that hung down to the middle of her thighs. She had worn it as a dress while pregnant, but was pleased at being able to fit back into all- well, most of- the clothes that her sister had helped her shop for. Myst was nothing if not an eye for beauty, and had enjoyed Zosia's presence like one would enjoy a red-headed Barbie doll.
While the baby slept peacefully, the feral unpacked her leather bag, laying clothes- her own and Sari's- out on top of the dresser to be sorted and hung later, then settled her little pink jewelry box on the desk with a small mp3 player. She pulled a worn cigar box from her bag, and slid it underneath her bed, then tossed the couple of shoes in the bag at the closet door.
After slipping into a pair of black ballet slips, the feral mother laid out a little pink layette. When the baby decided to wake up, then to be fed, she dressed her. The tiny booties were still much too big, and the outfit a little large, but it was cute in a cuddly way. It was going to be hard to find much that would fit the preemie right now, but babies eventually grew, and one day soon, the layette would be much too small for her. She hoped, at least. There was still an ever-present fear in the back of her mind that the cub would just stop breathing again. Against her skin, held to her body in the sling, she could feel and hear Sari's breathing; it calmed her greatly.
"Vous avez combattu tellement dur, mon chaton. Maman et Papa sont si fiers. (You fought so hard, my kitten. Mama and Papa are so proud.)" The tiny feral only yawned in response, and her mother kissed her once more before lowering her into the sling around her.
Before she could cross the room to open the door, her stomach growled loudly. It had been a day since she'd eaten anything- too worried about this place to stomach much more than a few mouthfuls of Victor's venison jerky and a few gulps of water from a spring several miles from here. With a sigh, the feral lifted her bag from the floor, and stuck her hand down inside. She pulled out a little leather pouch full of leftover jerky. Half of the venison was quickly downed, the other half shoved into her pocket for later.
Out in the hallway, she carefully stalked her way down the corridor, smelling around her for anything familiar or interesting. The hallway smelled of children- all kinds of children- wafting up from the floor below from the balcony overlooking the parlor two stories down. She quickly and easily found Ororo's doorway, then snuck on down to find where she could smell the Professeur's quarters. There was little more interesting on this floor, simply a few storage rooms and spare guest rooms, so she moved to the stairway.
At the head of the staircase, she paused, listening around her, before silently slipping down the steps to the second floor. This hallway was as empty as the one above it, but the bedrooms were much more diverse. There were two main wings, one decorated in blues and greens, and the other in softer pinks, reds, and lavenders. The different bedrooms all held anywhere from two to four beds, and for every room, there was at least one desk with one computer, one dresser for every bed, and one nightstand to go beside them all. Beyond that, posters covered walls, beds had colorful spreads, knick-knack clutter covered desks and shelves, personalizing everyone's living space.
Finished with her exploration of this floor, she moved back to the staircase- pausing only to recognize Jean and Scott's smell coming from the closed bedroom door opposite the stairs. She thought little of it, finally sliding down the last set of stairs. At the bottom of the steps, she took a right, walking into the parlor, taking it slow to see the detail in its decoration. 'Victor would like it here.' she thought, looking over the formal sitting room. Beyond it was a more casual recreation room, filled with all sorts of things to bide one's time by- books, games, a fooseball table, and a large television in front of two beige couches.
The girl smirked. "Warts would like this room." she whispered to herself with a small, sad smile. She approached the fooseball table in the center of the room and spun one of the little soccer players with her clawed thumb. It's jersey was the same green as his hair had been. She blinked hard, and turned her attention to the tall bookshelf on the far wall full of DVDs and video games. The bottom shelf was full of old board games that, judging by the light layer of dust on the boxes, seemed to be rarely played with.
None of the video games were rated over a T, and none of them were the bloody, shoot-em-up type of games that her reptillian brother had shown her. The feral rolled her eyes with a smirk, dropping her hand from running along the spines of the game cases. He had taught her how to play so that he would have a partner in crime. After she'd started beating him, he mostly designated her to driving the getaway cars while he shot at the cops behind them. Warts had never taken well to being beaten at anything. A harsh upbringing, she supposed, but he'd never spoken of it. 'Not to me, at least.'
On this side of the school, the feral had discovered a small office used for book-keeping and the like, along with a tiny library of books for smaller children. The lack of use showed her that there weren't very many young children here- mostly preteens and older. Beside the library was a set of double doors with big stained glass windows leading out onto a large rock patio. It was shoveled free of snow, save for a light blanketing of white fluff that had fallen during the night.
Intent on exploring the other side of the mansion, she retraced her steps back to the staircase and down the other side of it. Not fifteen feet down the hallway, she could hear children's voices- Jean and Scott's voices. She slowed her pace, creeping silently along through another sitting room. There was one paneled door set into the far wall; the smell of teenagers and the professeur was strong by it. She could hear him speaking inside to the group, but his voice paused as soon as she laid a hand on the dark wood of the door.
'Good morning, Zosia. Would you care to join us?'
'Gods and Goddesses!' She hated that she jerked at the voice inside her head. Damned telepaths.
'I do apologise, Zosia. Please, come in.'
She snorted, the hair on her arms laying back down against her skin, the adrenaline surge subsiding as her body quickly metabolized the hormone. So much for peaceful exploration.
With a gentle turn, she opened the door just wide enough to slip inside. Professor Xavier was sitting in front of a group of sixteen teenagers, their ages ranging from perhaps thirteen to seventeen. In his lap lay an open textbook, and on the chalkboard behind him was written 'Advanced English Literature: Who was William Makepeace Thackeray?'. He offered her a smile that she returned, ignoring the children watching her curiously.
"Would you care for something to eat?" Professor Xavier asked, closing his textbook. "Breakfast was at eight this morning."
"No, thank you, mon professeur." she answered, keeping her voice light and sweet, forcing the black to bleed back from her eyes. She glanced over the group of students. Each one was turned around in their chair, watching her. "Is it not the weekend?" Her attention returned to the professor as she glided across the room to stand beside his wheelchair. "Do you not let out for the children to rest?"
"Oh, yes. Advanced classes meet on Saturday mornings."
"He lets us sleep in first, though!" chirped a girl from the front row. The other students either smirked or chuckled.
Zosia ignored her, not as amused. She didn't like this lot of children so close to her or her cub. It made her feel closed in- like there was no escape. The prickly sensations running up and down the length of her spine made the hair on her arms stand again. Fight or flight, it whispered in her ear.
"I was going to ask Jean to show you around today, and then I would like to see the both of you downstairs." continued the professeur.
Her head nodded absently, while she glanced at the rich paneling of the wall beside her, imagining how it would look painted in the blood of the students sitting four feet from her. She could feel it, hot and sticky on her hands, slick between her fingers like thin glue; taste it, thick and coppery on her tongue and face as it spurts from a severed artery; the scent in her nostrils bitter and sweet at the same time, and strong- so strong. Suddenly, breaking her trance, she felt a sharp pain in her palm, and realized that she'd punctured the palms of her hands with her claws.
"Perhaps you will yet join us in the dining room for lunch, and allow me to introduce your presence to the other students." Charles said amiably. His voice was soothing to her, gently helping to ease away the animalistic urgings.
"Yes, mon Professeur." she nodded once more, her hands moving together beneath her sling, protecting the cub sleeping inside it.
The Professor looked out over his pupils with a stately air. "Don't forget to read your last five chapters by next weekend." he announced to them. "Class, dismissed." There was a brief burst of noise as the children hurriedly grabbed up their things, and evacuated the room. Alone with his new houseguest, Xavier spoke frankly. "Will you be able to control it, Zosia?"
Zosia gave him a scowl, taking a step back. "Control what?"
"Your animalistic tendencies; your ferity." he answered, his voice the same cool, calm tone. He met her blackened eyes. "Your urges."
"How should you know of my feral side, and of what urges I may or may not possess?" she asked.
"Besides the warning in Eric's letter?" he answered softly, a little amused smile playing on his lips. "That little demonstration you just gave gives me reason to believe him."
"I've not hurt anyone here." Zoe said, shrugging lightly. She followed him as he headed towards the hallway. "I cannot help some of these feelings- these urges- Professeur. It is simply who I am."
He paused. "You are not an animal; you are a mutant."
"Not wholly." A detached shrug. "Yet I could no more deny my feral side than you could deny the nose on your face."
He glanced at her sharply, then smiled good-naturedly with a nod. "I had thought, perhaps, that was the case." He gave her a wry smile. "I do understand, but you realize that I have a school full of-"
"I shudder to think what your next words would be." Zoe murmured, cutting him off. "I will do no child harm, Charles, I swear it." She held her claws up for her own inspection. "My cub is only eight days old; my protection instincts are in overdrive. It is not something that I can switch on and off at your convenience."
"No one is going to harm the baby here, Zosia."
"No," she confirmed liltingly, "They won't. What is it you want of me downstairs?"
"Just a routine workup. We do it with every new student to better help us understand exactly what their mutation is. In the case of some, it has helped us to teach them to better control it. We've also discovered quite a few shared ancestral lines in students that have come to us from all over the planet. One day, we may be able to trace them all the way back to the very first mutation."
"Sounds like something mein Lehrer would be interested in."
"Yes. He and I had, at one time, discussed the idea. But that was a long time ago."
Zosia smelled her before she heard her. Jean rounded the corner, dressed in black slacks and a white t-shirt, her hair tucked up into a mousy bun. "Good morning, Zosia." she said with a friendly smile. "Ready for a physical?"
The feral returned the expression half-heartedly. "Bonjour, telepathe."
"I was just telling her all about it." said Charles. "Shall we begin?"
"If we must." she resigned.
"It shouldn't take too long." reassured Jean, turning to walk to the elevator at the end of the hall. She paused, turning back to look the feral up and down, taking in the disheveled hair, the squirming cub, and the dark circles under Zosia's eyes. "Have you eaten anything yet?"
The feral pulled one of the last strips of dried meat out of her pants pocket, snatching it back as the telekine reached out to examine it. "Just some venison that Victor left in my backpack." she said, hoping her growl would camouflage the hitch in her throat at the mention of her mate.
The doctor almost scowled. "Alright, but as soon as we're done, you should come with me to the kitchen, and we'll get you something more substantial. That baby will drain you dry if you don't at least try to keep up."
The feral rolled her eyes. "Yes, Mysti-, er, Telekine."
Downstairs, the telekine had lead them down the same hallway, and into the same room as they had all been in the night before. Jean had laid out a pair of gray sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt on the first exam table, and there was a tray of instruments placed next to it. The telekine pulled a pair of glasses out of the top drawer of the desk, and placed them on top of her head. Pulling open the top file cabinet drawer, she quickly gestured to the clothes. "If you would, just pull those on."
The feral snorted softly, approaching the table. She lifted Sari up and out of the sling, laying the sleeping cup on her shoulder while she pulled the sling over her head.
"I'll be out in the hall while you change." Charles said, turning his chair around.
Sari was laid on the sling on the table while her mother quickly stripped her jeans off and pulled on the gray pants.
"Morning!" Ororo said, striding into the room.
Zoe glanced at her over her shoulder, pulling off her camisole. "Where is the professeur?"
"He went back upstairs to take a telephone call." answered Ororo. She stood next to Jean, watching the telekine sort the papers in Zoe's file. "I'm going to stay down here to help, okay?"
"Fine." shrugged the feral. With the white shirt on, and her clothes folded neatly on the exam table, she lifted her cub back into her arms.
"Ready?" Jean finished with the papers, and tucked a pen behind her ear. She patted the empty exam table. "Hop up."
The feral shrugged again, hopping up to stand on the table as easily as one would step up a set of stairs. In the same motion, she dropped down to sit cross-legged in the middle of the table. She watched Jean suspiciously again, but allowed her to listen to her heartbeat and check her pulse while Ororo recorded it all down for her. She'd let the telekine shine a light in her eyes, and to look in her ears, but stopped her when she ran a thumb over the scar on her neck. The feral jerked with a low, warning growl. Jean froze at the sound, startled.
When the telekine took longer than sixty seconds to move her hand, Zosia felt a low heat building in her groin, her mind flashing to her wayward mate- probably lounging in a tree, his leather shirt would be open to soak in the warmth of the sun, giving the tanned skin covering his muscular chest just a hint of colour. She imagined lapping at his... She jumped from the table, leaping in a single bound over the other exam tables in the room and dropped into a low crouch, the baby tucked safely against her middle as she let out a loud warning growl, then a low roar of rage and frustration. Sari whimpered in Zoe's arms, startled awake by her mother's growl.
"Your neck-"
"Is fine and requires no attention from you."
"Okay- Okay, calm down." Jean tried to project soothing thoughts towards the startled feral, but hit a solid wall of resistance. She lowered her tone of voice, speaking to Zoe like she would to a frightened child. "I'm not trying to hurt you- we need this for our records. We have to make note of every mark, mole, scar on your body in case something happens . . . so we can identify-"
The feral snapped at her with elongated fangs. "My mark is my business, telekine! Victor put it there, and only he should touch it! What the fuck- are you some kind of fucking lesbian, you weirdo?" She hissed again. "Bordel de merde . . .You have a holy fuckin LOT to learn about ferals, Doctor!" She sneered the last word.
"Lesbi- . . What exactly just happened here?" Ororo asked, her voice stern and slightly amused at Jean's discomfort. "Zee, are you alright?"
"I'm fine." Zoe hissed, "I doubt I could say the same for my mate. He's probably furious right now- and for good reason!" She looked down at her cub, curled protectively against her body, and stood up out of her crouch. She shifted Sari up onto her shoulder to soothe her.
Jean quickly stepped back a pace as Zoe stood. "And why exactly will your mate be furious?" She asked, reaching to pick up the discarded notepad and pen to cover her retreat without taking her eyes off of the feral.
"Well, considering what time it is, we probably just knocked him out of a fucking tree." Zosia answered, scowling darkly, "And, knowing how mein Geliebter lands, he probably has pulled a few rather sensitive and . . precious parts of his anatomy." She almost smiled at the disconcerted look on the telekine's face. She knew the woman was stunned, and couldn't help but wonder if it was from her particular vocabulary or from the image of Victor pulling his groin from his fall.
"Apparently," Jean said to Ororo, her expression matching the windrider's, "Her scar is very . . sensitive."
"Sensitive?" Ororo still looked confused, standing up straight and looking from the feral to the telekine and back.
"Yeah, sensitive." confirmed Zoe with a displeased grunt. "As Warts would say, 'Bad touch, bad touch!'" She rolled her eyes.
"Oh . . Oh . . Ohhh, dear." Zosia could see the blush just beneath the weather witch's skin.
"I'm so sorry, Zosia." Jean said. "I didn't know- we haven't had a lot of ferals here- and never a mated couple. There's just a couple more things to check and we are all finished. Get it over with now and we'll never have to do it again."
With one last string of profanity, the feral, jaw set, stalked back to the exam table. She scowled deeply, looking down at her hands. Her claws had grown to be nearly three inches long, and she had to turn her hands awkwardly to keep hold of her cub without cutting her with them.
Ororo carefully approached the table, eyes to the floor until she was standing beside the girl's crossed legs. "Oh, my." she said, seeing the claws. She daringly reached out to run a finger along the length of one. "Do you need help?"
"Scissors. I need scissors." Zoe said disgustedly.
Jean pulled a pair from the desk and set them next to Zoe on the exam table, keeping a bit of distance from her.
"Sari . . ." Zoe murmmered, meeting Ororo's eyes pleadingly. "Can you . . Can you take her?" Her voice was displeased, but insistent. She moved her arms forward, maneuvering the cub down closer to the weather witch without using her fingers. "Will you please hold her for me?"
"Okay." Ororo said, cautiously reaching out and putting her hands beneath the cub's head and bottom. She lifted Sari up and cradled the cub gently to her chest. The cub went still, breathing in through her mouth, scenting the weather witch. After a few seconds, she relaxed, closing her mouth and drifting back towards sleep. "Aren't you a little cutie? So tiny."
Zosia lifted the scissors awkwardly with one hand, and stuck her pinky claw in between the blades.
"What are you doing?" Jean asked in surprise. "Won't-"
"They won't go back down on their own." Zosia said darkly, clipping the nail with a sharp click. "Leftover hormones. Throughout my pregnancy, I never could get them to retract all the way. Defensive strategy, I suppose." She hissed when she clipped the next one, a few drops of blood staining the grey sweat pants.
"That looks painful . . . " Jean winced.
"Well, I can't exactly go around like Edward-fuckin-Scissorhands, now can I." Zoe rolled her eyes, cutting the rest of the the needle-sharp claws away. Finished, she flexed her fingers until they all healed over and stopped bleeding. She would have to file away the sharper edges later. "Now can we please get this over with?"
"Is everything all right in here?" Scott asked, appearing in the doorway.
"Yes, yes." Jean said with a smile for him, walking to the scale on the far wall. "We're almost done. Just need her height and weight and we're all finished."
The feral slid off the table, brushing past Ororo as if to say 'stay', and crossed the room. She stood with her back to the wall while Jean measured her height, then stepped up onto the scale.
"Wow, you're heavy for your height." Jean said, balancing the weight. "Do you have adamantium grafting?"
"Metal?" Zoe scowled. "Don't think so."
"Well, you weigh about as much as Logan, and he's got an inch on you." said Jean. "Are you sure?"
"I don't know. I lived with Erik for three years and he never mentioned it."
"Would it be okay if we took an X-ray?"
"How long will it take?" asked the feral, looking nervously towards her cub sleeping in Ororo's arms. Scott was standing just almost too close to them for her liking. She looked back at Jean. 'Will you ask her to stay there beside the table?'
"Sure." Jean said, hearing her. She glanced to Ororo, who nodded, then back to the feral. "It will only take a second. Sari's safe." With the practiced ease of someone who had been patching up mutant children for years on end, Jean had punched in a series of numbers on the little black panel set into the wall next to them. An octagonal door panel slid open, and a long table slid out of the blue wall. She punched in another series of buttons on the panel, and the inside lit up with white light.
"Alright, here you go." said the telekine, patting the table. "Just lay out flat and try to be still. It'll only take a second."
Trepidatious, the feral scowled at the white table. She looked over to where Ororo, who had moved to sit on the exam table, sat with the tiny cub asleep in her arms. The idea of leaving the cub out here while she was in the machine- even for a few moments- was not a pleasant one. The weather witch seemed to understand, and moved the cub up onto her shoulder, holding her closer.
'Je n'aime toujours pas ça.' (I still don't like this.) Her scowl deepened, but she moved up to lay on the white table anyway.
"Okay, just lay your arms out flat." said Jean. "And it will be over in just a minute." And with that, she pushed a button, and the table slid back into the wall, its door sliding in to place behind her.
She could hear them crying down the hallway in their cages. The new ones always cried. They were cold, scared, hungry, tired. It wouldn't take them long to learn that crying got them nothing. They would toughen up.
Or they would be slaughtered.
That was the way of things. If you didn't do what you had to do to survive here, someone who cared more about their life would take your's. It was nothing personal. Just how it worked. If they put you in the ring, you fight or you die. Sometimes, both.
She was going to be next, she knew. They hadn't brought her a tray of food- if you could even call it food- in two days. They'd held her down and given her the injection. Like it or not, she would go back into the ring, and she would kill again.
Zosia blinked, hard. Her hands jerking up, claws lengthening again. The lights were still flashing in the x-ray machine.
"Lay still, please!" she heard Jean say through the wall.
'The fuck . . !' She laid her arms back along her sides, closing her eyes against the irritating lights. 'Quand avez . . ?' (When did . . ?)
The lights seemed to flash as they rolled her cage down the hallway, the optical illusion of watching the ceiling through the bars. She wouldn't look at the soldiers. That was what they wanted- to see her nervous and scared because she knew where she was going.
The ring.
One of the guards was speaking to her, but she couldn't understand his language. His tone was taunting, and he pounded his club on the cage bars. The sound reverberated through the hallway, and made her ears ring painfully. Still, she watched the ceiling, refusing to look at the human.
Once again, he yelled at her as they rolled into the ring. She hardly blinked as his club came through the bars of the cage, jabbing her painfully in the ribs.
"How much longer?" Zosia yelled, her eyes darting around the small, enclosed space. Even she could hear the panic creeping into her voice.
"Almost done! It wouldn't take so long if you would lay still!"
"I am laying still!"
"I have to retake that last one."
"Hurry up, telekine!"
"She didn't even . . . "
". . . gave up . . . "
"-gutted him! . . . "
". . . owes me $50 . . . "
"-should learn not to bet against this one . . . "
She couldn't breathe. Her damaged lungs felt withered within her chest, useless until she had reserves enough to heal them. She couldn't feel much below her hips save for the sharp pain in her ankles from the shackles. They'd laid her on a trolley this time, instead of just pulling her along the floor. Maybe they were sick of lugging her around.
The ceiling lights flashed behind her eyelids. She couldn't open them yet- she wasn't sure she really wanted to. The soldier walking beside her prodded her bruised ribs with his club, then laughed when she winced.
". . . beat up, eh?"
"-better than the other-"
The smell hit her before they even opened the laboratory door. The acrid, metallic smell of the regen solution. The scent of the medical equipment, the smell of astringent and blood. Panic flooded her, her brain screaming at her to run, escape before they could force her back into the icy water! Her body wouldn't respond, no amount of adrenalin enough to heal her in time.
What was left of her jumpsuit was cut away, and she was lifted up to the metal rack.
'Non . . . non . . . NON! Ne me mettez pas dans le réservoir!'
Jean could feel it, all of a sudden, like the feral had just hit her in the forehead. Sheer panic and fear were rolling off of Zosia. The telekine reached out and slammed her hand over the emergency stop button just as the door covering the x-ray table dented out. A second later, it was across the room, and the feral shot out of the tube, across the room, and down the hall in a blur of movement.
"Zosia!" She ran to the doorway, followed by Scott and Ororo.
The feral was sitting against the elevator doors, knees up to her chest, claws dug into the metal floor, cutting through it like butter. There were five new grooves in the elevator door. The girl was breathing fast, practically panting, eyes wild, fangs lengthened. When the three ran out into the hallway, she roared at them, sounding like the Panthera she was named after. They paused their step. Scott kept his hand up beside his glasses. Sari cried, frightened.
"Zee, are you okay?" Ororo asked, bouncing the tiny cub.
". . . No." panted the feral, shaking her head. She pulled her claws from the floor, looking down at the punctures with a regretful wince. ". . Sorry about the floor . . " She stood up from the floor, glaring at Scott and his hand hovering over the dial on his glasses. "Feel like losin' that hand today, Buster?"
He smirked, cocky. "Bring it on."
"Would you bet your life I couldn't slit your throat wide open before you could even shift your eyes my way?"
"Scott, calm down." Jean said. "She's just a little claustrophobic. It's okay. She's not going to hurt anyone."
"Don't bet on it." Zoe put her hand on her hip, letting her eyes fade back to their deep blue, popping her jaw as her incisors retracted back into her gums. She looked at her crying cub in Ororo's arms, then at her long claws again with a disgusted look. "God damn it."
"Language!" barked Scott. "This is a school- full of children."
"The only child within hearing distance of us is my own cub, and if she didn't hear it from me, she'd hear it from her father." Her eyes bled black again, and she squeezed them tightly shut, shaking her head again. "Goddess, just stop! Just shut up!"
Jean poked her fiance in the ribs, mentally commanding him to back down so that the feral could calm herself. He didn't look at all pleased, but put his hand back to his side.
Ororo moved Sari to the crook of her arm, rocking her in her arms, but the cub continued to cry. "Oh, come now . . . your Mama's coming in just a second . . . "
"She's hungry, 'Ro." Zosia said, brushing past Scott to stand in front of her. "And I've got to cut my nails again." The weather witch followed her back to the exam table. The feral hopped up to sit, cross legged, beside the scissors. She clipped them as fast as she could maneuver the scissors before taking back the cub to nurse. "Lion pauvre bébé. (Poor baby lion.)"
"The professor is on his way down." Jean said, going to the big screen set into the wall beside the x-ray machine. Scott stood beside her, surveying the damage to the machine with a disgusted expression. "You've got quite an interesting skeleton, Zosia."
As if on cue, Professor Xavier rolled into the room. His eyes swept from the feral, to the nursing cub, to the damage to his medlab. "Well." He looked at Jean. "What happened here?"
"Ils m'ont enfermée dans la boîte dans le mur. (They locked me in your box in the wall.)" Zoe spat. Her expression quickly changed to one of self-reproach. "Je suis desole, mon professeur. I will replace your broken door- and the floor tiles in the hallway." (I'm sorry, my Professor.)
"That's quite alright, Zosia." the professor said kindly. "I know that Logan had quite a few outbursts as well, adjusting to this place."
"Il est plus humain que sauvages. Plus facile. Certains d'entre nous sont des animaux un peu plus. Erik compris." she returned. "Je suis vraiment désolé pour les dommages, et je vais le remplacer pour vous. Juste me donner un montant." (He's more human than feral. Easier. Some of us are just more animal. Erik understood. I truly am sorry about the damage, and I will replace it for you. Just give me an amount.)
"Don't worry about it right now." he returned. She only nodded, turning her attention back to her nursing cub. He looked back to Jean and Scott, who were looking at a giant screen displaying the x-rays they had just taken.
"No adamantium grafting." Jean said, crossing her arms, absently chewing her thumb nail. "But she has a very dense skeleton. You should be able to see darker gray in the middle of the bones where the marrow is- like someone outlined the bone with a white marker- but her's are solid."
"And that means?" prodded Scott, looking over the x-ray of the girls thighs and hips. "What's that?" he asked, pointing to a little circle on the x-ray.
"Piercing." Zoe said nonchalantly from across the room.
The younger man make a choking sound, his face blushing red. Ororo and Jean snickered at his discomfort. The professor remained stoic, his attention on the x-rays.
"Anyway," said Jean, continuing on. "It means she has very strong, heavy bones. This must be a secondary mutation- I mean, obviously her mutation is the feral gene, but her bone structure is . . . well, I've yet to see anything similar beyond Logan's x-rays."
Jean shrugged slightly. "Looks like you could jump off the roof of the school without breaking a bone."
Zosia raised one dainty eyebrow. "Or off of a statue?"
They hadn't stayed downstairs much longer. She had changed back into her jeans and camisole before two boys had came down- one with a badly skinned knee, and the other helping him to hop to the med lab. Storm had excused herself to go begin preparations for lunch while Scott and Jean began to tend to the injured boy. Professor Xavier rolled his chair over to where Zosia sat, rocking a now-sleeping Sari in her arms.
"Would you care to follow me, please." he said to her, his voice not a request. His eyes were still kind, looking up to her.
The feral nodded, sliding off the table. When he turned to move out the doorway, she walked along beside him. He lead her into the elevator, and up to the ground floor. She could hear now several students in the rec room past the stairs, the television on, the fooseball table being used.
Xavier's office was beside the library, and was furnished in the same rich, masculine style as the rest of the mansion. He rolled around behind his desk, and gestured to a chair in front of his desk for Zosia to sit in.
"Is this what it is like to be sent to the principal's office in school?" she murmured with a hint of amusement, taking the offered seat. Her hand reached out, running over the smooth wood of the desk. "Eric has one just like this."
The professor smiled kindly. "Zosia, my dear, I believe that we need to have a little chat." he said.
"You think I am unpredictable."
He chuckled softly. "I don't think you are- I know you are. That is just one of the aspects of your mutation. What I wanted to speak to you about is to reiterate to you that this is a school full of children- impressionable children- and I think that it would be best for them, and for you and your daughter, if they did not learn where you came from." He smiled again, resting his arms on the desktop, interlacing his fingers.
"I did not plan on announcing it to the world, mon professeur." she said casually, "But I am not ashamed of it."
"I certainly do not think that you are, but I am sure that even you know that no good could come from one of the students alerting the wrong people of your presence and your association with the Brotherhood- with your mate."
She nodded. "I will not go out of my way to make anyone aware."
"And about your mutation: we can help you learn to control it- to keep the animal urges at bay."
Snort. "I can control it." She gestured to the baby in the sling in her lap. "It will wear off in time. It is only because she is so young. I don't usually have to think about it. At least, not around my family."
"They accept you as what you are as well as who you are."
"Well, yes." A shrug. "But at the same time, they calm me. Victor feels it, too, and that is why he stayed for so long." She paused. "I apologize for my outburst downstairs. And for the machine. And the floor. . . And the elevator door." Her cheeks showed the softest hint of pink. "I can replace them."
"The elevator doors alone would be a small fortune. Don't worry about it for now, Zosia."
"Victor has purchased cigars for small fortunes." She shrugged again, non-commital.
"Has he."
"Here and there. He doesn't smoke much around me- I can't bear the smell of it." She scrunched her nose. "I don't know how he-" A very familiar smell hit her nose, and she spun around in her chair.
Standing in the doorway was a teenage girl, covered from head to toe, with chocolate eyes and dark brown hair. A long strip of white blonde hair streaked down from her forehead, framing her face. Child's pout lips were open in surprise. Her nostrils were flared the tiniest bit, and Zosia could tell that the girl, even though she was not feral, could smell her, too.
"Y-y-y . . . You!" stuttered the girl, pointing at the feral. "I know you!"
Zoe cocked her head to the side, watching her curiously. "Do you?"
"You were there! You were in the cell!"
"Marie, please come inside and shut the door behind you." said the Professor, voice calming. "We don't want the whole school to hear you."
The girl's mouth opened and shut again before she stepped inside and closed the wooden door behind her. She pointed at the feral again, looking at Charles. "She was there! She was with me in the cell! Magneto's cell!"
"I came into the cell- I wasn't imprisoned." Zoe corrected gently. "And I wasn't the only one."
"What do you mean, Marie?" asked the professor, looking from one girl to the other and back.
"Sabretooth- the green- Toad! They had me in a big bag, and they threw me into this dark room with bars!" said Marie, wide-eyed. "She came in and brought me a blanket."
A cold breeze blew in from the barred window, and she shivered down to her bones. Curling up in a ball in the corner helped, but the saltwater wind seemed to penetrate through her coat like it was made of cheesecloth. The rock ground beneath her further chilled her. She hadn't felt her fingers or toes in an hour. She wondered what time it was, hoping that dawn was soon so there were be some more light in this dark little room- hoping the sun would warm the breeze. How long had she been here? Hours. A day, maybe?
". . . she'll freeze before morning!"
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Zee! She's going to die tomorrow anyway."
"Then what does it matter?"
"It's a waste of time."
"It's my time to waste!"
A loud roar echoed in the little cell from around the corner down the hall, and she clapped her numb hands over her ears. Another followed it, then a large metal door somewhere slammed hard. A soft, female voice said something in another language, her voice annoyed.
"Hello? Are you alive in there?" the voice asked, its tone gentle. Rogue gasped, skittering back across the cold stone floor to get away. It was right next to the bars! "Don't be afraid, little one." The girl looked up into the dark eyes of another teenager- this one dressed in a layered red satin camisole over black leggings. Her auburn hair fell in soft curls around her shoulders, tucked back behind her ears. She held the bars in her hands- each tipped with five sharp cat's claws. "I'm not here to hurt you, my dear."
Rogue looked from the professor to the feral, squinting at Zosia. Her eyebrows drew together.
They were walking down a long hallway of jail cells, each containing one prisoner. The Colonel stopped in front of one cell at the end of the hall, and gestured to the mutant inside it. When he caught up to the Colonel, he peered in.
A messy mop of curly red hair crowned her head, the black eyes peering out at him from her crouched position on the floor. White fangs glinted under the lights, peeking from between full lips. They had her dressed in rags that barely covered her, and were torn and bloodied in places. She reached up and wiped her forehead with a hand that had cat's claws, delicate but deadly-sharp.
Just like Victor's.
"And this one?" he asked.
"Went wild-" answered the Colonel. "-killed her whole village, women, children, and all. Been wandering alone for years before we tracked her down, slaughtering a farmer's flock of sheep. We keep her locked up for her own safety, as well as our's."
Save for the claws, she certainly didn't look like she could kill a fly, let alone a whole village. He studied her closer, and she backed away from him, eyeing him warily from the back wall of her cell. "A whole village, huh?"
"She may not seem it, but she's very good at what she does. Some ferals are just more wild than others. You, of all people, should understand."
"You were there!" Rogue's expression changed to one of interest and excitement, cutting over to the feral. "You were there with him! Did you know Logan? Were you tortured, too? Do you remember?"
The feral scowled. "Remember what?"
"Logan!" She looked to the professor. "I have him still- inside my head. He has seen her before. She was there when he was."
"Was where?" asked the Professor.
" . . . I don't remember." Her face fell. "But Logan was there, and there were soldiers and this long hallway of jail cells. And he was there, walking, and saw her."
"Jail cells?" Zosia's scowl deepened. "Soldiers?"
"I see." Charles said softly, smiling to himself again. "You are seeing his memories. And he knew Zosia at one time?"
"Well, he kind of met her. But that's it, I think. His memories are so disjointed- and they mix in and out with all the others." she looked back down to Zosia. "Do you remember him?"
"The Wolverine?" asked the feral.
The teen nodded.
"I do not remember anything past about four years ago." the feral answered, shaking her head. "I only know of him now because of Victor."
"Victor . . . Sabretooth." It was Rogue's turn to scowl. "You are his mate, aren't you. You had a baby with him?"
"How do you know . . ?" Zosia was confused and didn't like it.
"Whenever Rogue touches someone, she absorbs a little piece of them into her." Xavier explained. "Memories, mostly, though sometimes she takes on certain character traits." Rogue blushed. "With mutants, she absorbs their powers as well. Rogue has touched Logan several times- nearly killing him. She has also come into contact with Erik."
"So you remember me through them." Zoe shook her head with a small smile. "You were inside another feral's head? You poor child." She laughed lightly, smiling.
"You did have a baby, didn't you? I'm right, aren't I? You and Victor were like married- Erik-er, Magneto- didn't like it."
"He never did approve, I suppose." shrugged Zosia. "But I did have Victor's cub, yes. That is why I wasn't at the Statue with the others- they left me out of it to protect me."
"What happened to it? The baby?"
Zosia crossed her arms under the sling, lifting it enough to reveal the baby inside the soft furs. "She's fine, petite fille."
Rogue's eyes closed.
She could hear someone crouch beside her, and the sweet smell of wind and rain filled her nose. A soft, furry blanket was draped around Rogue's shoulders. Instantly she felt warmer, pulling it tighter around her. A second one, covered the first before a the small hand gently cupped one of Rogue's gloved ones. A little round object was placed into it, and she could feel the person standing up and backing away.
"An apple. Not much, but it is better than nothing. Try to sleep, my dear. It will be over soon." The cell door opened and shut again, and the lock clicked.
". . . Thank you." Rogue mumbled, covering her legs with the second fur blanket.
"Bonne nuit, petite fille."
The skunk-haired girl opened her eyes again, stepping up closer to the feral. Her nostrils flared again, and she took in a deep breath. "You even smell the same way- like rain." she said. "Storm smells like rain, too- like a thunderstorm is coming."
Charles smiled again, amused. "Rogue has kept quite a few feral traits from Logan- sense of smell being one of them."
Zosia mirrored his expression, studying the girl in front of her. Where she had seemed scared a moment ago, now she was at ease, curiously reveling in a validated memory. She didn't look much like the poor, scared creature she had been at the lair, shivering in the cold cell Warts had tossed her in, but there was something to her scent that the feral couldn't quite put her finger on. It was something needy, perhaps, like the poor girl was lacking somewhere.
Before she could open her mouth to inquire further, Ororo opened the office door and stuck her head in. "Lunch is ready- the children are filing in now." she said with a smile. "Rogue, Jubilation and Bobby are looking for you."
"Thanks, Miss Monroe." said the teen, turning to follow the weather witch out into the hallway.
"Rogue." The professor said, watching her pause. "Including Jubilation and Bobby, I need you to promise to keep Zosia's past a secret. It wouldn't be good for any other students to know where she came from, or who Sari's father is. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir." she nodded. "I'll take it to my grave." She turned smiled, slipping from the room.
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The Lady Mage