Chapter 8

"He's met someone. I just know it." Kitty stormed around the bedroom while Paige and Jubilee just gave her odd looks. Earlier that evening, the group had returned to the mansion, loaded will souvenirs and stories from their trip into the city. "I mean," Kitty said, continuing, "He didn't flirt with anyone on the way back. All those girls, fighting over who gets to sit near him and he didn't look at them once."

"Kitty," Jubilee said, grabbing her friend's shoulders and shaking them. "Chill. Maybe he was, like, constipated or something."

Kitty ignored Jubilee, shrugging her arms off. "I mean, I'm not completely unattractive, so why won't he just look at me and say 'Kitty, you're the one for me.' Is that so hard?" Paige fought back a snicker while Jubilee just rolled her eyes.

"Look, babe," Jubilee said, dropping an arm around Kitty's shoulder, "Remy's an older guy. He's suave and sophisticated, so he's not exactly looking for the living embodiment of a Gap teen, you see what I'm saying?" Jubilee gestured to Kitty's clothes. "If you want to land a man like that, you need to convince him that you're a cosmopolitan chica."

Paige laughed. "An' ah suppose ya know all about bein' worldly, eh Jubilee?"

Jubilee pushed on her sunglasses and flipped her glossy black hair. "I'm from California, hayseed, we're all about cosmopolitan." Paige shrugged, biting back a giggle, and turned back to her book. "Anyway," Jubilee continued, "What we need to do is take you from Kitty Pryde, computer geek extraordinaire, to Kitty Pryde, babe of the X-Mansion. When I'm done with you, even Miss Perfect Monet St. Croix won't have nothing on you."

-----

For as long as he could remember, Logan had fought back his berserker instinct that pushed him, tempting him to lash out in violent ways against whoever was nearby. For a while, he released his anger in bar fighting matches, which also served as an excellent means of picking up a paycheck. Westchester County, however, wasn't exactly brimming with seedy bars that delved into the fight business. Since moving into the mansion, his berserker instinct was on overdrive.

"Meditation?" He snorted when Jean had brought up the idea. "What, are you crazy?"

"Scott and I took some lessons a couple years back," she'd told him. "Scott still practices sometimes when he's under a lot of stress."

"I'm not into that New Age stuff," Logan had said, snickering slightly at the image of Scott doing meditation. "Besides, all that incense would drive my senses crazy."

"You don't need incense or candles. Look, I have some books I can lend you. Just give it a shot?"

So here he was, contacting his inner child all because Jeannie batted her eyes and told him it was good for him. "Women," he muttered as he sat down on his mat.

At first, Logan found it difficult to concentrate, often getting distracted by thoughts he'd rather not make public. As he got more into it though, he found a sense of calm wash over him, brushing away any anger he'd been holding on to. Before he realized it, Logan had spent nearly two hours, just sitting there and meditating.

He left his room in a near euphoric state. He didn't even growl when Jubilee, upon seeing him leave his room bare-chested and in low-slung pants, let out a shrill whistle and called out things that would make Remy blush.

"How'd it go?" Jean asked him when he walked into the kitchen. Logan just grunted and reached for a bowl of cereal, unwilling to confess that he'd enjoyed the time. "Well, if you want to do it again, she said, "Ororo can probably help you out with it more than I can. I honestly don't know much about it."

"Where is Ororo anyway?" Logan asked.

"The Professor called her in his office for a meeting this morning. He was really secretive about it. Whatever it is, I'm sure we'll find out soon enough."

-----

The sound of many voices greeted Rogue as she entered the apartment. "Ah'm back," she called into the apartment.

"Oh good," Mystique said, walking into the hallway. "There are some people I want you to meet. Follow me."

Standing in the living room of the apartment were two men Rogue didn't recognize. "Rogue, I want you to meet a couple people. This is Fred Dukes, known as the Blob." Mystique gestured to a tall, obese man, who paid little attention. "And this," she continued, turning her hand to a young white-haired man who was talking to St. John, "is Pietro Maximoff, known as Quicksilver. Gentlemen, this is Rogue." Pietro flashed a smug grin at Rogue, eliciting an amused smile from her. "I've asked them to join us for dinner."

Rogue looked curiously at Mystique, wondering what her interest in these two men were, but Mystique politely ignored her. "I believe Irene is waiting for us in the dining room," she said, walking towards the door. "Won't you all join us?"

-----

"Come in, Ororo." The windrider walked calmly into the Professor's office, taking a seat in one of the plush seats that adored his office. Though she maintained a tranquil air, the Professor could sense her curiosity threatening to bubble over.

"I know you've been eager to take over more responsibilities in the mansion," he said, noticing her subtle shift forward, a sign of her intrigue. "I've considered it and I believe you are ready to take more of a leadership role in training."

Confusion registered on her face. "Have you spoken with Scott about this?" The Professor smiled slightly at her reaction.

"You've misunderstood. I am not removing Scott as team leader." He leaned forward in his wheelchair, pressing his elbows down on his desk. "As you might know, we have several students who're keen on the idea of joining the X-Men upon their graduation. Their combat powers, however, are woefully underdeveloped. This is where you come in. I want you to head a training program, targeted at teaching the future X-Men how to use their powers in a combat situation. You will be responsible for overseeing every aspect of their development. It is a difficult job, and will be stressful to keep up in addition with your duties to the X-Men. However, I believe you can do it."

Words couldn't express the honor Ororo felt at being presented with the opportunity to train the next generation of X-Men. Since leaving Kenya, Ororo had missed being a leader. While she did enjoy being with the X-Men, she always harbored a secret desire to lead them. Scott, however, had seniority over her, and thus the job had always fallen to him. Now, however, she would not only have the chance to lead a team of her own, but to raise a generation of X-Men who had the potential to be greater than their predecessors.

"Who are you selecting for this program?" Ororo asked, curiously.

"I haven't made the final selections yet," the Professor admitted, leaning back in his chair. "I don't want to put anyone younger than 15 in the program, although I may make exceptions in certain cases. I'm going to inform the other instructors today at our meeting. We'll let each of them make a couple recommendations for the team. From that pool, we'll select our candidates."

-----

The amount of food set on the table shocked Rogue upon entering the kitchen, but upon seeing what Fred was able to put away, she understood why Mystique had gone all out. St. John was mesmerized by the corpulent man's eating patterns.

Pietro, on the other hand, was so busy talking that he barely touched his food. It seemed to Rogue that the boy could talk a mile a minute, especially when it was about himself. Still, his offbeat sense of humor amused Rogue, keeping her in stitches for the entire meal. Throughout dinner, he continued cracking jokes at Fred's expense, but the larger man just shrugged it off and returned to his food.

Through the dinner table discussion, Rogue found out that both of these new men were, in fact, mutants. Fred, aside from being extremely strong, was also virtually unmovable thanks to his mass. Pietro, on the other hand, could move at extremely fast speeds, accounting for his inability to stay still.

Mystique's interest in these two boys aroused Rogue's curiosity, making her somewhat suspicious. St. John, at least, seemed to think nothing was amiss, although he was probably happy to have company. Since leaving the mansion, Rogue and St. John had encountered few people save Mystique, Irene, and that strange boy at the record store. Pietro and Mystique spoke with a familiarity that suggested they had known each other for some time, while Fred seemed perfectly content to ignore everyone.

It wasn't long before Rogue realized that the dinner was less a social gathering and more of a recruitment dinner. Mystique and Pietro prattled on endlessly about their political ideologies, of which they seemed to agree on. Neither of them particularly cared for the human race; In fact, both seemed to hold a deep seated aversion to humans in particular.

Rogue turned to St. John to see if he was as horrified by their conversations as she was, but to her surprise, he seemed thoroughly engrossed in the conversation, even nodding along at some things Pietro said. With some anger, Rogue stood abruptly and stormed out of the kitchen.

A few moments later, Mystique stormed after Rogue, anger painted across her face. "That was extremely rude, child."

"Ah'm so sorry ah disrupted your little terrorist reunion," Rogue spat, "but ah'm not too keen on listenin' to y'all plot the murder of innocents."

"You are a child," Mystique countered, silencing Rogue. "You think you understand how things work? You know nothing. You are a small-town girl who cries when things don't go your way. You are selfish and rude. You condemn my beliefs, yet you don't have any of your own. How dare you."

The stare-down lasted a good couple of minutes before Rogue broke it off by turning away and storming to her room. "Worse than mah own Momma," she muttered, leaving Mystique behind.

-----

Logan's senses picked up on the strong odor of perfume before she entered the dining hall. Jean, noticing his crinkled nose, glanced at him curiously. "The hell," he muttered, turning towards the open door.

Jubilee's signature was practically all over it. Kitty, wobbling unsurely in the uncomfortable shoes, carried her tray into the dining hall, occasionally dropping a hand down to make sure her skirt wasn't riding up. Kitty, who typically preferred comfortable khakis and cardigans, was dressed up in some of Jubilee's more scandalous clothing, her typically natural make-up replaced with daring red lipstick and sparkly eyeshadow.

Paige and Bobby, sitting at their table, nearly choked on their sandwiches, while Jubilee just looked proud of herself, flashing Kitty a thumbs up. Remy, the inspiration, sat at a table in the corner with Lorna.

"What do you think you're doing," Bobby asked, hurrying up to meet Kitty. Shifting her weight between her feet, she looked at him awkwardly.

"I felt like getting dressed up," she replied, shrugging her shoulders slightly. "Jubilee thought this clothing might look cool on me."

"Jubilee," he said pointedly, "Runs around in a bright yellow jacket. You look like her little doll."

"I don't expect you to understand," Kitty said. "Sometimes a girl just wants to get dressed up."

"And if you were going out, I wouldn't bat an eye," he said. "You look like you're heading to a nightclub. Aren't you uncomfortable?"

"You know what, Bobby?" she said masking her embarrassment by plastering a look of contempt on her face. "I didn't laugh at you when you turned into a freaking ice cube." Immediately, Kitty regretted the words she'd just spoken. Bobby attempted to hide his hurt, failing miserably as the emotion became visibly apparent across his face. "I didn't mean that," she said apologetically.

"Hey, it's okay," he said, mustering up a smile. "You know me. I can take a joke. I just don't want you to embarrass yourself or anything."

"I know," she said. "It's just... I need to try something different. Plain old Kitty Pryde isn't ever going to get Remy to look at her."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Remy. Figures. OW!" he said, rubbing his side and glaring at Jubilee, who'd just elbowed him.

"Be supportive," she commanded. Then, turning her attention to Kitty, remarked. "You look great, girl. What are you waiting for? Head over."

Nervously, Kitty made her way over to Remy's table, giving glances back to Bobby and Jubilee, who watched her approach. She stood beside the table for a minute, hesitant to make her presence known. Before she'd said anything, however, Remy spoke. "Sit down, petite, 'less y' want t' eat standin' up."

She took her seat at their table silently. Remy gave her a friendly smile before turning back to his food, while Lorna barely registered recognition. The green-haired teacher kept her eyes on the macaroni in front of her, pushing it absent-mindedly with her fork. "Don' mind 'er," Remy told Kitty. "Lorna jus' in awe of Remy LeBeau, de living Apollo, non?"

If Lorna heard his comment, she made no sign. Remy sighed resignedly. "She been like dat all day. Don' t'ink she hear a word anyone says."

Silently, Lorna stood, leaving her tray where it sat. Rolling a small metal object over and over in her hand, she exited the cafeteria, heading off to God knows where. Silently, Remy watched her leave before turning back to Kitty. "Never understand de femmes. Don' ever grow up, lil' Kitty."

"I'm practically a woman already, Remy," Kitty said softly. "I'm already 17 years old."

Remy shrugged. "What is 17? De purgatory, non? Not girl, not woman. Jus' seventeen." He was quiet for a moment before flashing a smile again. "I was runnin' from de law a year ago, when I was 17. Been grown since I was a petit. Adulthood? Not worth it."

Quietly, Remy glanced over Kitty's outfit, taking her in with his red-on-black eyes. "Why y' so desperate t' grow up, cherie? Enjoy de youth. Sweet kid like y' don' need t' be growin' up so soon."

She tried her best to mask the hurt on her face. Was that all she was? Some silly child with a crush? She looked at him, but he had already turned back to his food, something obviously weighing on his mind. Never had she felt so foolish, prancing around, changing herself, all to attract some guy who thought she was a 'sweet kid?'

Muttering a lame excuse about having to finish homework, Kitty left the table, depositing her tray on the tray racks. She left the mansion, walking outside to a tree far from the house, where she could be left alone.

A couple minutes after she sat down though, Bobby approached her. "You do look really nice," he told her, shuffling his feet in the dirt. She looked up at him, then scooted over so he could take a seat. "Look, don't worry about that arrogant Cajun," Bobby said. "I don't know what he said, but whatever it was, he doesn't know you like the rest of us do."

"But what if he was right?" She turned, meeting his ice-blue eyes with her own chocolate brown ones. "What if I am just some silly child playing dress-up?"

"And so what?" Bobby asked. "You're human, you're allowed your moments, like anyone else."

They were both silent, sitting there under the tree. Kitty picked the little blades of grass, while Bobby kept his eyes fixed on a spot in the sky. "You do look nice though," he repeated quietly.

-----

"I must admit, this visit is somewhat of a pleasant surprise," Magneto said, resting his fingertips on the black rook. Sitting before him was Rogue, nervously fingering the chess pieces set out before them. She said nothing, only glancing at him defiantly before making her move.

"It's not wholly unexpected," he said, eliciting a sharp look from Rogue. "It's only natural that someone your age questions their belief structure," he continued. "Charles, in his misguided attempts to pacify the world, has taught you to be submissive to humans, to go out of your way to be like them. It's no wonder so many mutants are ashamed of what they are."

"Ah'm not ashamed," Rogue said curtly.

"You aren't?" he asked her, letting his piercing eyes meet hers. Rogue wanted to squirm under his thoughtful glance, but refused to let him know he'd gotten to her. Magneto smirked slightly, the corners of his lips turning up in a patronizing grin. "Most of us have wished for normality, only to find that it is denied us. Those of us with strength of will and character learn to reject the system that would teach us to hide our gifts. Others, like our poor friend Charles, will always have something to hide."

"The Professor has nothin' to hide," Rogue said, rather noncommittally.

"And yet he would keep his identity a secret from the world. Make no mistake child, attractive as his creed may be, Charles is not above being human. That, in the end, will prove his downfall. Humans have had their run of the world for thousands of years, and they have done nothing but murder and hate their own kind. If they cannot respect their own lives, how will they ever respect ours. God has given us, homo superior, these gifts so that we, unlike our human ancestors, will live up to our true potential. We shall have rule of the world now, not them."

Rogue was silent, as Magneto surveyed her curiously, judging her reaction much the way a lion watches from its pen. "You don't agree with me," he said, making his move.

"No," she said, after a moment. "I think I do. I'm just not sure I agree with your means."

"Freedom is never pretty," he replied. "An animal, when threatened, will fight back against its tormentor with all its might. This is the natural order of things. Leave others to their pretty ideologies. Words never won any wars."

"There's not much you can do in here." Her statement wasn't accusing, just thoughtful.

"We all have our prisons that keep us separate from the world," he said, glancing at her gloved hands. Uncomfortably, she pulled them in her lap, attempting to block out his statement. "The only thing that matters," he continued, "Is whether we sit as willing prisoners, feigning happiness in our captivity, or if we use our confinement as a way of gathering our senses, teaching us strength."

With a quick movement of his hand, Magneto placed Rogue's king in checkmate. "This round goes to me," he said. "Perhaps Mystique can teach you some simple strategies for next time."

Silently, and without meeting his eye, Rogue stood and gathered her things. With a last parting glance, she left the cell quietly, Magneto's eyes never leaving hers.

-----

Remy's thief training alerted him to the fact that someone had been in his room while he was away. Drawing a couple cards from his pocket, he slowly entered his room, half-expecting an ambush.

The room was empty.

After a moment, he dropped the cards back into his trenchcoat and began surveying the room. What had been tampered with? After a quick sweep around his meticulously neat room, he was able to ascertain that none of his boxes, files, nor his closet, had been opened. In fact, it almost appeared that his room had been completely untouched.

A glint of silver on his desk caught his eye. Striding over, Remy picked up the tiny silver angel, recognizing it as the charm Lorna had been fidgeting with for a while now.

Quickly, almost frantically, he rushed to her room, all the while sensing that he would not like what he found.

Her room had been emptied, not a trace of her personal belongings left behind. The closet was barren, only a few solitary hangers swinging on the bar. True, Lorna never kept many belongings to begin with, but it was shocking even to Remy that she could remove everything without anyone noticing.

Some scratches on the bedpost grabbed Remy's attention. Drawing closer, he was able to make out a solitary word etched into the wood. Malice.

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