sometimes, i just want to write cracky humor.
Title: Altruism
Author: andromeda3116/cupid-painted-blind
Rating: Low T, for mild cursing
Genre: Humor
Characters/Pairings: Rogue, Emma, Kitty, Jean, cameo from Scott; allusions to Rogue/Remy, Scott/Emma, and Jean/Scott, but nothing major
Summary: Rogue discovers, the hard way, that Emma Frost's definition of "altruism" differs greatly from her own.
Notes: Sometimes, I just want to write cracky humor. I apologize in advance. This obviously takes place in a world where Emma Frost is a member of the X-Men after the events of Evolution.
Rogue discovers, the hard way, that Emma Frost's definition of "altruism" differs greatly from her own.
It happens because of something the Professor suggests to Emma, something along the lines of "try to reach out to the other girls, do something nice for them. They're a very good group of people, you'll see." Which led to Emma choosing Rogue to inflict her altruism on.
She learns about it when she steps out of the shower to find all of her clothes missing, and an envelope of money sitting on her bed. That prickly sense that she gets sometimes, what she mentally calls her oh shit meter, rises in the back of her mind. Something bad has happened. Something very bad. And it involves her clothes, and the money.
"Kitty?" she asks tentatively, glancing around the room. Her roommate is nowhere to be found. Instead, a voice outside her door answers.
"Kitty is at breakfast," the haughty -- already unwanted -- voice of Emma Frost tells her. The door opens a fraction, and a pile of folded clothes is handed through the crack. "Put these on. We're going shopping."
"Shopping," Rogue repeats, horror creeping up her spine. "Emma, where are my clothes?"
"I sold them," Emma replies matter-of-factly. "I left the money on your bed. You should be grateful, they were an affront to fashion anyway."
"What. You -- you sold my clothes?" she splutters, and the hand holding the pile of what she now recognizes as Emma's clothing moves up and down, taunting her.
"I did. And you and I are going shopping for new clothes, now. Don't worry about the money, I'll buy."
It's around here that Rogue realizes that this is Emma's version of being nice. She wants to lunge through the door and throttle the blonde woman, but decides not to, if only because she's wearing nothing more than a towel, and killing someone while naked just seems like a bad idea. For a moment, she entertains the thought of wearing Kitty's clothes instead of Emma's, but then she remembers that Kitty is considerably smaller than her in several important places, and her clothes simply won't fit.
"To hell with that," she snarls, grabbing the money and searching, again, for a shirt or a pair of pants or something to put on instead of a towel. "I'm gonna go buy my clothes back. Where did you sell them?"
"No, you aren't," Emma trills, and then sighs. "Take the clothing already, and put it on. The underwear is new, and it should fit you."
Seething, Rogue takes the pile of clothing, and the door snaps shut. She glares at it violently, and even moreso when she sees that Emma has given her a pair of stretchy pants, the sort that leave nothing to the imagination, and a top that she's sure is several sizes too small, but at least has sleeves. And a thong. That's probably the worst part, to Rogue.
"I can't wear this," she cries desperately. "I can't -- I'll kill someone in this," she says, thinking on her feet.
"Oh! I forgot," Emma says, and the door opens. She hands a pair of wrist-length gloves through the crack in the door. Rogue takes them numbly.
They're silk.
"That ain't what I meant," she growls, but Emma ignores her. Without any other option readily available, she puts on Emma's clothes and walks out of the room, scowling. Emma looks her over critically.
"Hmm, white isn't really your color," she says, tapping her chin. "A bright red, maybe."
"I like green," she replies through gritted teeth, but Emma waves her off.
"Green makes you look sick. When you have a little more color in your skin, maybe." Emma nods, and smiles thinly, like she's doing some great act of kindness. "Now, let's get to the mall. I'd really rather go somewhere more upscale, but we'll have to save that for a day trip to the city."
"I am not going shopping with you," she hisses. "And I'm sure as hell not going shopping in this. I'm gonna get my clothes back from wherever the hell you sold them all to."
"No, you're not," Emma says matter-of-factly.
"And why is that?" she snaps. Emma smiles.
"If you do, I'll tell everyone about that dream you had the other night, about a certain Acolyte..."
Rogue turns brilliant red. Oh, God, that's mortifying just to think about. "It was a dream! You can't -- I can't control my dreams! That doesn't mean -- you can't just -- " she splutters, and Emma simply takes her by the arm and pulls her along. "I can't believe you're doing this to me," she moans, and Emma gives a long-suffering sigh.
"I'm doing you a favor, Rogue. How long have you been wearing those ratty clothes? No, it's certainly time for a change in your attire, and I'm even willing to pay for it. Honestly, you should be thanking me."
She gapes at her.
--
"Here," Emma barks, "try this on."
A dress flies over the top of the changing room door and hits Rogue in the face, except, on closer inspection, she finds that it's not actually a dress -- it's a negligee. "No way," she snaps, tossing it back over the door. "No point in it."
"At some point, Rogue," Emma replies, tossing the offending garment back into the changing room, "you're going to have control of your power. And at any rate, it's a law. Every young woman must have at least one sexy nightdress."
"In what state?" she snarls, already threadbare patience running thin. "'Cause I don't remember that in government class."
"It's female law, Rogue. They don't teach it in class," she adds, like the very thought is covered in poison.
"There's no point in stuff like this," she cries. "I can't touch anyone! It's just frustrating!"
At this, Emma sighs heavily and opens the door. Rogue cries out and tries to cover herself, but Emma just rolls her eyes and shuts the door behind her. "Listen to me," she says in a low voice, "because this is very important: sexuality is power."
"I can't have sex, Emma," Rogue hisses, and Emma shakes her head.
"I didn't say sex. I said sexuality. Make yourself desirable, and men will flock to you. Make yourself unattainable, and they'll eat out of your hand. You have a rare opportunity. You're the ultimate untouchable woman, and believe me, men have noticed. They want you, but they can't have you, and that makes them want you more."
"So I'm a natural tease," she says sarcastically. "That doesn't mean I have some magic power over them."
"Rogue," Emma says seriously. "You have all the power in all of your relationships with men. All you have to do," she continues, handing over the negligee, "is harness that power. The thing you have to understand about men is this: they want what they can't have -- and if someone wants you, they will do whatever you ask of them."
Rogue blinks. "That's... really cynical."
"No," Emma replies off-hand, "merely realistic. If you could see what they think about doing to you, you would understand." She recoils physically from the thought of other men fantasizing about her, and Emma sighs. "It's things like that. Don't shy away from your sexuality. Own it. You're an extremely beautiful young woman, who happens to be absolutely unattainable. Accept it. Soon, you'll learn to love it. No one can hurt you if they can't touch you. And I mean that in every sense of the word," she adds. "Physically, and emotionally. If you have control over your relationships, you'll never have your heart broken."
It all sounds very... arrogant to Rogue, arrogant and cruel. Part of her still longs for the prince on a white steed. Emma sees straight through her. "Give up on that dream," she says flippantly. "Men aren't princes, and they're not out to rescue you from the tower. If you let them, they'll crawl all over you to get what they want. My advice to you is, don't let them. And that starts," she explains, holding up the slinky piece of clothing, "with what you wear and how you carry yourself."
She realizes that Emma is being deathly sincere. She's actually trying to help Rogue, in her own way. "Why are you telling me this?" she asks, uncertainly taking the negligee. Emma leans against the wall.
"Because you need to hear it," she says simply. "Because you're setting yourself up for a nasty fall. I'm trying to help you."
She doesn't need to ask what Emma is referring to; privately, she's thought much the same thing. But she isn't sure that this is the way to make things better. "Isn't love about taking risks, though?"
"Love is a fairytale," Emma says grimly. "Don't be blind."
--
By the time she gets back to the mansion, something like ten hours have passed, and she has a whole new wardrobe of Emma-approved clothing. She also has a whole bag of new makeup, every intention of throwing said bag out the window, and the mother of all headaches.
Emma leaves her at the car, to struggle with her overflowing bags of clothing, shoes, and hair and makeup supplies, and she genuinely, honestly considers dropping everything and lunging for the woman's throat, but then Kitty comes outside, bewildered, apparently to help her, and this soothes her bad mood somewhat.
"We all thought you had left!" Kitty cries. "What have you -- were you shopping? Without me?"
"I didn't exactly have a choice in the matter," she grumbles, tossing a bag or seven to Kitty. "Help me get this inside."
"What -- how -- I don't -- " her roommate splutters, and Rogue glares.
"She sold all of my clothes," she says bluntly, "and then blackmailed me into shopping with her. Help me get this to the room, and then help me murder her, okay?"
"Is this Emma's idea of being nice?" Kitty asks, peeking into one of the bags. "At least she has good taste."
Rogue's eye twitches. She slams the trunk shut with a little more force than is strictly necessary. "I think it is," she replies, sighing. "If she had just asked -- I got out of the shower and I didn't have any clothes," she snarls, trudging up the steps and almost falling over when the smell of sulfur and smoke hits her in the face.
"You came back!" Kurt shouts, elated. "When Kitty said all of your clothes were gone, we thought you had left us!"
"Yeah, yeah, I got that the first time," she mutters, shoving a few bags into her brother's arms. "Emma made me go shopping with her."
"You went shopping willingly?" he asks, aghast, and she glares.
"No, not willingly."
Kitty makes a strange sound behind her, but by the time she turns to see why, her roommate is biting her lip, trying (and failing) to hide a smile, while hastily pushing something into one of the bags. "Let'sgetthisstuffinside," she squeals, and bolts into the mansion.
When they get to the room, she finds out why. Kitty shoves Kurt out of the room with a hasty and insincere thanks, and then turns to the bags, rifling through them until she finds what's she's looking for. It's that damn negligee. "What is this?" Kitty cries, grinning and shaking it at her. "You bought a negligee?"
"I did not!" she shrieks. "I put it back! Emma!" she yells, at the top of her voice, no longer caring that half the institute can hear her. Emma does not heed her shouting. Jean, however, does.
"Is everything all right?" she asks uncertainly, opening the door like she's afraid she'll get hit in the face with lava. Her eyes land on the negligee, and go wide. "Kitty, is that yours?"
"It's Rogue's!" Kitty cries, with what can only be called a cackle. "She and Emma went shopping!"
Something crosses over Jean's face at the mention of Emma, and it's not hard to guess why. (Emma has been more than a little friendly with Scott lately, and Jean's patience is fast running out.) She walks into the room and glances sideways at Rogue. "Is there... something I should know?" she asks hesitantly, and Rogue seethes.
"No," she growls. "I told her I didn't want it. I told her there was no point in it. I told her not to buy it!" she screams, her voice rising a full octave with each sentence. Scott is the next person to come by, wondering what all the commotion is about. Unlike Jean, he doesn't open the door.
"What's going on in there?" he demands. "I heard you screaming from the boy's wing."
"Everything is fine!" Rogue cries, about three inches away from full-on hysteria. "I'm going to kill Emma Frost!"
"Um," Scott replies dumbly. "Um."
"It's all right, Rogue," Jean says soothingly, tugging the negligee from the still-cackling Kitty and pushing it into the bag it came from. "Tomorrow, we'll take it back, and we won't tell Emma, okay?"
Rogue takes several deep breaths, and then nods. "Okay. That sounds great."
"She also got you a bunch of panties," Kitty reports, taking another bag and looking through it. "Really, really sexy panties. Is it bad form to borrow someone else's underwear?"
"Do I want to know what's happening?" Scott asks, and Kitty turns red, realizing belatedly that he's still listening at the door.
"Emma took Rogue shopping," Jean explains, still in that same soothing tone, as though she's terrified that Rogue is about to go on a homicidal rampage. Rogue is quite sure that she's right to worry. "And. She bought some things that Rogue doesn't approve of, that's all."
"Oh," Scott says, and then again, in a tone of great and terrible realization, "Oh. I'm -- I'm gonna go now. You should -- you should keep it down," he stammers, taking refuge in his position of leadership. "You're waking up the whole manor. I mean," he says, and they can practically hear him wincing; it's only seven in the evening, and no one is asleep. "You know what I mean," he cries desperately, and then leaves.
"Well, that was adorable," Kitty says, snickering. "I wish I could have seen his face."
Jean laughs, and Rogue even manages to smile. "So," Jean starts, bolstered by Rogue's smiling -- if she's smiling, it means that she probably isn't going to kill everyone. "Why did Emma think you needed a... this?" she asks, looking at the negligee.
"Something about power in sexuality and making men eat out of my hand," she replies, dumping a bag of clothes onto her bed and beginning to fold them haphazardly. "She has issues with men, in case you didn't know."
"Well, yeah," Kitty says, taking another bag and doing the same thing on her own bed. "So, she thinks you should become a ball-buster?"
"Not.. not really," Rogue begins hesitantly, trying to remember everything that Emma said. "She thinks that, 'cause no one can touch me, it means that all the guys want me and that means that I have all the power in all my relationships with men. And that I should use it to control them, or something. It was really cynical," she adds, shrugging. "I don't think every guy is that shallow."
"Some are," Jean says apologetically. Kitty turns from the bed and looks at them.
"We're all thinking of the same person, aren't we?"
Jean and Rogue both look at her, then say at the same time, "Gambit." Kitty winces.
"Yeah..."
"Well," Jean starts, biting her lip and looking worriedly at Rogue. "I mean. He might not. He could. I mean." She takes a deep breath. "I'm making it worse, aren't I?"
"I get it," Rogue mutters, rolling her eyes. "Don't worry, I'm not stupid enough to get involved with him," she lies, thinking privately that yes, yes she is that stupid. Jean probably sees through her, but is kind enough to let it go.
"So," Kitty says, drawing out the o and pursing her lips, "how's this sound? Tomorrow, we'll, like, go shopping for some clothes that you'll actually wear? Emma's got good enough taste, but all of this pretty much screams her name, and it's not really you, you know?"
"Nice way to change the subject," Rogue replies dryly, but nods anyway. "That sounds fine. I can use the money she got for selling all my old clothes."
"She sold your clothes?" Jean repeats, aghast, and both Rogue and Kitty nod.
"That's why I was so freaked out," Kitty explains. "I thought she'd, like, left, since all her clothes were gone. So, see, you kinda owe me anyway," she says brightly, grinning at Rogue. "We have to go shopping, 'cause you really scared me today. I thought I was gonna have to get a new roommate."
Rogue laughs, feeling better than she has all day. Her clothes were getting pretty old, anyway. "You wanna come with us, Jean?" she asks, even though she and Jean have never exactly been friends; this might be a good way to get to know the other girl. A girl's shopping day with Jean and Kitty, and maybe she'll invite Jubilee or Tabitha, because they'd enjoy it. It doesn't sound half-bad. She thinks that maybe she's delirious from the long day with Emma. Her brain is shutting down, dealing with the trauma the only way it knows how, by giving in to it. Yes, that's it. "It could be fun."
Jean beams, obviously having not expected to be invited. "That sounds wonderful, Rogue. I'd love to."
"So it's settled!" Kitty cries happily. "Who else should we invite? Ooh, Tabby would love it, don't you think? And Jubes is always in for shopping, and maybe we should drag Kurt along so he can, like, hold all our bags? This is gonna be so much fun!"
And for once in her life, Rogue actually kind of agrees.
--
The next morning, she really hates herself.
Author: andromeda3116/cupid-painted-blind
Rating: Low T, for mild cursing
Genre: Humor
Characters/Pairings: Rogue, Emma, Kitty, Jean, cameo from Scott; allusions to Rogue/Remy, Scott/Emma, and Jean/Scott, but nothing major
Summary: Rogue discovers, the hard way, that Emma Frost's definition of "altruism" differs greatly from her own.
Notes: Sometimes, I just want to write cracky humor. I apologize in advance. This obviously takes place in a world where Emma Frost is a member of the X-Men after the events of Evolution.
Rogue discovers, the hard way, that Emma Frost's definition of "altruism" differs greatly from her own.
It happens because of something the Professor suggests to Emma, something along the lines of "try to reach out to the other girls, do something nice for them. They're a very good group of people, you'll see." Which led to Emma choosing Rogue to inflict her altruism on.
She learns about it when she steps out of the shower to find all of her clothes missing, and an envelope of money sitting on her bed. That prickly sense that she gets sometimes, what she mentally calls her oh shit meter, rises in the back of her mind. Something bad has happened. Something very bad. And it involves her clothes, and the money.
"Kitty?" she asks tentatively, glancing around the room. Her roommate is nowhere to be found. Instead, a voice outside her door answers.
"Kitty is at breakfast," the haughty -- already unwanted -- voice of Emma Frost tells her. The door opens a fraction, and a pile of folded clothes is handed through the crack. "Put these on. We're going shopping."
"Shopping," Rogue repeats, horror creeping up her spine. "Emma, where are my clothes?"
"I sold them," Emma replies matter-of-factly. "I left the money on your bed. You should be grateful, they were an affront to fashion anyway."
"What. You -- you sold my clothes?" she splutters, and the hand holding the pile of what she now recognizes as Emma's clothing moves up and down, taunting her.
"I did. And you and I are going shopping for new clothes, now. Don't worry about the money, I'll buy."
It's around here that Rogue realizes that this is Emma's version of being nice. She wants to lunge through the door and throttle the blonde woman, but decides not to, if only because she's wearing nothing more than a towel, and killing someone while naked just seems like a bad idea. For a moment, she entertains the thought of wearing Kitty's clothes instead of Emma's, but then she remembers that Kitty is considerably smaller than her in several important places, and her clothes simply won't fit.
"To hell with that," she snarls, grabbing the money and searching, again, for a shirt or a pair of pants or something to put on instead of a towel. "I'm gonna go buy my clothes back. Where did you sell them?"
"No, you aren't," Emma trills, and then sighs. "Take the clothing already, and put it on. The underwear is new, and it should fit you."
Seething, Rogue takes the pile of clothing, and the door snaps shut. She glares at it violently, and even moreso when she sees that Emma has given her a pair of stretchy pants, the sort that leave nothing to the imagination, and a top that she's sure is several sizes too small, but at least has sleeves. And a thong. That's probably the worst part, to Rogue.
"I can't wear this," she cries desperately. "I can't -- I'll kill someone in this," she says, thinking on her feet.
"Oh! I forgot," Emma says, and the door opens. She hands a pair of wrist-length gloves through the crack in the door. Rogue takes them numbly.
They're silk.
"That ain't what I meant," she growls, but Emma ignores her. Without any other option readily available, she puts on Emma's clothes and walks out of the room, scowling. Emma looks her over critically.
"Hmm, white isn't really your color," she says, tapping her chin. "A bright red, maybe."
"I like green," she replies through gritted teeth, but Emma waves her off.
"Green makes you look sick. When you have a little more color in your skin, maybe." Emma nods, and smiles thinly, like she's doing some great act of kindness. "Now, let's get to the mall. I'd really rather go somewhere more upscale, but we'll have to save that for a day trip to the city."
"I am not going shopping with you," she hisses. "And I'm sure as hell not going shopping in this. I'm gonna get my clothes back from wherever the hell you sold them all to."
"No, you're not," Emma says matter-of-factly.
"And why is that?" she snaps. Emma smiles.
"If you do, I'll tell everyone about that dream you had the other night, about a certain Acolyte..."
Rogue turns brilliant red. Oh, God, that's mortifying just to think about. "It was a dream! You can't -- I can't control my dreams! That doesn't mean -- you can't just -- " she splutters, and Emma simply takes her by the arm and pulls her along. "I can't believe you're doing this to me," she moans, and Emma gives a long-suffering sigh.
"I'm doing you a favor, Rogue. How long have you been wearing those ratty clothes? No, it's certainly time for a change in your attire, and I'm even willing to pay for it. Honestly, you should be thanking me."
She gapes at her.
--
"Here," Emma barks, "try this on."
A dress flies over the top of the changing room door and hits Rogue in the face, except, on closer inspection, she finds that it's not actually a dress -- it's a negligee. "No way," she snaps, tossing it back over the door. "No point in it."
"At some point, Rogue," Emma replies, tossing the offending garment back into the changing room, "you're going to have control of your power. And at any rate, it's a law. Every young woman must have at least one sexy nightdress."
"In what state?" she snarls, already threadbare patience running thin. "'Cause I don't remember that in government class."
"It's female law, Rogue. They don't teach it in class," she adds, like the very thought is covered in poison.
"There's no point in stuff like this," she cries. "I can't touch anyone! It's just frustrating!"
At this, Emma sighs heavily and opens the door. Rogue cries out and tries to cover herself, but Emma just rolls her eyes and shuts the door behind her. "Listen to me," she says in a low voice, "because this is very important: sexuality is power."
"I can't have sex, Emma," Rogue hisses, and Emma shakes her head.
"I didn't say sex. I said sexuality. Make yourself desirable, and men will flock to you. Make yourself unattainable, and they'll eat out of your hand. You have a rare opportunity. You're the ultimate untouchable woman, and believe me, men have noticed. They want you, but they can't have you, and that makes them want you more."
"So I'm a natural tease," she says sarcastically. "That doesn't mean I have some magic power over them."
"Rogue," Emma says seriously. "You have all the power in all of your relationships with men. All you have to do," she continues, handing over the negligee, "is harness that power. The thing you have to understand about men is this: they want what they can't have -- and if someone wants you, they will do whatever you ask of them."
Rogue blinks. "That's... really cynical."
"No," Emma replies off-hand, "merely realistic. If you could see what they think about doing to you, you would understand." She recoils physically from the thought of other men fantasizing about her, and Emma sighs. "It's things like that. Don't shy away from your sexuality. Own it. You're an extremely beautiful young woman, who happens to be absolutely unattainable. Accept it. Soon, you'll learn to love it. No one can hurt you if they can't touch you. And I mean that in every sense of the word," she adds. "Physically, and emotionally. If you have control over your relationships, you'll never have your heart broken."
It all sounds very... arrogant to Rogue, arrogant and cruel. Part of her still longs for the prince on a white steed. Emma sees straight through her. "Give up on that dream," she says flippantly. "Men aren't princes, and they're not out to rescue you from the tower. If you let them, they'll crawl all over you to get what they want. My advice to you is, don't let them. And that starts," she explains, holding up the slinky piece of clothing, "with what you wear and how you carry yourself."
She realizes that Emma is being deathly sincere. She's actually trying to help Rogue, in her own way. "Why are you telling me this?" she asks, uncertainly taking the negligee. Emma leans against the wall.
"Because you need to hear it," she says simply. "Because you're setting yourself up for a nasty fall. I'm trying to help you."
She doesn't need to ask what Emma is referring to; privately, she's thought much the same thing. But she isn't sure that this is the way to make things better. "Isn't love about taking risks, though?"
"Love is a fairytale," Emma says grimly. "Don't be blind."
--
By the time she gets back to the mansion, something like ten hours have passed, and she has a whole new wardrobe of Emma-approved clothing. She also has a whole bag of new makeup, every intention of throwing said bag out the window, and the mother of all headaches.
Emma leaves her at the car, to struggle with her overflowing bags of clothing, shoes, and hair and makeup supplies, and she genuinely, honestly considers dropping everything and lunging for the woman's throat, but then Kitty comes outside, bewildered, apparently to help her, and this soothes her bad mood somewhat.
"We all thought you had left!" Kitty cries. "What have you -- were you shopping? Without me?"
"I didn't exactly have a choice in the matter," she grumbles, tossing a bag or seven to Kitty. "Help me get this inside."
"What -- how -- I don't -- " her roommate splutters, and Rogue glares.
"She sold all of my clothes," she says bluntly, "and then blackmailed me into shopping with her. Help me get this to the room, and then help me murder her, okay?"
"Is this Emma's idea of being nice?" Kitty asks, peeking into one of the bags. "At least she has good taste."
Rogue's eye twitches. She slams the trunk shut with a little more force than is strictly necessary. "I think it is," she replies, sighing. "If she had just asked -- I got out of the shower and I didn't have any clothes," she snarls, trudging up the steps and almost falling over when the smell of sulfur and smoke hits her in the face.
"You came back!" Kurt shouts, elated. "When Kitty said all of your clothes were gone, we thought you had left us!"
"Yeah, yeah, I got that the first time," she mutters, shoving a few bags into her brother's arms. "Emma made me go shopping with her."
"You went shopping willingly?" he asks, aghast, and she glares.
"No, not willingly."
Kitty makes a strange sound behind her, but by the time she turns to see why, her roommate is biting her lip, trying (and failing) to hide a smile, while hastily pushing something into one of the bags. "Let'sgetthisstuffinside," she squeals, and bolts into the mansion.
When they get to the room, she finds out why. Kitty shoves Kurt out of the room with a hasty and insincere thanks, and then turns to the bags, rifling through them until she finds what's she's looking for. It's that damn negligee. "What is this?" Kitty cries, grinning and shaking it at her. "You bought a negligee?"
"I did not!" she shrieks. "I put it back! Emma!" she yells, at the top of her voice, no longer caring that half the institute can hear her. Emma does not heed her shouting. Jean, however, does.
"Is everything all right?" she asks uncertainly, opening the door like she's afraid she'll get hit in the face with lava. Her eyes land on the negligee, and go wide. "Kitty, is that yours?"
"It's Rogue's!" Kitty cries, with what can only be called a cackle. "She and Emma went shopping!"
Something crosses over Jean's face at the mention of Emma, and it's not hard to guess why. (Emma has been more than a little friendly with Scott lately, and Jean's patience is fast running out.) She walks into the room and glances sideways at Rogue. "Is there... something I should know?" she asks hesitantly, and Rogue seethes.
"No," she growls. "I told her I didn't want it. I told her there was no point in it. I told her not to buy it!" she screams, her voice rising a full octave with each sentence. Scott is the next person to come by, wondering what all the commotion is about. Unlike Jean, he doesn't open the door.
"What's going on in there?" he demands. "I heard you screaming from the boy's wing."
"Everything is fine!" Rogue cries, about three inches away from full-on hysteria. "I'm going to kill Emma Frost!"
"Um," Scott replies dumbly. "Um."
"It's all right, Rogue," Jean says soothingly, tugging the negligee from the still-cackling Kitty and pushing it into the bag it came from. "Tomorrow, we'll take it back, and we won't tell Emma, okay?"
Rogue takes several deep breaths, and then nods. "Okay. That sounds great."
"She also got you a bunch of panties," Kitty reports, taking another bag and looking through it. "Really, really sexy panties. Is it bad form to borrow someone else's underwear?"
"Do I want to know what's happening?" Scott asks, and Kitty turns red, realizing belatedly that he's still listening at the door.
"Emma took Rogue shopping," Jean explains, still in that same soothing tone, as though she's terrified that Rogue is about to go on a homicidal rampage. Rogue is quite sure that she's right to worry. "And. She bought some things that Rogue doesn't approve of, that's all."
"Oh," Scott says, and then again, in a tone of great and terrible realization, "Oh. I'm -- I'm gonna go now. You should -- you should keep it down," he stammers, taking refuge in his position of leadership. "You're waking up the whole manor. I mean," he says, and they can practically hear him wincing; it's only seven in the evening, and no one is asleep. "You know what I mean," he cries desperately, and then leaves.
"Well, that was adorable," Kitty says, snickering. "I wish I could have seen his face."
Jean laughs, and Rogue even manages to smile. "So," Jean starts, bolstered by Rogue's smiling -- if she's smiling, it means that she probably isn't going to kill everyone. "Why did Emma think you needed a... this?" she asks, looking at the negligee.
"Something about power in sexuality and making men eat out of my hand," she replies, dumping a bag of clothes onto her bed and beginning to fold them haphazardly. "She has issues with men, in case you didn't know."
"Well, yeah," Kitty says, taking another bag and doing the same thing on her own bed. "So, she thinks you should become a ball-buster?"
"Not.. not really," Rogue begins hesitantly, trying to remember everything that Emma said. "She thinks that, 'cause no one can touch me, it means that all the guys want me and that means that I have all the power in all my relationships with men. And that I should use it to control them, or something. It was really cynical," she adds, shrugging. "I don't think every guy is that shallow."
"Some are," Jean says apologetically. Kitty turns from the bed and looks at them.
"We're all thinking of the same person, aren't we?"
Jean and Rogue both look at her, then say at the same time, "Gambit." Kitty winces.
"Yeah..."
"Well," Jean starts, biting her lip and looking worriedly at Rogue. "I mean. He might not. He could. I mean." She takes a deep breath. "I'm making it worse, aren't I?"
"I get it," Rogue mutters, rolling her eyes. "Don't worry, I'm not stupid enough to get involved with him," she lies, thinking privately that yes, yes she is that stupid. Jean probably sees through her, but is kind enough to let it go.
"So," Kitty says, drawing out the o and pursing her lips, "how's this sound? Tomorrow, we'll, like, go shopping for some clothes that you'll actually wear? Emma's got good enough taste, but all of this pretty much screams her name, and it's not really you, you know?"
"Nice way to change the subject," Rogue replies dryly, but nods anyway. "That sounds fine. I can use the money she got for selling all my old clothes."
"She sold your clothes?" Jean repeats, aghast, and both Rogue and Kitty nod.
"That's why I was so freaked out," Kitty explains. "I thought she'd, like, left, since all her clothes were gone. So, see, you kinda owe me anyway," she says brightly, grinning at Rogue. "We have to go shopping, 'cause you really scared me today. I thought I was gonna have to get a new roommate."
Rogue laughs, feeling better than she has all day. Her clothes were getting pretty old, anyway. "You wanna come with us, Jean?" she asks, even though she and Jean have never exactly been friends; this might be a good way to get to know the other girl. A girl's shopping day with Jean and Kitty, and maybe she'll invite Jubilee or Tabitha, because they'd enjoy it. It doesn't sound half-bad. She thinks that maybe she's delirious from the long day with Emma. Her brain is shutting down, dealing with the trauma the only way it knows how, by giving in to it. Yes, that's it. "It could be fun."
Jean beams, obviously having not expected to be invited. "That sounds wonderful, Rogue. I'd love to."
"So it's settled!" Kitty cries happily. "Who else should we invite? Ooh, Tabby would love it, don't you think? And Jubes is always in for shopping, and maybe we should drag Kurt along so he can, like, hold all our bags? This is gonna be so much fun!"
And for once in her life, Rogue actually kind of agrees.
--
The next morning, she really hates herself.