(no subject)
Autumn 2001
The Woods
The woods are bright if chilly on this autumnal day, and all around there are birds singing in the trees; all the trees, that is, but one. This tree has been reduced to a stump by the industrious toil of an axe that now sits with its head buried in the ground next to a pile of long-dead but recently cut logs, and the axe's wielder busies himself with its remains, long steel fingers digging into the dirt alongside the thicker roots as Colossus hunches over his task, his broad shoulders bowed and gleaming in the sleeveless top he wears despite the cold weather.
Sorting out matters to get Marie D'Ancanto enrolled into Xavier's School for the Gifted took nearly all day. A perfectly wasted Saturday, to say the least. The fourteen year old girl finally managed to escape and is enjoying her new-found freedom exploring the vast grounds of the school. She tucks herself along the path, bundled up even a bit more than the cool weather calls for. The groan of wood catches her attention, bright eyes roaming with interest as she starts to pick through the trees and away from the trail. Marie hovers in the brush near the source of noise for a moment, watching the silver boy with wide eyes.
Unaware of his audience, Piotr continues dilligently with his work, his hand finally digging deep enough to find purchase around the root. Setting his feet carefully and testing his balance, he reaches down and then strains to drag the large stump upwards, ridged muscle -- not as broad as the giant of a man he will one day be, but already larger than the average adult -- tensing visibly as the roots remaining in the ground offer their loud protests at his efforts to dislodge them. The stump shifts, but does not pull free of the dirt.
Marie is fascinated, eyes popping and heart picking up as she finds herself a little skittish at the size and obvious strength of the stranger. Her mind has just started to contemplate slipping away when the tickle of an unknown source strikes up her leg. Her eyes duck down, her foot kicking away the bug scuttling up her. She lets out a squeak and stumbles forward out of her cover, a branch catching her cheek and drawling a thin, red line across it. Marie's leg stops shaking the intruder off, her eyes locking up on Piotr with a wash of surprise. The cut along her cheek starts to ooze and bead tiny droplets of blood.
The sound of the kick is lost amongst the creaking of the former tree, but Marie's squeak is an unmistakeably human sound amidst the noise of the forest that draws Piotr's attention up from his task, and as she stumbles forwards he lets the stump fall back into its place, straightening quickly to offer assistance to the unfamiliar girl. He takes a quick step towards her, reaching out to steady her with one hand against her forearm as he looks down towards her, stern features lined with concern. "Are you all right, miss?"
"I-- I..." Marie stumbles, staring up at him. She does little to stop his advances, being far too out of place in the woods of the New York countryside for her street skills to catch up with her. His words take a few minutes to process but finally she starts a nod, offsetting the beads of blood and allowing them to drip down and fall from her cheekbone. The arm he grabs shifts as her gloved hand balls up. "I think so?"
Piotr's brows crease even further at the newcomer's uncertainty, and as his initial suprise at finding her there wears off he spies the blood on her cheek. "You are hurt," he says quietly, his voice a low, sonorous rumble at this level as he raises a hand carefully to her jaw to guide her head to the side to allow him to inspect the cut. The pressure he exerts is gentle, barely more than a guiding touch, and the smooth metal touch of his fingertips is cold against bare skin.
Marie is transfixed by him, the dull sting of the cut going for the most part unnoticed as her eyes swoop over his metal face. The stir of feeling against her face brings her back into the here and the now. "Don't--" she starts, frozen stiff and eyes rolling into a strain to see the hand out of view. "Oh mah gawd," the southern accent twangs alongside a gasp.
A long blink lowers Piotr's eyelids lethargically over steel eyes, confusion settling mildly on his features as he watches the younger girl's reaction and then, with sudden realisation but slow movement, he draws his hand away from her face to rest in an embarrassed fist at his side, mumbling a quiet, "I am sorry, I was not meaning to be impolite," as he drops his gaze to the ground.
Rogue shakes her head, matching the gentle quiver of her body. "No, it ain't that, sugah. It's... are you okay? Ah didn't hurt you none, did Ah?" The girl frets with worry, curling a gloved hand around his wrist. He doesn't seem to be much of a threat, and the scared sense around her lifts.
"Hurt me?" replies Piotr, his confusion increased even further at Rogue's unexpected reply, the fist at his side easing to a less uneasy curl of fingers at his side. "Why would you?" The query is delivered with another blink, blank and habitual. "I am difficult to harm," he offers, in case this will do something to ease his companion's concern.
The look of wonder passes gradually on Rogue's face. "Ah can touch you," she murmurs with pained interest. Slowly she slides one of her gloves off, passing it up to his cheek and tucking her fingers around the smooth metal of his jaw. "Of course. You're made of metal. So... so Ah can touch you." Brown eyes bounce up to his with a sudden flash of delight behind her expression. "Ah'm Rogue."
Piotr seems confused again at Rogue's explanation, but as she smiles he is unable to keep a tiny response of his own tugging at the corner of his lips, whether he understands or not. "I am Peter," he offers in response, keeping his eyes on hers as he nods his head along with the greeting, the bone and muscle of his face shifting strangely as he speaks in a way strangely alien to normal metal.
Rogue's hand slides down, resting on his chest for a moment as her distracting eyes linger at him. "Ah can touch you," she whispers again, stretching a finger to brush against his chin once more before finally falling back as the embarrassment catches up with her. "Ah'm sorry, Ah just... never thought Ah'd be able to again." Rogue takes a step back and sheds her eyes to the ground, hoping to hide the blush across her already naturally rosy cheeks.
"It--" Piotr begins, slightly taken aback by the response his mutation has garnered, saved from blushing crimson to match Rogue's own colouring only by the unchangable silver of his armoured form. "It is fine," he assures her softly, reaching out his hand hesitantly in front of him, offering it for inspection, ringed steel reinforced by smooth lines along the tendons and plates at the knuckles and fingertips. "You have a mutation that is working by touching skin?" he puts forth querulously.
"Yeah, that's right. Ah can't... touch skin without hurtin' people. Real bad." Rogue's voice drags with regret at this, her attention turning to his hand. Her other glove is shed and shoved into her pocket as she reaches for it, nervously at first. Rogue balks a little at the cold metal but soon curls her pale fingers into the silver. Her fingers trace the lines of the plates. "This is so cool."
Sympathy pulls across Piotr's expression at Rogue's explanation, tension scoring lines between his heavy brows, but as his companion's expression cheers so does his own, and gentle delight replaces that look of regret. "I..." he begins, trailing off as he realises the awkwardness of the sentiment he is attempting to express. "I am glad that my mutation is letting you to do this."
Rogue is far too interested as her skin brushes against the silver form of his hand. She looks fascinated, turning it around in hers. His words, however, break up the bold wall of intrigue built up. Rogue giggles busily as she releases his hand, tucking her own back to herself. "Sorry. Ah'm... Ah'm sorry. You just surprised me is all. It's nice to meet you, Peter." The name rolls off her tongue with a bit of lift, her face dancing into something of a smile. "Think Ah'm gonna like it here. Say, you too busy to go an' get somethang to eat?"
"I am glad to make you feel welcome," Piotr replies with a nod and a subdued smile of his own, this time without any fumbling over words or possible, unintentional meanings. "I, ah-- If you would mind to be waiting a moment, then I will finish here and come back to the mansion with you?" he suggests a little hesitantly, tipping his other hand towards the squat, stubborn little stump in explanation.
"Okay!" The fourteen year old chimes out cheerfully, stepping back and swiping the back of her hand against the scrap, the blood already starting to dry as it scabs. "Maybe we could swing by an' get a bandaid or somethang," Rogue says with a playful grin.
The tall youngster ducks his head in a neat nod, agreeing simply, "That is wise. You should be cleaning the scratch, also," he informs her dutifully, recitation of familiar words from a medical staff who between them make quite an impression. He returns to the stump, kneeling instead of crouching this time and working away at the dirt around some of the other roots, the movements now larger and rougher but no less careful.
"Yeah, an' Ah wouldn't mind gettin' shown around a lil'," Rogue hints despite already having had a tour of the mansion. She leans up against a tree and watches him intently. Silence falls over Rogue as she allows him quiet for his task. Her teeth bite down on her bottom lip as she chances a happy grin.
A chuckle breaks free of Piotr's lips, a metallic, musical sound that is at once fond and subdued. "I am glad to show you the school," he offers, looking aside to Rogue from his task and then frowning slightly at his failed sentence construction before shaking it off, confident that his meaning at least was clear. He works more at the roots, then stands again and, this time, manages to pull the stump clear of the ground with a whuffing inrush of air that swirls a cloud of disturbed dirt up.
Rogue doesn't seem to mind. That girlish little smile unfaltering at him. "Ah'd appreciate it," is her quick response. Shy eyes move over him, darting away to her feet now and then as the pressure builds up too much. Finally he takes all of her attention. "Wow," she breathes. "That sure is somethang, Peter."
Large chunks of tree prove no trouble for Colossus to lift as he carries the stump towards the rest of his neat pile of logs, still trailing dirt behind him as he goes. The weight of Rogue's attention, on the other hand, is far too much for him to bear, and he lowers his eyes to the floor as he fumbles for and fails to find an appropriate response. "I, ah-- thank you," he mumbles quietly.
The smile plays on her face for a moment long, fading as she notices his looking away. Rogue makes a small, unarticulated noise of acknowledgment for him, bare hands picking at the bark behind her to avert her nervous energy. "Ready?"
"Yes, I am ready," Piotr says with a tiny smile and a nod, the awkwardness lifting somewhat as Rogue's observation becomes further past. He brushes his hands together to shake the dust off them, heavy metal hands hitting each other with a controlled clang and tinking gently as the ridges in his skin run against one another. "This way," he indicates with a nod of his head, in case she has forgotten how she got here.
Rogue pushes herself off the tree, gaining her balance as she bounces after him. "Okay!" She says brightly. "Ah'll get the hang of this place soon enough. Especially with your help." Rogue's gait is cheerful as she loses her problems with her new metal friend.
As he tilts a look back towards the girl bounding up to and then alongside him, Piotr's smile widens to an extreme fondness that is, these days, a rarity for the stern Russian. "I am being sure that this is so," he agrees, heartened by her good cheer as he plods along at a steady, long-legged pace towards the mansion.
Piotr meets the new girl. They form an instant connection. It's kind of sad, considering...
(Flashback Autumn 2001)
Summer 2000
The Kitchen
The summer heat is oppressive, and the kitchen stoves have been shut down for three days already. Night's cool air is enough to leech the warmth from the stone floor, cooling the room further. It really doesn't need the water starting to pool on the floor.
Jubilee is seated on the counter, her feet in the sink, and hardly a dry spot on her. piled high in the sink and covering her feet is a bonanza of brightly colored balloons rolling squishily about while she tries to top off yet another one from the faucet.
Kurt Wagner is not a fan of the summer heat. Dark blue fur makes for a wonderful (terrible) magnet for heat. He has taken to wearing obnoxiously loud Acapulco shirts and white shorts. He looks for all the world like some tourist in Las Vegas for their first time. He approaches the kitchen in a sane manner, tail swinging slow and lethargic behind him after the day's discomfort. At the sight of Jubilee seated upon the counter, feet in the sink, and water balloons trying to escape her, he pauses in the doorway. "What in the world have I walked in upon?"
Piotr, too, does not do well with the heat or, more specifically, the humidity. The New York summer is not his friend. It is not a happy youngster, therefore, who pads his barefoot way down the stairs wearing just a pair of shorts that neatly displays the gawky stage of growth between reaching full height and reaching full size, on the search of something cold to drink in the hope that this will cool him down enough to allow him to sleep.
Jubilee looks up and grins totally unrepentantly. Short pig tails fan above her head, set in motion with every movement. She turns off the water and pulls the neck of the balloon off the tap and quickly ties it off with small and nimble fingers. She looks in no way depressed by the heat. "Nothin'. Nothin' at all," she singsongs and cradles the balloon in one hand.
Yellow eyes narrow upon the pile of balloons, "I am not inclined to believe that those are nothing." He pads, barefootedly, closer to Jubilee and the sink, reaching out a three-digited hand to pluck a balloon up. "This is surely something more than nothing, ja?" Eyeing the girl, Kurt smiles crookedly. "If it is nothing, do you mind if I toss it at you?"
Piotr continues on his unsuspecting way, turning the corner of the corridor as Kurt disappears inside, missing by a fraction of a second and the cover of night a glimpse of a blue tail.
"No /way/, Fuzz-ball. Get yer own," Jubilee protests, reaching out to pluck the water balloon from Kurt's hand.
Kurt lets out a laugh. "What are you planning then, that you need so many balloons all to yourself?" He grins slightly, just enough to avoid showing the points of his teeth. His tail is beginning to flick behind him, one of the signs of mischief building up in the German instructor's mind.
There are footsteps in the hallway. Piotr is approaching, blissfully unaware of the danger he is walking into. He does not miss a step as he reaches a large hand up to mop away the clammy perspiration on his brow.
"I dunno," Jubilee matches and exceeds his grin, kindred deviltry calling to like. "Always better ta be prepared. Never know when you might need one, after all."
Kurt's tail suddenly darts out, wrapping around one of the water balloons as he leaps backwards, trying to pull it away from Jubilee in the process. He is not above stealing balloons from young girls, it seems. Though his grab might not be the most steady, even the slightest interference could send that balloon careening out of control.
His hand still halfway over his eyes, Piotr ducks beneath the doorway, looking up again as he realises the kitchen is not as empty as he had anticipated, his hand wiping blearily down to his side as his lips pull up into a faint, tired smile of greeting.
Jubilee squeals and grabs for the purloined balloon, almost toppling off the counter under the force of the stretch and reach. "KURT! GIMME!" The forgotten balloon in her right hand is suddenly remembered, and she flings it in a badly aimed attempt at hitting the elf.
That tail is agile, but the grab was ill-conceived and done on the spurt of the moment. Jubilee's squealing and grabbing at it sends the balloon flying out of his fifth limb's grasp and flying away from the counter with the momentum. Poor Piotr's timing is stunning. The balloon flung at the Nightcrawler is also heading in that direction, after the elf deftly dodged toward one side.
Poor Piotr, indeed. The first balloon, aimed at Kurt, hits him at chest height, but a fraction of a second later the next, far more erratically hurled, hits him square in the head, startling him into a glugging shout of surprise as he armours up involuntarily. It is only a mercy that he is clear of the doorframe as his height grows, water-splatted hair sticking out in strange directions and forming into sharp spikes rather than its usual neat plate. He looks rather stunned.
Jubilee rolls off the counter in a splash of water and balloon bits (one of the poor unfortunate souls got trapped between her ankle and the sink wall) with the ease and grace of gymnast used to tumbling off higher heights. Thank goodness for body knowledge, because there is no conscious direction here. Her hand wrap around her stomach and she /howls/ with laughter.
Kurt freezes at hearing Piotr's shout, shoulders hunching up in the realization that someone was caught in that. He turns his head slowly to look at the confused, soaked, and armored youngster behind him. "Ach, mein Gott. Piotr! I did not realize you were there! Are you okay?" He asks this with great concern in his voice, even as his eyes dart back to Jubilee. Her laughter does not mitigate her as a watery threat.
It is a prolonged moment before Piotr returns to his senses, his wide eyes looking slowly down at the water dripping off him as he laboriously pieces together what has just happened. "I--" he ventures, blinking heavily, "I am fine." He does not sound entirely convinced, but he is clearly no more than a little rattled at the unexpected onslaught.
Jubilee gasps to a wheezing halt and grabs onto the counter for support as she catches her breath. "Dude... You are all... wet!" Why this is enough to send her back into hysterics is unknown.
Tension fades out of Kurt's posture when Piotr announces that he is okay. Then he looks fully over at Jubilee as her hysterics continue. "I would be careful laughing at your damp peers. Perhaps revenge will be taken, ja?" He looks over at the poor soaked Piotr. He is not encouraging this. Not at all.
Piotr looks confused at what Kurt appears to be insinuating, shaking his head slowly as he returns to his normal form and dripping water everywhere in the process. "I am not having revenge," he assures Jubilee in a statement that is rather telling in its grammatical inaccuracies. "The water is cold, yes?" He manages a tiny smile at this, recovering from his shellshock enough to push his hand back through his hair to neaten it.
Jubilee stops laughing on a gasp, though the grin, if possible, widens even further. "Yeah. It's pretty cold," she answers as she slides closer to the sink again, flicking a glance aside at Kurt. "No revenge, huh?" Her hand dives into the sink and flips up a fresh balloon, then launches it at him while spinning and running for the door leading outside.
When Jubilee takes off running, Kurt is compelled to give chase. But not before grabbing a trio of balloons, one for each hand and one in his tail. "Soon we will be laughing at you for your moistness!" This threat doesn't come out so well, but he tried.
Dull resignation stoops Piotr's shoulders as his good nature is taken advantage of, again. Soaked and dejected, he heads to the fridge, trailing splatters of water from his soggy shorts and leaving dark footprints on the ground behind him as he locates a carton of orange juice. He takes a drink, and then goes to find someone to tell about the mess.
Xavier's proves not to be the safe haven it claims to be.
(Flashback, summer 2000)