backwaterbelle | OPEN POST

1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

[It’s a quiet autumn evening, but it feels more like winter to the Southerner, even after all the years living north in Westchester. The students and most of the staff are gone, either out on a field trip or attending to other business, and with a lull in her schedule with the Avengers, it had been an easy request to answer. Despite the cold, the young woman has chosen a walk through the grounds, dressed warmly in layers that include her favorite leather jacket over articles in both an emerald green and black.

Boots scuff over the ground, breaking the crisp silence of the night, something that’s rare in her life, especially while within thirty miles of the Jean Grey School or the Avengers locations. For a moment, she stops to stare up at the sky, inhaling deep that snow smell that would excite her beyond belief as a child in the south. It’s then that she allows her mind to move through the friends and family she’s lost over her lifetime, to those she keeps close in her heart in memories, much like she did as Legacy. Every loss still lingers within her, every death she witnessed and survived would survive so long as she, which given her line of work, could be later that beautiful night.

So, as the season’s first snow begins to flutter towards Earth, Rogue smiles sadly and tilts her head back and tongue out to catch a few.]

[Despite Kurt's closest friend being a walking personification of winter, he's managed to develop a low-level aversion toward a decent chill. He'd vastly prefer to be be inside, with warm food in his belly like a sane person. However, despite the light snowfall the sky is clear enough to see the stars twinkling in them, much more brightly than he remembers even when he was young. The air is cleaner too, almost like a cold drink on his tongue. It's enough to lure him out from the comfortable shadows inside, albeit bundled up in the warmest pieces of Wagner's clothing he could steal.

Stealing away after the students leave, he managed quickly enough to find a perch in the trees comfortable even to his aching bones. With all the students gone, he assumes he'll be left undisturbed until Weapon X--excuse, Wolverine--gets antsy enough to come find him. When the sound of footsteps reach his ears, that's who he assumes it is for the first few seconds. He even draws in a breath to call out to Logan, turning without fear of falling off his branch. Darkholme recognizes that shade of green almost as quickly as he does the white burst of hair.

Her name slips out even as he remembers she's not the one he knew, and every encounter thus far with people he cared about in his world has been a horrible disappointment.] Rogue. [Dammit. Nothing to be done for it now; if she's at all like his Rogue, teleporting away will get him nothing but chased. He manages a crooked grin, teeth glinting out from the over-dark shadow over his features.] Aren't you familiar with the concept of catching your death of cold? I could swear I've heard you use those words before.

[Any voice would have startled her, but she recognized Kurt’s immediately with a soft gasp. She whips her attention around to stare at the all too familiar eyes, mouth hanging slightly agape as Rogue stands stunned. He’s right about one thing, now that she’s seen and heard him, the Avenger would undoubtedly set a course to find him if he were to flee her now without so much as an explanation. And for something like this? She deserves an explanation.

Though right now she’d really like to start with a hug from her brother.]

Ah guess all the time in New York has hardened me up to the chill. [Her words are shaky as her mind still reels and tries to explain what she’s seeing. It helps that the past and future versions of X-Men have been moving through the present like it was Union Station.

There’s a soft, awkward chuckle as she continues to stare in wonder at the tangible ghost of her half-brother. Putting her hands on her hips, she tilts her head and squints into the darkness, trying to make out more features through the cover of the shadows.]

Don’t make me come up there Kurt.

[It feels weird to say his name, painful even as her chest tightens with apprehensive warmth. She’s missed him so much, but with everything that’s happened, him returning from the dead sounds too good to be true.]

[His heart twists painfully in his chest the moment she speaks, the tremor in her voice driving home how badly he's going to break his sister's. Ironic, for all that he's shoved away the few who know of him by reminding them he's not Saint Wagner, and still he can't look at her without reacting like he would to his own Rogue.]

Stay here much longer and you'll be talking like a Yankee. [He manages a strained chuckle, shifting on the branch in preparation to--he's not entirely certain. There's no real option but to go down to Rogue and receive the beating he deserves for giving her false hope. Inclining his head, Darkholme vanishes in a puff of smoke and brimstone, reappearing far enough in front of Rogue to not choke her with the sulfur he brings.

This close, the red mark over his left eye glares out of the shadows over his face. Then he tilts his head up, letting the hazy light shine on a face that's thinner than the Kurt's of this world, more angular from hardship and lack of proper nutrition. Without the contacts he wears on duty for X-Force, his eyes are the same soft gold but somehow giving the impression of being sadder, though that could just as easily be the wan and pained smile he's offering her.] I'm afraid you've gotten your hopes up for nothing, Rogue. I'm not the man you know.

People back home already think me one. [She manages, remembering the time she went back home to deal with a few family issues involving her mother and what they thought a mutant girl. That had been a strange trip, but Kurt showing up here is much stranger.

Even as he teleports, her eyes easily follow his movements. The courtesy is also noticed, but despite the consideration, Rogue inhales the familiar smell deep. The Bamfs were one thing, but his smoke somehow had a more potent, more pleasant smell to it. Strange that the smell of hell and rotten eggs would give her heart warmth, but there’s no such thing as normal being an X-Man or an Avenger.

The mark startles her enough for her brow to furrow, and her heart instinctively falls into the pit of her stomach, subconsciously knowing the meaning before he even spoke. He looks rough, like Jean and Kitty from the future, but more than anything, he’s obviously hurting just as much as her. At his words, she nods and accepts the truth, all the while ignoring the snow falling around them.]

Ah know. Ah saw you die here, savin’ Hope. We buried you. [Her voice drops to barely above a whisper, and it’s rougher, matching the pain in her features. As she speaks, her feet carry her closer, wanting so much to touch him again.]

[His eyebrows draw together in momentary confusion when she mentions back home--but that's right, this Rogue absorbed some woman called Marvel in this world, not Polaris. Of course she would remember who she was, where she came from. Briefly, he wonders what altered circumstances put her in his mother's path, because that much he does know.

Mom's alive here. She abandoned him here.

Kurt doesn't blink when she takes a deep lungful, though his heart twists in his chest. He wished he were a good enough man to hope they weren't close here, or that she hated Wagner. Apparently not, if the stench of sulfur and brimstone is that welcome.] I know, I've seen the memorial. Und the autopsy report. [He'd had to make certain, even going so far as to pull up the photos McCoy had taken. He wasn't sure which part was more surreal, seeing his own lifeless body or Hank McCoy being trusted enough to handle the body of an X-Man.

When she starts stepping toward him his eyebrows draw together again, confusion and wariness flitting across his face. The Rogue he knows would be in tears by now, or he'd be feeling her fists on his face. He lifts his hands, uncertain in his own mind whether he intends to reach for her or ward her off.]

[It was strange what a person's body would get used to and come to expect and even crave with an unwavering routine. Lunch had been at 11:45, as always. And now he was starting to feel restless. A glance at the clock, 2:25, reveals why. He was let out of his room at 2:30 for some variety of daily exercise and his body knew it.

This was his world now, had been for the past few months. His room and the adjoining bathroom made up most of it, but beyond that was the school, which he had limited access to, and the school grounds. He hadn't been beyond that. It felt uncannily like being caged and domesticated, and he was the unfortunate wild animal in this scenario. They'd been trying to 'fix' him since he'd arrived, telepathic sessions were in the morning. 10:00 AM sharp.

He heard the footsteps before they... she, if he wasn't mistaken, had even turned down the hallway that led to his room. It wasn't Braddock, or Monroe, or Ms Summers. Someone new then? His curiosity piqued, which in itself was depressing. This is what his life had become, feeling some kind of idiotic excitement at the prospect of a new face. He can smell her before she reaches the door, and he takes a moment to smooth his shirt and run his fingers through his hair. He's sitting in the one and only chair in his room, one leg crossed comfortably over the other, the picture of cool confidence, when inside he's fighting rising curiosity and the anxiety of his body is building from it's desire to move, exercise.

His eyes are on her as she pushes open the door and he recognizes her from files he'd been forced to memorize. Rogue. Absorption of life force and abilities through direct skin to skin contact. At least, the last he'd heard that's what the story was. He wasn't exactly Mr Current Affairs in his eight by twelve box. A cold, toothy smile curls into place to greet her.] A new volunteer for dog-walking duty? Altruistic of you. [He caught the slightest hint of Logan's scent as he inhaled; the man must be down the hall making sure everything at least starts out smoothly.]

[Someone new indeed had been slated for today’s exercise session, a mutant he likely hasn’t had the chance to sniff out properly until today, and she’s here as a favor. As a precaution and effort to keep the Avengers separate for the most part (and because she needed it), Rogue had showered upon arrival, changing into something a little less conservative than her usual uniform. Instead of hiding her skin, she wore snug fitting athletic shorts, a sports bra, and a tank top to compliment her lack of gloves and sneakers.

First, the teachers briefed her on the situation, giving her enough of a rundown to keep her safe and express their own, individual frustrations. Then, Logan had spoken to her as he walked her through the school to Daken’s area of confinement, his prison as much as they disliked to refer to it as such. To be safe, they agree on her borrowing his father’s powers for the visit. A healing factor tends to come in handy when dealing with the charms of Daken.

Rogue lets herself into the cell with the school’s security recognizing her distinctive drawl, among other security measures, including a quick prick of blood in case Mistique decides to adopt another child for her own agendas.

Her green eyes survey over him, unable to resist the urge to roll her eyes at his question and attitude.]

An’ here ah was gonna let you off that leash a bit. Go for a run, maybe even a spar. [She sighs, obviously disappointed, maybe even bored.] Time to walk then sugah.

[Mystique has often been a subject she didn’t wish to discuss, and even moreso now as she herself wonders if he considered her family wherever and whenever this version hails. It’s already painful enough to see him standing there in the flesh and know it’s not her brother, not the man she loved and seen die, but the uncertainty of it all feels like a whole new type of torture.

His response doesn’t make her feel much better, her chest tightening with sadness for him, unable to imagine what it must have been like to confirm the truth in such manners. Before she can stop herself, Rogue steps closer, instinct guiding her to offer him comfort, to reach out and pull him into a hug.

Except that his expression, his reaction to her proximity halts her mid-movement, her hand dropping back to stuff itself into her jacket pocket as she tries to school the hurt from her features. She doesn’t do too terrible of a job with it, but it’s visible enough to anyone that knows her. When he moves his hands, her gaze falls to them, uncertain herself as to what he’ll do to her. Regardless, there’s no attempt to stop his touch.]

[Head injuries were never a joy to wake up from, and she would know, X-Men such as herself were quite the experts at all manners of injury. Time and dimensional shenanigans weren't strangers either, but again, it's quite a heavy load to take on while rousing out of that thick, throbbing haze that clouds her vision so spectacularly.

And still, the fire's too bright, suffocating in its usually pleasant smell, and she groans while wincing away from it, staggering a hand to her face to shade herself from the penetrating waves. Nothing she sensed feels familiar, and that alone alarms her enough to push through the pain. Her other hand goes to whatever hard surface she can brace against, trying to upright her enough so she can gather her surroundings.

Unless whoever's given her kindness has cleaned her up, the woman likely looks worse than she feels. She vaguely remembers violence and getting her ass kicked, but who knows when that happened honestly. That too happens with unfortunate frequency all things considered.]

[It's been a little over a day now since they'd found the woman with the strange hair. Just in time too, as if she'd fallen through the rift with the demons. The Inquisitor had seen enough rifts to know that people didn't just turn up beside them. There were a lot of questions surrounding the woman. Who was she? Was she a spirit? A demon? Like Cole. A spirit who had decided to become flesh and blood. Or maybe she was a witch or some kind of apostate.

They'd received no answers yet. None of the mages could tell them anything about her. Not even Cole could say what or who she was.

So, she'd been sleeping off the ordeal in one of the nicer rooms, designed to be used as a holding cell for nobility waiting to be judged. It was nice, comfortable, warm... and there was a strong lock on the door and magical barriers surrounding it.

Very few people knew she was there. One healer and the Inquisitions inner circle. Word that they were potentially keeping a demon locked up at Skyhold didn't need to get out to the masses who called the fortress home.]

Ah. Awake at last. [The man speaks quietly, tone lacking accusation or suspicion. Better yet, he's brought some soup with him.] How's your head? Should I fetch a healer?

[That he seems to be giving her bed a wide berth was telling enough. His tone and guarded smile hid cautious curiosity and apprehension. He also hadn't left his sword outside either.]

[Well she had spirit, and has been called worse than a demon. However, she's neither of those things, and while some consider her worse, an abomination even, the mutant would simply like the room to stop assaulting her with gravity and this very proper man to stop his yelling.]

Hush it Thor or ah'ma shove that hammer where the sun ain't ever thought to shine.

[Her accent, a bramble of words on the best, most enunciated of days, had turned into a thicket of honey and sandpaper, running together while grating against itself all the same.

A quick assessment of blinking does little to confirm or deny her assumption of rescuing parties that spoke like ye olde English did back in the plague days. She takes several long, steadying breaths to try and gather herself to the present, brow furrowing as the room pitched violently around her.

Still, she fights herself upright with her eyes focusing towards the voice.

That's not Thor. This isn't the Avengers anywhere. Her blood runs cold and her green eyes flare as adrenaline kicks into gear.]

Who are you? [She growls softly, having enough sense not to yell at least. It would hurt too much.] Where the hell am I?

[Her eyes dart to the door, keying in on the lock with a slight narrowing of her eyes before they're brought to him once more. Explanations would be nice.]

Edited 2016-05-03 05:19 (UTC)

Making a swift recovery then, I see. [His teasing is subtle, dry amusement that might be easily missed given her current state. At least he doesn't seem put off or even surprised by her suspicion and hostility. In fact, he takes it all in stride. In his opinion, the reaction is a normal one. A human one.

He was especially fond of being told to be quiet and then asked questions, nearly in the same breath.]

Not Thor, no. Sorry. My name's Cullen. [He corrects, but files the name away to look into later. it sounded vaguely Avvar.]

You were found unconscious in the Hinterlands and brought here, to Skyhold fortress. You have the Inquisition to thank for your life. If we'd been any later you would've surely been torn apart by demons.

[He approaches, setting the steaming cup of broth down on her bedside table as he pulls up a chair to take a seat next to her bed. Less imposing and looming that way.] So, how are you feeling?

Edited 2016-05-03 23:45 (UTC)

[She has half a mind to tell him to shut up again, but regardless of whether she realizes her contradicting statements, Rogue simply bites her tongue and continues to stare at him. This would likely be more intimidating if her eyes wouldn't squint on occasion as she tries to focus through the cloudy pain racking her head.]

Cullen, [she repeats quietly, finding zero familiarity in the name as well and moving to shake her head, before abruptly stopping with a wince and a gathering of balance again. Her brow continues to furrow as he explains what had happened to her, and as far as she can tell, he isn't lying.

Mentions of the Inquisition rolls an uneasiness through her that's not associated with her injuries. He doesn't seem to have a Spanish accent, but that doesn't lower her guard.] Who are the Inquisition? What do they do?

[While she hopes mutants aren't the hunted in this scenario, Rogue's preparing herself for the worst, and lucky for said mutant, her gloves are literally off. Still, her eyes follow his movements, falling on the comforting smells of the cup he carried.

His question draws a rough laugh from the back of her throat.]

Probably worse than ah look ah reckon'.

[Indeed, he doesn't even realize she's attempting to be intimidating.] That's right. Cullen.

May I help you sit up? [He makes the offer without moving any closer, still sat back in his chair idly observing her. He wasn't exactly sure how unwell she might be feeling. At least, she hadn't needed to make use of the bucket on the floor beside the bed yet.]

The Inquisition? We're a group of mainly volunteers attempting to restore peace. Our main focus has been helping the refugees displaced by the fighting and... the rifts. You were found by one of those rifts.

[He quiets, observing her once again. If she was a demon, she was very convincingly acting like she was in pain. So much so, that he's close to ruling that possibility out. The fact that she hasn't heard of the Inquisition is odd, but nod completely unlikely.]

x | x | x

Edited 2016-06-03 16:29 (UTC)

[One of the last things she wants to do is have anyone help her, to look weak in front of someone that may still be her enemy. Though, that option is appearing less and less logical as time continues, which causes her to hesitate in her stubbornness. She really doesn't want cause to use that bucket, so despite it going against every fiber of her being, Rogue nods ever so slightly in answer to his question.

She listens to him closely as he explains the Inquisition, allowing him to aid her in sitting as she tries to read between the lines of his words, to see if anything he says sounds anti-mutant in the slightest. There's comfort in this, at least, and Rogue focuses on that bit of good news

Because rifts don't sound pleasant, and she exhales her eyes closed, trying to be rid of another bout of nausea as the pieces fell together. When she opens them, she's searching his eyes.] Ah don't suppose 'Earth' sounds familiar to you?

[Darling baby sister is what his Rogue is to him, family from the moment he'd let himself see her as anything other than a replacement, the daughter their mother always wanted. If they'd been any younger, he might have a scar across the palm of his hand to match one on hers; as it is, the blood between them are the drops not spilled, the blows that never landed because one was there to watch after the other.

It's easy as breathing to love his sister, and it hurts like hell to see the hurt flash across that face. Her expressions are identical, right down to the way she tries to hide the sting of rejection. If he were a smart man Kurt would exploit that, shove her away like he did Kitty (oh god Kitty is alive here, well and breathing and far away from Piotr.) Kurt isn't a smart man. He's a man in so much pain that it hurts to breathe and a Darkholme to the core, every bit as selfish as his mother.

His hands turn upward in increments, slowly as the hinge on an old door as he extends both of them toward her. A hard swallow, and his voice comes out in a hoarse whisper.] I'm sorry. [Sorry for not being who she thought, sorry for making her hurt, even a little. Sorry.]

Edited (I thought of something better/more painful.) 2016-06-05 17:45 (UTC)

[Far from weak, the woman is an anomaly and a potential threat. What she'd been doing near the rift was still a mystery and her clothing was even more of one, but Cullen was trying to give her some time to get her bearings before demanding any answers.

He gives her an odd look at her question.]

Earth? What would you want earth for? [Of course, he assumes she's talking about soil, dirt. There was earth all around them.] Perhaps you should lie back down. I hadn't meant to rush you. I can call for one of the healers, if you'd like.

Tony's life had been flipped upside down once already, and although a few people might have argued that things had been up and down for him - mostly, it just felt like since Afghanistan nothing had settled. Everything that had happened since then had changed him, and made him into who he was now.

Not that he knew who he was right now. Sat in the workshop of the Tower - his own personal, private space with only FRIDAY for company he'd found himself facing what felt like a huge brick wall. Ultron had been a disaster, and although Vision was the miracle they'd been hoping for it wasn't enough to make him feel like he could stop.

That was the reason he was here alone, and not waiting on a call or a text from Pepper to let him know she was on her way home. It was the reason he hadn't thrown a party just shy of three months. It was the reason he hadn't left the house for almost two weeks. His life was upside down, and nothing he thought up, planned or dreamt of seemed enough to right it.

There was good in his life, mostly - he just chose not to think about it because it featured in the general run of his day to day life. The Tower, and some of the city surrounding it were successfully running on arc reactor technology, and he'd incorporated a system to monitor both atmospheric and underground pressure and disturbances. This side of America hadn't seen Earthquakes of any considerable size to set the alarms off, so when a very loud siren starts bleating whilst he's in the middle of staring off at some footage of a charity event happening in aid of something that he'd started years ago it shocks him enough that he'd almost forgotten what it was.

Atmospheric disturbances, readings through the roof - but just as quickly as the alerts start, they die again. It doesn't stop him springing into action - all it means it whatever hole someone might have opened, once they'd come through it, they'd made sure to shut the thing behind them. His obsession, his concern with holes was understandable. It could have been anything, but the fear is enough to drive him to learn as much as possible about it.

[Rogue watches the movement of his hands with apprehension and bated breath, exhaling in sharp relief when they move into an inviting gesture. Before she can stop herself, she closes the remaining distance and pulls him against her tightly. With complete control of her power, she doesn't hold back, one hand moving up into his hair as she shakes not from the cold, but the dam of emotions breaking and surging through her.

Her eyes feel warm and her cheeks soon feel wet, a breeze adds an icier chill to the damp areas, but she ignores the pain. The jet could land next to them and she's pay it no mind. Her brother's here again.

Except he's not her brother, not the one she knew, she can feel it in his bones, literally. The hurt washes through her in a fresh wave.

At his apology, she hushes him in a soft, soothing voice, fingers petting over his hair before pulling back slowly, enough to see his face and look into his eyes.] Ain't no reason to apologize. [Leaning in, she presses a kiss to his forehead, lingering there with a soft and shaky sigh.]

Well that answers that. [She half mumbles to herself, face having fallen at the realization that wherever she's landed, it's not Kansas or even an alternate version of her own universe.]

Ah don't want ah healer. [Truth be told she certainly could use one given her condition, but she's stubborn and now she's even more frustrated.]

We're from different worlds ah think.

[Well this just keeps getting worse.]

Beyond a short period of time where there was relative peace prior to the power of the Phoenix Force corrupting its five hosts, Rogue's life being thrown upside down has been the baseline. Even during that relative peace the mutant found herself working continuously thanks to the nature of her power. It allowed a necessary set of powers, Iceman's for example, to be available in two places at once, which she was more than happy to extend herself near the point of exhaustion to help the Phoenix Five solve the world's problems. Natural disasters and famine were nothing in the wake of their powers.

It's all fine and dandy until someone creates a start up hell dimension to imprison the Avengers in a volcano. Not cool Magik, not in any sense of the word. Fine and dandy also ended when Rogue tried to help Ms. Marvel free the Avengers from their prisons, and to make a long story short, don't piss off a mutant who can teleport someone through space and time like it was nothing even before being jacked on Phoenix Force.

Fast forward to Tony's universe, where Rogue has found herself unceremoniously tumbling from the sky. She manages to miss hitting any birds, planes, or buildings on the way down, which is always a plus in her book, but she lands hard in that iconic super hero landing pose. It'd be bad on the knees, but she has Ms. Marvel's powers still and it's the concrete and soil that takes the beating rather than her. One look around tells her she's got a small-ish audience of civilians that may or may not be friendly.

"Well ain't this awkward," she murmurs to herself as she glances around her, searching for an easy exit that wouldn't draw much more attention while dusting herself off the best she can from her tumble with Limbo monsters in a volcano prison. Hashtag superhero problems.

[He simply raises an eyebrow, but doesn't push for an answer. The woman wasn't making much sense, but then again they had found her unconscious by a rift, there was no telling what she'd endured before his scouts had found her. Certainly, a bump to the head wasn't out of the realm of possibilities.]

Different worlds? Do you remember where you were before the rift opened? [Could she have been part of a ritual to open the rift and not a local at all? An unwitting sacrifice? Perhaps her last memories were of a land far from Ferelden.]

[A bump to the head is probably the best way to explain her audible conclusion considering how he’s looking at her like she’s crazy. Rogue would have no idea how to explain multiple dimensions to someone who likely doesn’t even know about astronomy beyond folklore and myth of celestial objects. Her hand goes to her head and she groans in frustration, though it could be taken as pain.]

Ah was in a fight... Tryin’ to protect my friends. [The scenario she was yanked unceremoniously from to end up here was much more complex than that, but she had neither the patience or the energy to explain it all to him.

She peeks through her fingers as a thought hits her.] Did you find anyone else in similarly weird fashion?

[He gives her a sympathetic look before shaking his head.] I'm sorry, we didn't. It was only you.

I'll arrange to have a search party sent out. It is entirely possible that they didn't see you'd fallen or were forced to flee when the demons overwhelmed them. [Of course, he didn't know her friends could shoot laser beams out of their eyes. He remained hopeful, for her sake.]

And... if they are dressed, uh... [he clears his throat, a slight blush coloring his cheeks]- ah... similarly to yourself, they shouldn't be all too difficult to spot.

Uh... out of curiosity, who were you fighting? As far as I know, no bodies were found.

If there is one thing Erik despises, it's when a person threatens to walk out on him--or worse, actually does--amidst a heated debate. Not only is this rude, but it's also a sign of disrespect. He doesn't tolerate disrespect.

Fortunately for him, it's incredibly easy to manipulate exit ways, blocking paths and hindering escape attempts when he feels so inclined. He doesn't do this yet, not whilst he and Rogue are still debating (the word used loosely, of course) the details of her departure.

... and go home, she'd said; this is your home, he'd said. The words had been ripped from him, tossed out into the world as if they were merely scraps of fabric now drifting in the wind. They hover between them now, those words, leaving him feeling far too exposed for his liking. So what does Erik Lehnsherr do, when he feels vulnerable?

He attacks. "If you want to leave so badly," Because obviously, if she's thinking of leaving, it must mean she wishes to leave him. And for what? An older, washed out version of himself in a different world? Ridiculous. "Then go to Charles. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to help you," he sneers, "Good riddance."

[Any hope that she held out blew into the wind like the puffs on a dandelion, dispersing delicately away. She nods, pleased to not feel the room spin around as quickly or violently as earlier from the motion. The feeling returns as he mentions sending out a search party, her head shaking against the idea.]

Put wanted posters out for me. If they're here and see that, they'll come.

[They can handle themselves, as well as any search party that might get spooked at their powers or strange looks. He had mentioned demons, and Rogue isn't about to let them find people who could easily fit that description from the perspective of such people.]

Well they ain't wearin' so much green, but they'll stand out. [The blush puzzles her for a moment before it clicks and she glances down to her uniform to see if it was split open. When it wasn't she lifts an eyebrow at him even as he asks her another question, her gaze shifting down to her lap and to her hands.

Who had she been fighting? The memories come in flashes, and she can't distinguish one memory from another.]

Can't remember.

The subject of finding a way to return home and help her friends in their struggle has been weighing heavily on her the longer she remains, the weight increasing daily. She knows she’s being selfish, wanting to stay in this world, to stay with him. Nevermind that she’s a disruption in both space and time, one that’s doubtlessly changing history the longer she remains. Except Rogue’s discovered her own home here over the months, one away from the exhausting battles between the X-Men and the Avengers, where the Phoenix Force has yet to taint the lives of her friends and chosen family, where she could build something akin to a normal life.

But even she knows that’s unlikely. People didn’t accept mutants here anymore than they did back home. Charles and Erik are still young here, and she knows that decades pass and there will still be bigots and zealots that are beyond hope for redemption in their opinions and values, and yet, she’ll still fight for that peace. Maybe here she can make a difference?

The main reason she’s been dragging her feet on finding a way home stands in front of her, and she’d try to approach things logically, to explain the reasons she needed to leave, but her words had failed her magnificently. The moment he informs her with such certainty that this is her home, Rogue falters visibly, the emotion in his words knocking the proverbial wind out of her. He has her in that moment, even as she takes several slow, stubborn steps towards the door, Erik still has her heart.

It’s something she shouldn’t have ever allowed to happen. She knew better than to grant him access back into her heart, but he was Magneto, a man she cares deeply for back in her universe and a man she’s lost herself in yet again. It terrified her, all the bad things that could happen because of her affection for him, things that could span beyond a likely broken heart. Or maybe this was all fodder to give her reasons to leave, to escape committing yet again.

Despite her reservations, her duties, and what was ultimately right, Rogue starts to turn back to him, to agree with his words and make things right. She stops mid movement the moment he raises his voice to her, the temper she’s known for back home curling and riling itself into a seething rage before she turns to face him, green eyes ablaze.

“You think that’s what ah want? You think that ah ain’t feelin’ it deep in mah bones?” She means the pain of leaving, the pain of loving him again, or maybe for the first time. It’s complicated. Her feet carry her closer, probably too close for either of their comfort, but if he uses his power she needed to be able to grab some skin with hers and protect herself. “My friends need me. The world needs me an’ ah’ve already overstayed mah welcome.” There’s a sharp growl of frustration. “Don’t you get it Erik? Ah don’t get to be selfish. Ah don’t get to stay here an’ live happily ever after in a world ah don’t belong.”

In other words, she doesn’t get to have him.

[Her brother would have known she's gained control of her powers. This version of him, for all that he's gleaned enough to know her powers are different (her life is different; the small child that gave them all hope for the future never existed in this world) that little tidbit has slipped by him. He knows she can crush him like a mosquito, that she can move quickly enough that he'd have no chance to defend himself.

Kurt doesn't even try, and is rewarded for his inaction with the kind of tight embrace his own sister rarely dares to offer anyone except her husband. His arms go around her with ease and care, part of him noting that she's more solid here even as he turns his head to avoid brushing her bare cheek with his. She feels like his sister did after the second war, when relative peace and plenty had added the barest softness to her rare hugs.

His hands ball against Rogue's back, and Kurt has to draw in a slow breath through his suddenly stinging nose to keep from sniffling noisily. There's no time for him to notice Rogue leaning in until her lips are against his forehead, and just enough time to think to himself 'I suppose she's angry after all,' before he processes the lack of something very important; the soul-wrenching lurch of Rogue's powers. Blinking, Kurt reluctantly tilts his head back to meet her eyes, confusion writ across his face.] Was-- Rogue, your powers?

[Being able to heal might come in handy if Daken decided to attempt a sudden attack, but it wouldn't do much against his pheromones. No, that's what the telepaths were around for. Rogue should know better than anyone else how Xavier had developed a way to suppress powers through the mind. It wasn't an infallible system, as Rogue would also know, but it was better than nothing and nowhere near as offensive as an actual power suppressing collar or the like. Just because no one could see it, however, didn't mean it wasn't there.]

You think you could actually keep up with me one on one? [He raised an eyebrow in amusement.] Cute.

[Far from underestimating her, he assumed she could easily hold her own against him (why else would they ever allow her to be his chaperone if she couldn't). He just couldn't let the opportunity to potentially goad her into sparring with him simply slip through his fingers. One never knew what opportunities might present themselves.

He stepped out of his room, briefly glancing down the hallway. Empty. Typical Logan.] So... to what do I owe the privilege of a new face? Draw the short straw? Or am I just running out of people who don't want to murder me on sight?

[OOC: Using Duplicity TDM #37 prompts]

[They've been to few weird worlds before, knew about a few weird universes different from their own. A city centered around sexual activity? That's a new one. Like a really new one. There's just so many jokes that come to mind that Remy is bursting to let them all loose, but trying to pace himself so not to fully irritate his friends and loved ones here.

All they can do is live their lives as best as they can while they work out what is going on, how to solve it, and how to get home. And today's calling is an event at a place called The Big Lick, a dessert shop. Seems nice enough, you know, between the people walking their partners as if they were pets, or others doing rather public displays in the corners of the city block. Remy having to shake his head at all of this and just accept this was their reality right now. Luckily enough he was dealing with this all with someone special. Someone so very special to him.] This place puts on quite the show, don't it?

[The Cajun has always been pretty good with rolling with the punches, whether in battle or in life. It's probably how he's able to have dated her for as long as he did, much less even consider anything more serious and long term with her given all her complications. Having him arrive here both filled in a missing ache in her heart and raked open entirely different pain points, allowing the green eyed monster to start peaking out from where ever she managed to bury it inside her thus far.

There's still quite a bit that they probably need to discuss, but she's glad that for today at least, they're just allowed to be as best friends. Since they're both designated Submissives and doing a bit of genial recon through the Up, they're expected to behave in a certain way, particularly as they're both uncontracted and unchaperoned. It allows her to wiggle out of having to emotionally manage her own urges for physical comfort. They simply aren't allowed, or so she tells herself. When had they believed in really following the rules.

Even so, as they arrive at The Big Lick, Rogue slows to a halt with him, subtly pressing her shoulder against his arm while cocking an eyebrow his direction. The mutant has a very good idea where this man's mind has wandered.]

Ah'm not gonna watch strangers perform for popsicles.

[Something she's absolutely tormented him with in the past in the heat of summer when they were younger, and even several times after that. Because, of course, she's a menace. Watching other people in a sex city though? Well there's a bit of a green eyed monster that would probably have a lot to say with that.]

[And that crumbles his composure Remy is doing so much to keep in place. A 'pfft' getting loose from between his lips before they spread into a wide grin, a moment later clearing his throat and forcing his face to resettle and put on a picture perfect display of innocence.] What ya mean, chere? I heard they do amazing things with... [Think of something. Any kind of dessert.] Cake pops? [Holding it for a minute, before a hint of a smile wins out.

Ok, ok, he can't keep this up.] I mean, it can't be that bad everywhere, right? [Oh Remy, you're so new to the City.]

[Neither of them are innocent, far from it, but even they kept the details of their physical intimacy private. Minus that accidental telepathic broadcast with the Cuckoos' powers. Now it's her time to scoff at his efforts to counter her.]

We're just lucky they ain't sellin' beignets.

[Then even she might be a goner. Gosh what she'd do for some home made beignets, even in this heat. Best not let this man know that.]

You're right. [But not in the way he probably wants to hear. The humor's gone from her tone, and the edge of worry filters in through the displeasure that takes over her tone.] It can be worse.

Oh mon dieu, don't you even tempt them to threaten beignets. [Remy doesn't have a major sweet tooth, but beignets will always have a special place in his heart. Such a snapshot of his beloved home city.

Remy has to actively pause as Rogue points that out. It's half out of his normal dramatics, but also half out of realizing... she's so very right.] Amo- [Whoops, reeling that back in, back to a slightly more neutral endearment.] Chere, please, my heart, it can't take that. [She is far too right about that.

Yet, if you're going to do something may as well go for it fully, right? Remy shifting just enough so he can hold the door open for her and allowing her to enter the store first.]

Don't worry. Ah'm sure they've got bigger fish to torment than New Orleans donuts. [And now she's just tormenting him. She knows if he ever craves the treat, or maybe if she does, then he'll find a way to make them here. Cooking has always been an outlet for the both of them, and a shared love language of sorts. It's the Southern way.

She catches the slip, and glances over at him to comment when he corrects himself. Instead he receives a sigh as she steps into the establishment in front of him.]

Better prepare yourself. Ah've heard nothin' but horror stories 'bout this place.

[So mean to him, chere... but he wouldn't have it any other way.

Ignoring that little glance and sigh, Remy moves on as if none of it ever happened, ignoring that tiny pang in his chest. It's ok. They would make it ok. Somehow. To find a balance here in this City. Instead it's easier to focus on that warning, a brow going up as she says this,] Think I've seen plenty of stuff here already. [Really, how bad can it be?]

[She can always be meaner, if he'd like? But no, she already feels guilty enough that he's here, as though her selfish desire for familiar comfort has manifested him to the city. They haven't talked about the disjointedness and what that might mean yet, but they'd have to at some point.

At his question, she hums while glancing over the scenes in the shop, trying to look anywhere but him a she adds to his comment.]

Sometimes things got drugs in 'em. Like aphrodisiacs... Meant to make people get together.

OPEN POST

Five million years later:

<3 Let me know if this works!

<3 its perf

<3 yes good

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for Cullen

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FOR ERIK

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@ Rogue

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gfdhgl sorry for the slow!

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no worries!

Literally one million years later.

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Voice Testing: The Big Lick - Sub edition

yasssss

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