Categories > Cartoons > X-Men: Evolution > Author's Serendipity
Irene sat at the dining room table, deep in thought. The house felt empty now that Rogue was gone. It had been a long time since Irene had heard the soft tread of the girl's feet, her soft southern twang. The darkness of the house seemed deeper than usual, broken only by scattered visions, foretelling of a present and future that was so near, yet so far out of reach.
Her flimsy foresight had warned her of another precognitive, a girl with more power as a seer than Irene would ever have. The erratic visions Irene received were nothing compared to what this girl, Alice, saw. Such a gift could be a powerful asset, but a deadly handicap were it to fall into the wrong hands. She hated to think what would happen if Alice was found by Xavier.
Raven would be furious. That was one of the reasons why Irene had been hesitant to allow Rogue to return to her adoptive mother, even though she knew she had no power in the decision. Raven could be harsh, cruel, twisted...everything a mother shouldn't be. And yet, the only way of preventing Rogue from going to Raven would be to turn to Raven's enemies. That she would never do; could never do. The betrayal would likely cost her a great deal, both in guilt, and in blood.
Professor Xavier frowned as he sat in Cerebro, helmet clamped firmly over his bald head. He listened in silence as Pietro Maximoff tripped his new student, Evan, sending him flying into the side of a nearby building. Evan's mental exclamation of pain rang in his head.
Xavier started slightly at the feel of another mental signature, that of a mutant. He left the scene, patching into the security cameras. There was Evan and Pietro, battling on the street. Nowhere around was there any other people, especially not those matching the signature- distinctly feminine, yet with the youth of one of his students. He he'd felt frowned, steepling his fingers as he returned to the battle mentally.
The signature was gone.
Three Months Earlier
Alice opened her eyes blearily. Swallowing, she winced. Her throat was parched. Yawning, she sat up, pushing aside the covers and sliding out of bed. The cool wood floor of the hall outside her bedroom pressed against the bottoms of her bare feet. Shivering slightly, she padded into the kitchen, getting a glass from the cupboard and pouring a glass of tap water for herself.
She leaned against the counter, eyes closed, as she drank it, processing the images from her dream. There had been two new characters. One boy - Pietro, she remembered - with his silver hair slicked back with massive amounts of hair gel, and a skateboarder by the name of Evan. Pietro was one of her favorite characters so far. She doubted she'd like him much if she met him on the street, but he was one of the most amusing characters in her dreams. He also had one of the most heartbreaking pasts. Alice couldn't imagine what she would do if her father had sent her twin sister to a mental Institution, even if she'd had one.
Evan, however... She'd long since stopped hating any of the characters in her dreams. It was so easy in the beginning, when everything seemed black and white, to hate those who seemed to be on the side of black. She'd quickly learned, however, to stay impassive and nonjudgmental. Otherwise her opinion of the characters colored the story she wrote, making it seem somehow... wrong. Like a masterpiece ripped from it's splendiferous originality and recaptured in crayons on a youngsters' doodle pad.
She put down her glass and padded back down the hall, longing for the warmth of her bed. It was too late to be meditating on the finer bits of writing. She'd sort out the new characters in the morning.
Present Time
Irene sat at the table as Mystique read the evening newspaper and talked about her newest student, Pietro. From the sounds of him, he was one of her usual recruits - a juvenile delinquent. He seemed a bit more arrogant and cynical than most of her team, which consisted mainly of children who would have been perfectly nice children, had they been given a home with parents who actually cared whether they existed.
"Raven, could you cut out a section of the newspaper for me?" Raven asked. "It's in the obituary."
"Who's the girl?" Mystique asked, getting out a pair of scissors.
"Oh, just someone I saw once," Irene said coolly as she wondered privately which hands were worse - Mystique's, or Xavier's.
Her flimsy foresight had warned her of another precognitive, a girl with more power as a seer than Irene would ever have. The erratic visions Irene received were nothing compared to what this girl, Alice, saw. Such a gift could be a powerful asset, but a deadly handicap were it to fall into the wrong hands. She hated to think what would happen if Alice was found by Xavier.
Raven would be furious. That was one of the reasons why Irene had been hesitant to allow Rogue to return to her adoptive mother, even though she knew she had no power in the decision. Raven could be harsh, cruel, twisted...everything a mother shouldn't be. And yet, the only way of preventing Rogue from going to Raven would be to turn to Raven's enemies. That she would never do; could never do. The betrayal would likely cost her a great deal, both in guilt, and in blood.
Professor Xavier frowned as he sat in Cerebro, helmet clamped firmly over his bald head. He listened in silence as Pietro Maximoff tripped his new student, Evan, sending him flying into the side of a nearby building. Evan's mental exclamation of pain rang in his head.
Xavier started slightly at the feel of another mental signature, that of a mutant. He left the scene, patching into the security cameras. There was Evan and Pietro, battling on the street. Nowhere around was there any other people, especially not those matching the signature- distinctly feminine, yet with the youth of one of his students. He he'd felt frowned, steepling his fingers as he returned to the battle mentally.
The signature was gone.
Three Months Earlier
Alice opened her eyes blearily. Swallowing, she winced. Her throat was parched. Yawning, she sat up, pushing aside the covers and sliding out of bed. The cool wood floor of the hall outside her bedroom pressed against the bottoms of her bare feet. Shivering slightly, she padded into the kitchen, getting a glass from the cupboard and pouring a glass of tap water for herself.
She leaned against the counter, eyes closed, as she drank it, processing the images from her dream. There had been two new characters. One boy - Pietro, she remembered - with his silver hair slicked back with massive amounts of hair gel, and a skateboarder by the name of Evan. Pietro was one of her favorite characters so far. She doubted she'd like him much if she met him on the street, but he was one of the most amusing characters in her dreams. He also had one of the most heartbreaking pasts. Alice couldn't imagine what she would do if her father had sent her twin sister to a mental Institution, even if she'd had one.
Evan, however... She'd long since stopped hating any of the characters in her dreams. It was so easy in the beginning, when everything seemed black and white, to hate those who seemed to be on the side of black. She'd quickly learned, however, to stay impassive and nonjudgmental. Otherwise her opinion of the characters colored the story she wrote, making it seem somehow... wrong. Like a masterpiece ripped from it's splendiferous originality and recaptured in crayons on a youngsters' doodle pad.
She put down her glass and padded back down the hall, longing for the warmth of her bed. It was too late to be meditating on the finer bits of writing. She'd sort out the new characters in the morning.
Present Time
Irene sat at the table as Mystique read the evening newspaper and talked about her newest student, Pietro. From the sounds of him, he was one of her usual recruits - a juvenile delinquent. He seemed a bit more arrogant and cynical than most of her team, which consisted mainly of children who would have been perfectly nice children, had they been given a home with parents who actually cared whether they existed.
"Raven, could you cut out a section of the newspaper for me?" Raven asked. "It's in the obituary."
"Who's the girl?" Mystique asked, getting out a pair of scissors.
"Oh, just someone I saw once," Irene said coolly as she wondered privately which hands were worse - Mystique's, or Xavier's.
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