Sweet God Almighty. I finished it. Loren, on the first eve home after Krakoa, mostly to get characterizations straight. Help me out here. Alestar __________ Five hours in my new home, and I'm already pacing my room like a caged animal. The room's too small, and my frustration is only doubled by the knowledge that in *Tokyo* there'da been something within throwing distance that wasn't breakable. I'm in a flamin' dormitory. What the hell am I doing here? As soon as I got here, I got rid of all the frilly default ready-made room shit. Not really reasonable o' me, but I figured it was a little bit presumptuous o' them, and I needed to break something. Now I'm down to a mattress and a light fixture danglin' from the ceiling. And now I need a beer. But I don't want to go down there, not yet. Hell, not ever. Kids and spooks, all o' them. This is gonna end just like Department H. What the hell am I doing here? Room's too small. I gotta get out of here. I open the window and look out. Jesus, it even *smells* too bright here. I scale the two floors down without using the claws, and hit the ground running, straight to the woods. I feel better now. Rage's dyin' down. I shouldn'a come here, I think as I run. I can't believe I let myself get suckered into this crusader thing again. 'Snot too late. Hiroko's goin' home tomorrow; I'll just hitch a ride back with her to- To what? Runnin' the dollar-arm schtick? That was leadin' somewhere I'd never wanted to go back to. And Yukio? I was just holding her back. There's no reason for me to go back. And that means there's no reason for me not to stay here. And quite a few reasons I *should* stay. Aw, hell . . . I should stay. So I will. Doesn't mean I'm not gonna gut anyone who gets in my face for the next few hours. * * * I make my way into the house about ten o'clock, a few hours after sundown. I take the door this time. I've spent all day calming myself down, and now I'm ready for that beer. I follow the smell of coffee until I find the kitchen, and I can hear beyond the door a chorus of voices. I take a deep breath, then two; and then I walk in. Seven pairs of eyes turn as I step in, and I don't quite manage to check my snarl in time. Kids an' spooks, all o' them . . . As I stand there in the doorway, they stare, and I know I must make quite a sight. I have my black hair pulled back, but it spills out wildly, especially when I've spent the day running the grounds. And I have. The blue and yellow from my days with Alpha Flight are back, just like the name . . . and the rooms and the orders and the rules . . . Easy, Loren. Hiroko, eyes sympathetic, speaks up first. "Loren! We've been wondering where you were . . " I move to take a seat beside her. "Just checkin' the lay of the land, 'Roko. Gettin' a feel." She nods her understanding. "And what do you think of it?" I notice the others wait for my response, tensed up. I guess I'm the wildcard here, the one everybody's waitin' on to go into a snarlin', spittin' fit of discontent. It's actually kinda funny. Mostly, though, it's not. "'Sgonna take some gettin' used to," I answer, truthfully. I nod respectfully at the leader, the silent girl across the table: Focus. "But it's nice." Hiroko smiles, satisfied. "Yes, it is. If not for other obligations, I might consider staying myself . . " She catches my gaze and holds it. "You will like it here." That conversation's a little too personal for my tastes, at a table of as-of-yet strangers. I dismiss it with a rough jerk of my hand. I notice around the table that everybody's drinkin' coke or coffee, except for the black guy who's drinkin' water. "So where's the brew?" Focus blinks. "The what?" "The brew. The beer. A drink." Her lips draw into a grim line. "The Doctor doesn't allow for recreational alcohol on the premises. There's coke in the fridge." Her eyes are wary as she says this, and she's ready for a fight from me, and I'm more than ready to give it to 'er. All the different colors of angry that've been rollin' around in me all day bubble back up to the surface: frustration over livin' under someone else's roof, contempt for the stupid goddamned prudish rules, resentment that someone would ask me to help 'em out an' then proceed to dictate a lifestyle to me . . . but then I feel Hiroko beside me squeeze my arm under the table. I simply say, "Fine." The guy closest to the fridge, Orion, reaches in from his seat and tosses me a can. I take with a nod, and the table goes back to livin'. They resume their conversation-- something about some room of the house-- and I listen with one ear, which is more'n enough. The rest of me watches them watching me and each other and breathing. On my left is the blue teleporting German. Nocturne. She strange-lookin', couldn't pass for a normal human on the street; she's got blue fur and yellow eyes and pointy ears and the like. She listens to the others intently, sometimes throwing something in with a confident voice and then a bright, unexpected grin. Next to her's the guy that threw me the coke. He's staring intently at whoever speaks, tryin' real hard not to show his disinterest. Mostly he just nods and agrees with whatever Storm says. He put on a good show on Krakoa, a good fighter, tough. He's stiff, though, and tense. Seems like bein' surrounded by women makes him uncomfortable. 'S why he's been stickin' to Storm like white on rice since we got here. Storm bein' the only other male here. O'course, he's got none of the problems Orion has. He's the main source of questions and rhetoric in the conversation, intelligent and soft-spoken; the company o' women doesn't set this guy off at all. A goddess-worshipper, I think. I like that. Next to him is Focus. The leader of X-Factor. The leader o' me, I guess. Better not to think about it. She's the head of the conversation. She speaks in efficient, authoritative, business-like tones. Can't see 'er eyes for the red visor, and that bothers me a little. It's gonna be hard enough to take orders again already, without . . Whatever. At her side is the Irish noise-maker, the Banshee. Cheerful, nice laugh. She's had previous experience with X-Factor, so of us new recruits, she's the most comfortable. She's got a daughter. Then's the Ruskie. Titania, somethin' Rasputin. Accent brings back bad memories. Nevertheless, she did good on the island. A little wet around the ears, a little timid; farmer, up 'til now. Got a gentle smile that tells you she's definitely one o' the Good Guys. She's sittin' next to Hiroko, who's sittin' next to me. Hiroko attempts a few times to draw me into the talk, but I make some noncommittal noise and shrug dismissively. They talk, and I get a few more drinks from Orion, and eventually everyone excuses themselves to bed, until it's only me, Hiroko, and Focus sitting around the kitchen table. Focus asks Hiroko, "Your flight leaves tomorrow morning, right?" Hiroko smiles at me briefly and says, "Yes. I would have liked to stay longer, but I am sorely needed at home." Focus nods once, and then turns to me, biting the bullet. I notice that her jaw tightens, almost imperceptibly. "There will be a tour of the facilities tomorrow. You'll meet with us in the main hall at noon?" She doesn't decide until the very end to make it a question. I can't think of an answer that isn't "Fuck off," or "I guess we'll see tomorrow at noon, won't we, soldier?"-- neither of which Hiroko wants to hear-- so I don't answer. She gazes at me for several moments, waiting, and then nods tersely, and excuses herself. Hiroko waits for a few moments to speak. When she does, her voice is gentle and concerned, and kind of pisses me off. "Loren . . they aren't Alpha Flight." I turn to her. "I know that. If they were, I wouldn't be here. But I am. I'm givin' 'em a fair shake. It's up to them what happens from there." She tries to hide her sigh, but I hear it. "Just . . try to be tolerant, alright, Loren? Most of them are new at this, and the ones that are not are new at *you*. They have good intentions and plausible means. This is a *good* place for you to be." I feel myself getting angry again; and I shouldn't take offense, but I do. "What's that supposed to mean?" She doesn't rise to the task. She takes my hand and squeezes it, warm, with friendship. "It means nothing, Loren. I only want for you to stay here for a little while . . make an agreeable place for you to be and live and devote yourself to for a little while . . alright? Will you do that?" I turn away for a few moments. Then, I grumble, "You won't be here to sweet talk me tomorrow . . . " She laughs, then, because my answer is "yes"-- of course it is. "I know, Loren, I know . . Just go to the tour, start from there. I have faith in you." She smiles again, her eyes twinkling, and rises for the door. "Goodnight, Loren. Do *try* to be good. Remember, you're a hero now." I remain after she leaves, alone in the kitchen, with her words ringing in my ears. And no beer. ____________ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ eGroups.com home: http://www.egroups.com/group/xxy http://www.egroups.com - Simplifying group communications