Here goes, after a long, CSI-centric break from X-men, this chapter is up. The next one will be posted tomorrow, if I get reviews.
--------------------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------------------
She told herself that she wasn't there for him.
She was lying to herself, of course. It wasn't as easy as lying to strangers, and yet it was something that had become second nature. It a habit, to lie. No, more than a habit. It was a survival technique. She was good at it.
So when she told herself that she wasn't at the cafe on the off chance that he might show up again, she almost believed it. After all, she had come here many times before yesterday. Yesterday changed nothing.
She was wearing the same skin again- she liked it. Liked the open-mouthed stares she got as they stared at what they couldn't have. It gave Mistique a sort of grim satisfaction, in knowing that she could elict those kind of responses. But it only seemed to emphasize her loneliness.
No. She wasn't lonely. Mistique would never be lonely.
Raven *was* lonely. But that wasn't why she was here. If, and only if, she was lonely, she would buy a dog or something else that fit with the sickening "American dream." She had a sudden vision of Eric's reaction if she brought a puppy back to the Island, and a brief, genuinely amused smile crossed her features, quickly supressed back into the bored, Victoria's Secret model pout she had decided suited this skin as it didn't her own form. She stared into her coffee cup faux-mournfully, amused at her own acting skills.
The bell on the door jangled, and her neck muscles tightened spasmically for the hundreth time as she forced herself not to look up. Not to look desperate.
There was no hesitation this time as the metal-heavy footsteps that were becoming familiar clunked their way over to her booth. It was a different booth; she'd done that on purpose. Her nose inhaled the mixture of heady, wilderness scents that made up his distinct aura, so out of place in the city, as he slid into the booth without saying a word. The waitress brought him a cup of coffee, and it was a few minutes before he spoke.
"You're slipping," he stated, taking a sip of his coffee.
She raised her eyebrows. "How so?" Idly, pretending indifference as hard as she could, she shifted her weight, uncrossing and recrossing her ankles. If her toe brushed against his shin, she didn't notice.
He swallowed before replying. "You look the same as you did yesterday."
She shrugged as the waitress returned to refill both mugs and blink flirtatiously at Wolverine. "I changed clothes," she drawled, biting the inside of her cheek to force down a smile as Wolverine didn't even give the waitress a second glance.
"You know what I mean," he half-growled, giving her an annoyed look.
She hummed an affirmative, allowing a slight smile to touch the corners of her mouth. "This skin is one of the regulars here. Every weekday morning. They think I'm a model. I've signed autographs."
To her surprise, he chuckled. "Figures."
"What does?" she asked, wondering if she should get herself ready to act offended.
"That when you play incognito, you do it wearing a skin that attracts attention."
She glanced down at her perfectly sculpted (literally) curves, emphasized by the form-fitting black dress she wore, then back up. "You like it?" she asked, forcing contempt and arrogance into her tone. As if she was amused by his admition. You can have it, Raven thought suddenly, quietly but with every ounce of her mind, shocking herself and positively infuriating Mistique. Where was her quiet, inner self finding this courage?
He shrugged. "I think you look better blue." Yes, he'd said that yesterday. But she hadn't taken it seriously. Should she? Part of her did, and it was only through the severest control of her skin that she didn't blush at the praise.
"Most don't," she admitted casually. Like she didn't care. Like she didn't notice their revulsion, and like it didn't hurt her. Of course it didn't. Mistique didn't care about what others thought.
So why did one little sentence of praise make her entire day?
He chuckled again. She could come to like that sound. She gave herself a little mental shake. She had to stop being so silly. So weak. Remember what happens when you get weak? Mistique whispered dangerously.
Oh, Raven didn't care.
"Yeah, well. Most people don't get me very well either," he said, shifting his weight, and that time, she definately noticed that their shins collided, though the contact was fleeting enough.
She cocked her head at him. Was he relaxing? The other times she'd been herself around him, during that mission to Alkali mostly, he'd been tense, his back ramrod straight, his muscles tightened to their limit. But he was definately slouching a bit now, not in a tired way, and the hand that wasn't curled around his coffee cup was idly describing circles on the tabletop.
"I should apologize," Raven found herself saying, quietly. She looked up to meet his eyes. "For Alkali. Jean Grey. We never..." She paused, then corrected herself. "I never meant for that to happen."
His brow had creased slightly at her tone, which she had to admit was a bit more sincere-sounding than the one she normally employed. For a moment, there was an expression in his eyes that she couldn't name, one that made her elated and terrified at the same time, then he chuckled. "What?" she asked, annoyed that he hadn't taken her moment of honesty seriously.
"You're not so bad," he accused, smirking at her.
She smiled and made an amused noise. Subtly darkening her eye color to navy, she gave him a sidelong glance. "I'm plenty bad," she drawled, allowing her eyes to flash their true, brilliant yellow color. Then she chuckled, too.
Yesterday changed everything.
----------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------
Let me know, people.
--------------------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------------------
She told herself that she wasn't there for him.
She was lying to herself, of course. It wasn't as easy as lying to strangers, and yet it was something that had become second nature. It a habit, to lie. No, more than a habit. It was a survival technique. She was good at it.
So when she told herself that she wasn't at the cafe on the off chance that he might show up again, she almost believed it. After all, she had come here many times before yesterday. Yesterday changed nothing.
She was wearing the same skin again- she liked it. Liked the open-mouthed stares she got as they stared at what they couldn't have. It gave Mistique a sort of grim satisfaction, in knowing that she could elict those kind of responses. But it only seemed to emphasize her loneliness.
No. She wasn't lonely. Mistique would never be lonely.
Raven *was* lonely. But that wasn't why she was here. If, and only if, she was lonely, she would buy a dog or something else that fit with the sickening "American dream." She had a sudden vision of Eric's reaction if she brought a puppy back to the Island, and a brief, genuinely amused smile crossed her features, quickly supressed back into the bored, Victoria's Secret model pout she had decided suited this skin as it didn't her own form. She stared into her coffee cup faux-mournfully, amused at her own acting skills.
The bell on the door jangled, and her neck muscles tightened spasmically for the hundreth time as she forced herself not to look up. Not to look desperate.
There was no hesitation this time as the metal-heavy footsteps that were becoming familiar clunked their way over to her booth. It was a different booth; she'd done that on purpose. Her nose inhaled the mixture of heady, wilderness scents that made up his distinct aura, so out of place in the city, as he slid into the booth without saying a word. The waitress brought him a cup of coffee, and it was a few minutes before he spoke.
"You're slipping," he stated, taking a sip of his coffee.
She raised her eyebrows. "How so?" Idly, pretending indifference as hard as she could, she shifted her weight, uncrossing and recrossing her ankles. If her toe brushed against his shin, she didn't notice.
He swallowed before replying. "You look the same as you did yesterday."
She shrugged as the waitress returned to refill both mugs and blink flirtatiously at Wolverine. "I changed clothes," she drawled, biting the inside of her cheek to force down a smile as Wolverine didn't even give the waitress a second glance.
"You know what I mean," he half-growled, giving her an annoyed look.
She hummed an affirmative, allowing a slight smile to touch the corners of her mouth. "This skin is one of the regulars here. Every weekday morning. They think I'm a model. I've signed autographs."
To her surprise, he chuckled. "Figures."
"What does?" she asked, wondering if she should get herself ready to act offended.
"That when you play incognito, you do it wearing a skin that attracts attention."
She glanced down at her perfectly sculpted (literally) curves, emphasized by the form-fitting black dress she wore, then back up. "You like it?" she asked, forcing contempt and arrogance into her tone. As if she was amused by his admition. You can have it, Raven thought suddenly, quietly but with every ounce of her mind, shocking herself and positively infuriating Mistique. Where was her quiet, inner self finding this courage?
He shrugged. "I think you look better blue." Yes, he'd said that yesterday. But she hadn't taken it seriously. Should she? Part of her did, and it was only through the severest control of her skin that she didn't blush at the praise.
"Most don't," she admitted casually. Like she didn't care. Like she didn't notice their revulsion, and like it didn't hurt her. Of course it didn't. Mistique didn't care about what others thought.
So why did one little sentence of praise make her entire day?
He chuckled again. She could come to like that sound. She gave herself a little mental shake. She had to stop being so silly. So weak. Remember what happens when you get weak? Mistique whispered dangerously.
Oh, Raven didn't care.
"Yeah, well. Most people don't get me very well either," he said, shifting his weight, and that time, she definately noticed that their shins collided, though the contact was fleeting enough.
She cocked her head at him. Was he relaxing? The other times she'd been herself around him, during that mission to Alkali mostly, he'd been tense, his back ramrod straight, his muscles tightened to their limit. But he was definately slouching a bit now, not in a tired way, and the hand that wasn't curled around his coffee cup was idly describing circles on the tabletop.
"I should apologize," Raven found herself saying, quietly. She looked up to meet his eyes. "For Alkali. Jean Grey. We never..." She paused, then corrected herself. "I never meant for that to happen."
His brow had creased slightly at her tone, which she had to admit was a bit more sincere-sounding than the one she normally employed. For a moment, there was an expression in his eyes that she couldn't name, one that made her elated and terrified at the same time, then he chuckled. "What?" she asked, annoyed that he hadn't taken her moment of honesty seriously.
"You're not so bad," he accused, smirking at her.
She smiled and made an amused noise. Subtly darkening her eye color to navy, she gave him a sidelong glance. "I'm plenty bad," she drawled, allowing her eyes to flash their true, brilliant yellow color. Then she chuckled, too.
Yesterday changed everything.
----------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------
Let me know, people.