Rogue

It was relatively easy to make yourself scarce in a place with no phones, no roads and no telepaths, and Rogue had found herself doing just that since the X-Men's arrival. She'd missed them all, fiercely, some more than others at varying times, but having a few of them finally there was daunting. She was pretty sure she was different, now. Two years of living like a normal human being, give or take a couple days, and being from so much earlier, as far as she knew, it worried her a little. She was worried it would put a barrier of more than just chronological distance between them. She was worried they would somehow attract all the same trouble they always did and ruin what was, she'd discovered, a pretty good thing she had going there.

Maybe she wasn't worried about all of them doing that. Jean probably wouldn't be stirring up much trouble for her. Actually, she wanted to sit down and talk with the other woman, but even the thought of that made her jumpy. So she was taking some time off, from pretty much everyone, just a day or two to clear her head- Ha! Like that ever happened easy. Or at all.- and try and get some perspective.

With both feet planted firmly on the ground. Used to be easier, didn't it?

Not wanting to walk the beach, she'd taken to the jungle, finding her way along paths that were barely there, relishing the quiet and the cool that came with being beneath the thicker parts of the canopy. Quiet and time, she figured, that was all she needed to get a handle on the turn her life had taken, or was possibly about to take, and fortunately they were two commodities the island held in abundance. Unfortunately, it wasn't working so well, so far. Her thoughts kept turning to one place in particular, and that place- person- happened to be the one she was least ready to confront.

Rogue was in an awkward position. Nevermind the fact that she'd told the Manchester cop she was a terrorist and had told Brodie Bruce that she had considered, even hypothetically, the idea of sleeping with him. Nevermind that it was May, which meant it would be the 25th of May, which meant... Nevermind. All of that aside, Rogue was in an awkward position. She was in a downward facing dog moving into a forearm stand, and there was always that moment where gravity was fighting your flow that pissed her off. She breathed, and kicked one leg up after the other until all of her weight was only on her forearms, and held it, and breathed, and then let one leg bend so her toes were almost in her field of vision.

She was going to find her gall dang center if it killed her. Of course, it wasn't easy to do on sand, and it was generally considered better for your chi to do this kind of thing as the sun was coming up, but hell with it, she'd slept it.

"Ooh," she huffed, as her balance wobbled. She grit her teeth together and carefully let the other leg bend so both sets of toes were in her vision. She couldn't feel her chakra worth a damn, but she could feel a rising level of frustration at the world.

Rogue had been letting Ned make her clean up, because all it took was one night sleeping over for her to turn the hut into as big a mess as her own room. When everything was folded up and in a pile, on the chair of course, she'd sprawled out across his bed, guitar resting on her stomach, idly picking at the strings. Her head was tipped back and her hair was pooling on the floor, save the awkward chopped-off bit.

"You know any good songs, Watchman?" she asked, grinning up at him from her semi-upside down position, crossing her bare legs at the knee. With the Daisy Dukes and the yellow t-shirt, she almost looked naked beneath the guitar.

Rogue had been perusing the shelf for something to read on the beach when it provided her with two different periodicals. One had a picture of a southern wedding on the front- a bride on the steps of a plantation, surrounded by Spanish moss and lace.

The other was the Final Chapter of the Messiah CompleX! She shoved it in the back of the bridal book and flung herself down on the couch, biting her lower lip and starting to flip through the magazine portion, ignoring the comic pages in back.

Rogue had done laundry, and not just hers, but Ned's, which was super domestic and not something she intended on making a habit out of, but sort of secretly fun nonetheless. Mostly, she just couldn't wait to see the look on his face.

In sorting it, back at Ned's hut, she'd found some things that weren't theirs. Socks, a pair of polyester soccer shorts. And green thigh high stockings and a green leotard. They weren't hers, hers had been a different material, a slightly different cut. Still, she couldn't help the little wave of nostalgia and, grinning, she stripped down utterly and pulled them on.

Now she really couldn't wait to see the look on his face.

Rogue had had a pretty good day, considering the situation. Weird as it was, as much as it sucked to be stuck here and not have a damned idea about what was going on. But on the other hand, her head felt clear for the first time in ages, she could touch people without killing them, and the handy dandy magic wand tucked into the brown leather cowboy boot she'd found in that box in the basement along with the oversized orange tunic she was wearing had given her the ability fly.

So she was touring the island, hair trailing in the wind behind her like a banner, beaming into the sun and sea salt as she flew perhaps twenty feet above the ground by the beach.

She'd gone over to see what his hut looked like and ended up spending the day. She couldn't remember time ever moving so fast in her life, but she sure didn't have a problem with it. Over the course of her life, she had attempted to go on dates, take leisure days, spend the time, but somehow it always seemed to end disastrously. The fact that this day didn't seem to be heading that route, that it had been nothing short of the sort of thing she'd dreamed of in her more private moments, well, she couldn't find herself anything but pleased by it. The sun was setting. When had the sun start to set? It had to be 9 o'clock, but then she reckoned it was summer, and the sun took its sweet slow time in summer.

She was leaned against the door frame, looking down the sand to the water, at the changing color of the sky, one arm bent above her head and the other draped on her hip, one leg absently tucked behind the other, shoulders prickling slightly with the late evening cool, uneven folds of her skirt brushing about her calves, tugging toward the sea.

"You sure picked a beautiful spot, Watchman."

Rogue had been having fun. Rictor had been far too easy- not to mention wholly enjoyable- and gotten the know it all out of the way, not that she had a chance. Chaos gave the little bit trouble? Rogue was all chaos.

Deep down.

It felt good to be out.

She was sitting on the rail of the Brooklyn Bridge, enjoying the breeze and imagining the possibilities of where the evening could go. Where life could go. With her prime unconscious for who knew how long, things were looking decidedly up, and she had a world of scores to settle. Brooklyn looked nice from across the river, and the seaport was quiet, only diners and the tourists drifting away from the mall. Westchester wasn't far. Neither was S.H.I.E.L.D., apparently, and there were some people over that way who needed badly to die.

"God as mah witness," she purred to the evening, and stood in preparation to fly.