Rogue

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.