#intrigueandcharisma

[aroguedeviation]

Back from Whence

Rogue spent a lot of time thinking she's crazy.

Voices, memories that aren't hers. She could make a real case for that. Everything else, though? Trying to persuade Magneto, believing the Professor could dole out mutation control like magic, making all of her problems Remy's, letting that vampire bewitch her, Antarctica, cutting her hair to a bob that one time, thinking she could pull off pink--

--all that? That's stupid.

Ah'm an idiot, her mind confirms. Rogue sits at the private table, impatiently awaiting her dinner guest. It's getting cool at nights now, and the sun will set soon. Her beaten and worn leather bolero keeps the timid chill at bay. The sleeves are pushed up to her elbow, revealing Lycra instead of skin, the stretchy material tucked into gloves. Even with fall creeping in like the tide, it's a bit much to be wearing on a New York beach.

So she kills her third pink lemonade trying not to overheat. Gonna have to get used to this again. She spoiled herself with tank tops this summer, trading her immunity to the heat for some fun in the sun. Which really was just her lazing around the Avenger Manor pool.

Rogue stretches, looking around the beach dwellers. Her late party could be anyone of them, she concedes, raking back white bangs back across her scalp. She should have worn her hair back.

"C'mon, Mystique," she grouses, returning to her slumped form. "Used to ride meh to be on time, so how come you never are?"

[aroguedeviation]

Mockingbird

Rogue should wonder more about the company she keeps. Too many people in her cellphone have safe houses. There is something to be said about that, she's sure, she just isn't in the mood to consider any of that right now. The sketchy life style that requires such places is proving to be very beneficial to her. 

Not that this is a secret, but the school features absolutely no privacy. Between the ever present security system, nosy students and the even nosier staff, taking a moment to oneself just doesn't have an opportunity to happen. After everything that went down with her and the Apocalypse Twins, Rogue is the center of a lot of talk.

So now she slinks away to a dark apartment to lick her wounds.

Mystique's apartment.

One of them, anyway. At least this one has furniture, she notices dully, tossing her overnight bag onto the couch as she steps down into the lowered living room. The cushion has no give, unused, and Rogue is undecided on whether or not the apartment was furnished for her benefit, or if Mystique is just that good at leaving no presence. "Mixed bag," she mutters to no one. The woman can be more of a ghost than a chameleon.

Heading towards the kitchen, Rogue starts pulling at the finger tips of her gloves. Time to see what's in the cupboards, maybe the fridge. 

She can really go for some chocolate marshmallow caramel swirl.

[aroguedeviation]

Treat

There was a place next to the river, where sometimes Val would take Anna on Saturday afternoons after the gun range. Just for a little bit, she'd get to run around reeds and purple flowers, while Val made phone calls from a bench--always within sight of Anna.

It's been a long time since then, though.

And even longer since Rogue had half her hair pulled back with a ribbon. She'd been barely eight when Mystique snatched her up, and she's barely eight again, as she sits in the grass by that bench. She's wearing the Easter dress Irene had insisted upon.

She hums, playing with flowers that are collected on her dress.

[mazziemay]

Mystique and Rogue commission for intrigueandcharisma ($35)

[youneverlookdeeper-archive]

intrigueandcharisma replied to your post: 

[[ STOP PUTTING SO MUCH THOUGHT INTO THE THINGS. YOU MAKE THE REST OF US LOOK BAD. ilu tho <3 ]]

;A; I'm sorry

[aroguedeviation]

No Matter What

'I guess my biggest weakness is that I work too hard.'

Ever hear someone say that? Like they're trying to paint themselves too greatly? Ever meet someone that actually works too hard? Works too long? Has too much of a good quality? 

Meet Rogue.

Having a moral fiber so strong it's often proven self destructive has trickle down effects. Like being loyal to a fault. A fault. Exhibit A: despite Magneto taking out his rage on her over an (debatebly) unintentionally kept secret--breaking her wrist, her knee, and choking her out with powers, though not in that order--she still manages to haphazardly drive her car away from his home. After veering off road several times, because driving a manual with a broken knee is painful enough to black her out a few times, Rogue finally has a mild collision with a tree before calling anyone.

Just to keep the location a secret.

Was it mentioned that loyalty is a negative for her?

Getting out of the car isn't an option. Both her arm and leg are swelling, locking up on her in protest of her extreme lack of care. The pitched sound inside her mind is increasing in frequency, and after breathing raggedly for a several minutes trying desperately to keep from crying--because she's angry! No other reason!--she finds her phone unharmed in her pocket, and speed dials seven. It's a number Rogue has been pretending she hasn't kept for years. It's answered on the third ring. Her voice breaks from the pain, physical and emotional.

"Mama."

[aroguedeviation]

(( I left my cell phone work. I'll go get it. Eventually. In the mean time, to all my peeps I communicate with via phone, I'll be on Skype until I feel like getting up to go get it. ))

[muirislandresearch]

intrigueandcharisma

"Mystique." 

Moira was not a cold woman.  On the contrary, she was fully capable of being maternal and had a great deal of heart for her work, family, and friends.  But her temper was one of her more notable qualities, and though she was alive now, she had not forgotten the circumstances of her death. 

And at the sight of Raven Darkhölme, there was a stirring at the back of her mind... She remembered the vague awakening between her death and now, and there was something about a book... But it was blurry and she was still orienting herself to the world now that she was back.  

Her hand went to her ribcage, dipping under the lapel of her lab coat. The pain of being crushed under a falling building, orchestrated by the woman standing before her, was gone-- Her body was whole-- but it was not far from her mind.  In fact, Moira suspected that her death would be the subject of many of the conversations she was to have over the next several days and weeks.  

Arching a brow over her glasses, bangs falling just sort of the rims, she spoke without kindness.  

"Surprised t' see me?"