a conflict of self
A Conflict of Self
Prologue
What Kitty would miss most was the smell of pink bubble gum at night. Or in the morning. Or during the day. Or, really, at any time at all, because no one liked pink bubble gum but Jubilee. She enjoyed it so much, in fact, that Kitty and Rogue often thought that her consumption rate of the stuff rivaled that of oxygen. It was something that was just intrinsically Jubilation Lee. Something that was now leaving Mutant High.
Bobby hissed in pain as Kitty dug her nails into his arm and he tried awkwardly to comfort her, patting her hands lightly with his own as she waited, holding back her tears while the Asian girl hugged Rogue in the complicated, gingerly fashion the trio had managed to devise some months ago when the deadly-skinned girl had made her first appearance at Xavier's. It required a good deal of acrobatics, Kitty observed detachedly, managing to keep your skin from contacting someone else's, while at the same time pulling them to you. The only person who made it seem easy was Logan.
And then Rogue was done and he was next, strong, hairy arms pulling the teenager towards him and muttering something only she could hear. Kitty knew at least one of the words had been "Kid," since that's what the Canadian had taken to calling her after their disastrous trip to Australia last month. Jubilee's face was scrunched now, her eyes also warding off tears as she rested her head against Logan's chest.
When she withdrew from the embrace, so too did Bobby, taking away Kitty's stress reliever (or, rather, Bobby's wounded limb). The two hugged quickly without a lot of fluff, and Bobby smiled encouragingly into eyes as blue as his and said goodbye without any real difficulty. Kitty hated him passionately for that.
And then pink bubble gum was smashed against her, and she could no longer hold back the tears. Light blue sweater clashed garishly with bright yellow plastic in a tangle of limbs and hair and sobs. Neither of the girls bothered to say anything, since nothing would make it better.
Jubilee was leaving Mutant High, and Kitty was loosing her best friend.
Chapter I
Emma Frost sucks.
Rule number four on Jubilation Lee's list of "The San Francisco Institute's Unofficial, but Incredibly Important, Must-Know, Secret Rules." This rule had many times been the subject of debate; should it remain rule number four, or move itself to its rightful place on the list as rule number one? Because really, wasn't it the most important rule of all? So important, in fact, that it took up one whole notebook all its own, in which Jubilee and her roommate, Clarice, added justifications for the rule's existence.
Every. Single. Day.
These justifications were each separated by a single blank line of notebook paper, and read something like this:
- Justification Number One: She's the Headmaster.
- Justification Number Two: She's a Telepath.
- Justification Number Four Hundred and Thirty-Six: She's a Telepath Without Morals.
Jubilee scribbled rule number four hundred and thirty-six angrily as a freshly unwrapped piece of pink bubble gum began to leak its aroma into the air. Capping the oft-used "Rule-Book Pen" and slamming the notebook closed, the Asian girl threw herself onto her bed and prepared to spend the duration of her "detention" pouting and sulking like there was no tomorrow. And, indeed, she might have succeeded except that chewing pink bubble gum is very hard to do while restraining the urge to pop it, and popping it makes looking broody almost completely impossible. Jubilee was made aware of this rather annoying fact by Clarice, who was notorious for having absolutely no control over her funny bone, and was currently giggling like a schoolgirl at the flustered teenager.
But then, Clarice was a schoolgirl. She couldn't be held responsible for giggling. Jubilee sighed and gave up pouting with a not-quite-exaggerated roll of her eyes, flipping herself onto her back.
Shlerrp. Shlerrp. Shlerrp. Shlerrp. Silence. Pop. Shlerrp. Shlerrp. Shlerrp. Shlerrp. Shlerrp. Shlerrp. Silence. Pop.
She chewed the pink bubble gum noisily for all its worth, staring sullenly at the phone as she did so. Chewing pink bubble gum while serving detention always made her think of Bobby, who inevitably ended up serving it with her back at Mutant High I. And thinking of Bobby always made her think of Rogue, who would, again inevitably, be visiting Bobby in detention. And thinking of Rogue always made her think of Kitty, who would, also inevitably, be tagging along behind Rogue because that left her with no one who wasn't in detention to hang out with.
And thinking of Kitty always made her hate being born in California. But right now, it made her especially hate being in detention, because she couldn't call the brunette and alleviate the ache in her chest by listening to the latest gossip about Mutant High NY, or by sharing the latest gossip about Mutant High CA.
Damn Emma Frost and her stupid telepathy. Double damn her for being audacious enough to ground Jubilee for the weekend because of a particularly foul thought after being lectured over undone homework. Because, really, who could be held responsible for their thoughts? And damn Professor Xavier, too, for making her come all the way out here to go to school just because he wanted a student who knew what was going on to help the new ones settle in.
Why did she have to be asked to come out here, anyway? What was so special about her? She never really had time to see her parents, what with all the schoolwork and training, so why had she agreed to come out here in the first place? It was a momentary lapse in brain function. She'd have to call Dr. McCoy to find out if that had a scientific term, otherwise Ms. Frost wouldn't even consider letting her withdraw from the school.
But suddenly, it was all moot. Ms. Frost was once again in her head, and this time it was a good thing (unlike Martha Stewart, whom Jubilee suspected could never be a good thing): "Will everyone please meet me in the main living area. We have two new students, and I would like to introduce them to everyone."
It irritated Jubilee that Ms. Frost could make a question a command, and noted to herself that said irritation needed to be written into the "Book of Justifications for Rule Number Four." This aside, Jubilee was ecstatic about being let off of detention. As she rolled onto her feet, she and Clarice looked at each other, their eyes lighting up in characteristic glee at the prospect of having someone else to corrupt with their daring plans of mayhem.
They were the first students to arrive in the main living area.
***
Emma Frost stood slightly behind two young women. The first was taller than the Headmaster, with long dark hair hanging in luxurious waves down her gently curving torso and rich almond eyes set in high mocha cheeks. A slender, brittle nose arched gracefully above full lips as an elegantly booted toe tapped impatiently on the floor. Next to that toe was an altogether different sight: deep purple and maroon plates covered the girl that hid herself behind long, rope-like strands of ice blue hair. No skin was visible under the plating, and her hands and feet were capped with long, tapering digits that could cut through almost anything. She looked perversely comical - an erroneous knight armored in brightly colored plate mail and a dark blue, homemade tabard that would be nothing more than shredded fabric within the week.
If asked, none would know that these girls were related at all, let alone twins.
The girl born as Monet St. Croix looked curiously at her new surroundings with dark magenta eyes, but mostly, she looked at the people who were beginning to trickle into them. An Asian girl in a bright yellow jacket and another, much more purple one, entered first. They came to what could only be described as a "screeching" halt directly in front of herself and Cassat. Or rather: herself and Monet.
Slanted blue eyes raked over the tall, lithe frame of her sister and unpainted pink lips pulled into a knowing grin. We're both girls, it said. We're both mutant girls, and that's even better. Monet's sister raised an eyebrow and tilted her head a little farther up in an arrogant response, making Monet wonder if she had been like that before it had happened. She grimaced at the thought, and turned her once-brown eyes to meet the Asian girl's gaze as the process was repeated, only this time, the smile contained a hint of pity.
Monet wasn't sure if she should be angry or not.
The purple girl waved at her happily, seeming to enjoy not being the only one with strange skin in the room. But at least this girl had skin; Monet had only her shell. Her prison. Her penance. She looked away, not wanting to see these people who were not her friends. These people who would not get to hear her speak, nor know her intelligence, nor comment on her singing voice. She looked away from the people she would be living with from now on, but mostly, she looked away from the people who would never know who she really was, because Monet was standing beside her now, rather than existing within her.
She heard others begin to arrive. Loud clumping and a little bit of laughter drifted through her long, clinking strands of hair until, at last, there was what passes as silence amongst large groups. The Headmaster (and she had insisted on being called Headmaster) stepped forward to address her students. "May I present to you Monet St. Croix, and her sister Cassat." She pointed to Monet last, though her name had been called first.
Only, it wasn't her name anymore; Cassat had stolen it.
"Monet possesses extraordinary intelligence, a sizable amount of psychic ability, and the gift of flight." There was a great deal of whispering at this information, and the Headmaster had to raise her voice to continue. "Cassat's transformation replaced her skin and hair with a hard, shell-like exterior that resists many forms of general physical assault, as well as psychic penetration. However, it has left her without the ability to speak." Grunts and murmurs of sympathy reached her ears, but Monet would have none of it. They were concerned for Cassat, when Cassat was standing next to her - perfectly normal. Why could they not see that?
"I expect you all to try your best to be patient with Cassat," Ms. Frost continued. "As her hands are not conducive to sign language or traditional writing." Monet curled her long, diamond-sharp claws under her, displeased with this announcement and wanting desperately to be allowed to go to her room. "Now, are there any volunteers to show these two young ladies around the school grounds?" Hands must have gone up, and there were a few shouts of 'Me!' The Headmaster chose quickly, however. "Piotor, if you would be so kind as show them to their room before giving them the tour." It wasn't a question, although it sounded to Monet as though it should have been. "The rest of you are dismissed until dinner."
Groans, cheerful talking, and muttering slowly began to fade as the room emptied, and a loud clumping was followed by a thick, "'Ello. I am Piotor Rasputin."
The accent was Russian, and Monet looked up briefly to see a large, smiling teenager with well kept black hair, rippling muscles under a tight black shirt, and long, thick legs encased in well-worn work jeans. He looked down at her after gallantly kissing Cassat's hand, crouching and offering his own to Monet. Surprised, she reached out tentatively to show him it was dangerous. And suddenly his hand was wrapped around hers, and he was kissing it; light reflected off his head and arms, and when he pulled back Monet could see that he, too, had a protective shell, though his was voluntary.
She smiled as best she could, and he winked at her. It caused her insides to melt.
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