theycalledmeacurse: (desperate)
[personal profile] theycalledmeacurse
It had been an extremely eventful twenty-four hours in Rogue’s life. Possibly the most so since her mutation manifested over a decade earlier. She’d been rescued from the lab by Erik and Bobby, helped to reset the timeline and stop the Sentinel War from ever happening, and she’d been dropped into the middle of Brooklyn in 1940.

She hadn’t recognized the city at first. Everything was so old-fashioned, from the buildings to the people themselves, and she’d gotten more than a few stares from the group of women who stared out the window as worked over steaming tubs washing laundry in the early spring twilight. It was only at the prompting of the psyches in her head, the ones she trusted the most, that she got herself moving. Food, shelter, clothes that didn’t make her stand out. It was the last that came the easiest – she felt terrible when she stole a brown dress and tights from a line of laundry, but she noted the address as best she could and promised to return it once she had things figured out. Because she would get this figured out, she had to.

The later it got, the colder the air turned, the warmth of spring disappearing and leaving Rogue shivering. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to steal a coat as well, she could tell that the people in this area didn’t have a lot of money, and so in the end she huddled in a doorway, trying to make herself small and invisible and just praying that she would make it until morning.
theycalledmeacurse: (ap1)
[personal profile] theycalledmeacurse
Three months. That's all the longer Rogue had been in this world that wasn't hers, trying to scrape together a life out of nothing. She'd barely made a decent start of it when the world had tried to end on her with the Battle of New York. The city had been in chaos, was still trying to pick up the pieces two months later, and Rogue did all she could to help in her own way. In a small way.

Sure, there had been a few times she'd been tempted during the battle to run out into the thick of things and become her old self. Join the superheroes who had taken charge of the situation. But in the end she'd stayed back, because the reality was that without someone to borrow an active power from, she was just another normal person, and normal people just got others killed in fights like that.

In the weeks that followed the Battle, she'd taken to volunteering whenever she wasn't working. She'd joined an organization that worked with the elderly in various capacities, and they sent her where she was needed. Sometimes it was a nursing home to visit with the ones who didn't have families or who had simply been forgotten, sometimes to the retirement communities that put on events and could always use a few extra hands. Those were her big plans that Sunday - a party at a residential community, complete with cake, punch, music, and streamers. Lots of streamers. They'd really done the place up for the 4th of July holiday, which wasn't technically until Wednesday, with red, white, and blue all over the common room. It had taken hours for Rogue and a few others to get the decorations up and everything ready, but the smiles on the residents' faces as they were shepherded in by a fresh set of volunteers made every second worth it.

Laughing as goofy Mr. Samuels swept Mrs. Hawkins into something almost resembling a waltz, Rogue continued spooning out strawberries onto the whipped cream on top of the line of shortcakes. It felt strange to not be wearing gloves, even after months of having decent control over her mutation, but she'd still chosen a blue dress with long sleeves for the occasion. A simple dress, with sensible heels, so the sticker nametag reading "Marie" didn't look too terribly out of place.
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