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FIC: Summer's End, 5/?, PG13/R, W/R

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  • fyrdrakken@JUNO.COM
    DISCLAIMERS POSTED IN PART 0 * * * It was a sentiment she would remember ruefully later that same day, as she found herself in one of her scheduled practice
    Message 1 of 1 , Aug 1, 2001
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      * * *

      It was a sentiment she would remember ruefully later that same day, as
      she found herself in one of her scheduled "practice" sessions — which
      turned out to be not what she was expecting at all.

      Marie had been expecting that "practice" referred to learning to use and
      control mutant abilities. Well, it did — but she was used to Xavier or
      one of the other teachers (especially Jean or Scott) working with
      individuals or small groups in a classroom or gym (or outside, in the
      cases of the more incendiary mutants like St. John or Jubilee) on
      exercises and even creatively-designed games to hone their skills. (Or,
      on a more personal level, her own "practice" sessions with Logan, which
      had been not only creative but intensely pleasant — and ultimately much
      more successful than anything Xavier had been able to come up with in
      terms of controlling her frequently-inconvenient mutation.)

      And she was also used to the training sessions that Logan habitually ran.
      _First you learn to *fight*, and *then* you learn to fight with your
      powers. And if you try pulling any of that mutation crap on me before I
      say you’re ready — _ <Snikt!> _ — then I go using *mine* on *you*, and
      you’ll have a few scars to remind you next time!_ Not that he’d ever
      given the speech to Marie — he never had to. Between a few scares in her
      time on the road and that whole unpleasant
      getting-carried-off-by-evil-mutants thing, topped off by the Wolverine in
      her head, she already knew how very seriously to take the combat lessons
      he had started giving her the previous summer and autumn.

      All of which went to say, that Marie was used to various forms of working
      with one’s powers, and also used to walking into a practice ring or the
      equivalent and attempting to pound an opponent silly with fists and feet.
      But what she *wasn’t* used to, was the command that she had just been

      "You want me to *what*?"

      "I want you to attack me using your gift," the burly mutant facing her
      repeated, with a touch of impatience.

      Marie eyed him warily. It was what she had thought he said the first
      time, but she had wanted to be sure. "Do you know what my gift *is*?" she
      asked incredulously.

      He shrugged. "I’ll find out when you try to use it on me, won’t I?"
      Impatience was transmuting into annoyance.

      "And do you have some sort of gift that’ll protect you from whatever I’ve
      got?" She suspected not, judging by the name he had given in response to
      her self-introduction as Rogue — "Beef." [Looks big but not too bright.
      He may be used to getting by on his size — but he’s probably a mutant, so
      watch out for tricks,] Inner Wolverine warned, happily sizing up the

      He sneered — actually *sneered*. "I doubt I’ll need protection."

      [Dumbass,] Subliminal Logan growled. Marie agreed. [He knows you’re a
      mutant, he *knows* you’ve got a surprise up your sleeve and it might be a
      *real* good one.]

      [Sugar, I don’t think he’s expecting that a little gal like me will be
      able to take out a big strong guy like him.] She tilted her head to one
      side, consideringly. [Won’t *he* be surprised...]

      Without giving him the slightest warning, she lunged. And with inhuman
      speed, he stepped aside. But Marie was thoroughly used to a sparring
      partner with enhanced reflexes, and cautious enough — especially after
      Wolvie’s warning — to have been prepared to find her target replaced by
      thin air. Reflex took over, and she leapt aside a fraction of a second
      before the contemptuous swat cut through the empty space she should have
      been occupying. Which left *him* unbalanced with the unexpected miss, and
      she followed up on her brief advantage with a stiff hand to the solar
      plexus. As he bent in the middle she made sure that his sinking face met
      her rising knee. A foot sweep floored her dazed opponent.

      Standing over Beef, she shook her head with mock disappointment. "Why
      would I need to use my gift when I can do this well without it?"

      Turning on her heel, she stalked out of the gym. Although she deemed it
      wisest to leave the scene quickly (before the young man recovered enough
      from the physical hurts to become angered by the more lasting injury to
      his ego), an overly hasty exit might have appeared to have been motivated
      by fear of retaliation. Undignified. Attitude was everything —
      *especially* when alone in the camp of the enemy.

      Besides, she had just thought of someplace she’d rather be, with
      something she needed to be doing.

      Plan A had arrived fully-formed in Rogue’s overpopulated head, spawned by
      Beef’s carelessness with an unknown quantity and the implied disdain for
      skills in combat on a strictly physical level.

      * * *
      Dudes, I did *not* make Beef up -- I lifted him from the comics, dumbass
      code name and all... ;-D

      She Whose Quotations Are Both Exotic and Appropriate
      Keeper of his Deadly Startle Reflexes, Guardian and Examiner of the
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