--------------------------------------------- To: x-writers@minuteman.com Subject: X-Men Unlimited #10 Date: Wed, 24 Jan 1996 17:49:09 X-Men Unlimited #10 by Marysia Apologies if this is crap but I'm in a hurry. All these characters belong to Marvel not me. X-Writers is a non-commercial group and are only doing this for all the lovely stress it creates. Please don't try to sue us, we don't have any money anyway. Things in are thoughts. I'm sure my tenses are shot to hell but I just can't get a handle on them today. The Butter Knife Is Drawn. Allison Crestmere is a good waitress, if a little quiet. She is fast and doesn't argue with the customers. But then she doesn't exactly talk to them either. She just gets on with her work. Needless to say she doesn't get on very well with the rest of the staff. She could be pretty, should be pretty. She has shoulder length blonde hair, quite curly, that hangs lank with the smoke and grease in the air of the cafe. Delicate skin that has a grey tinge. There are shadows under her eyes. She works nights as a bar-maid. London is an expensive city, especially when you're on your own. She came here to find herself but instead she got lost. Little Allison Crestmere against the big city, I guess you can see who won. But Allison has another name. One that she cast away as a lie at the words of a woman she had never trusted. Already disillusioned she let her life be ripped away from her. Amara Aquila, daughter of a senator, child of Nova Roma. Sometimes at night she prays to the Gods that it seems no-one else believes in to make it all a dream. Take me home. Please take me home. I just want to go home. But there is no more home. There never was. Was there? All a lie. But if it was all a lie why can she find no trace of herself here. In this country that she was supposedly stolen from. There is no file for Allison Crestmere, runaway. No picture of a golden haired child, no worried parents. No birth certificate. No explanations. No explanations and no money. Sold her return ticket to America for the down-payment on the grotty room she rents. Too proud and too scared to call on her third life for help. Her third name, yet another identity. Magma. Both New Mutant and Hellion. But how can she call on them. The Hellions are dead, the New Mutants disbanded. Last she heard they were outlaws. Besides she hasn't failed yet, not yet. She hasn't even used her mutant powers for so long. She's pushed them down, afraid to hurt someone. Afraid of the powers she can no longer control. For with the release of her powers comes the release of all the anger and fear inside her, they carry her away with them until she can't think. Can't remember Amara or Allison, only Magma. She checks her watch. Time to go. An hour for dinner before she has to be at the bar to put on another apron and start again. She doesn't notice the man who follows her out of the small cafe. Perhaps if she hadn't been so tired she would have noticed that he'd sat in there and watched her, looking at no-one else for more than an instant, for over three hours. Perhaps if she was more friendly to the other waitresses they might have pointed this out to her. They nearly did at the end of the shift but she left so quickly. She always does. The man had to run to catch up. Not that it mattered if he lost her. You see he knows where she lives. He knows when she leaves and where she goes. He knows what she buys for her lunch and how she drinks her tea. He even knows her name. It's Pretty Daisy. Her fourth name. The one only he knows. Because he gave it to her, the first time he saw her at the bar. He shook his head. He would get left behind if he didn't hurry up. It was five to seven when Allison left her flat. She was going to be late again. He raised his head from the bin as she ran past him. But he'd found so many great things. Her things. He quickly stowed them in his pockets and followed her to the bar. He had found Little Rosebud here too. Only Rosebud had been one of the strippers. Pretty Daisy was too shy for that. She still blushed when the men put their hands up her skirt as she walked past them with her hands full of drinks. He sat in the corner and watched her. He liked to pretend she had asked him to come here, told him she felt safer knowing he was there to watch her, to keep her safe from the other men. And afterwards he would take her back to his house. Yes, tonight he would take her back to his house. Allison left the bar in the early hours of the morning. By the back entrance to avoid the drunken men who would paw at her like they did any woman who got close enough. She didn't think of them as people, because it would break her heart to think that people could treat her that way. They were animals. She followed the darkened back-alleys and side-streets towards home. For a paltry four hours sleep before she has to get up for work again. She walks with her eyes half closed, wishing she were asleep already. She is far too tired to hear the footsteps. Unaware of her situation until it should have been too late. Should have been. For any other young girl alone in the middle of the night. Perhaps if she had known what his intentions were she would have felt less guilty. Perhaps if she had seen his photograph album or the videos or the broken body of Little Rosebud, better known as Sandra Dunne to her frightened family and the police who were still searching for her, rotting under the old floorboards. But all she saw was the expression of fear and pain on his face, that lasted only an instant, and then the smouldering remains of a man. Terrified, Allison Crestmere ran. - - - - "Lockheed? Gone again. Don't know why he bothers to come at all. It's not like the thing likes me or anything." The speaker is a young man, a boy really. He is skinny and pale with untidy brown hair. His voice has an Irish accent, not especially strong. He wears a green t-shirt and jeans. He is talking to himself, he does that quite a lot. It's not like there's any- one else to talk to. Not anymore. He sometimes wonders what happened to them. But he's never really in the mood to check. It happened like this you see. One day they were all here and then most of them vanished off into space with these people called Starjammers (Excalibur #67). But they were supposed to come back. They'd left him behind as well as two others. One of the others was sitting in a waterfall being depressed and he'd gone to try and cheer her up (Excalibur #70) but something had happened. He'd sort of looked into her eyes and all of a sudden he'd felt so depressed and empty. He didn't really remember much for a while after that. When he'd finally got bored being depressed under a waterfall they'd all gone. He'd been too depressed to go looking for them so he'd stayed here. At Braddock Manor. Sometimes when he felt really depressed, as opposed to just his normal level of depression, he tried sitting in the waterfall for a while. He reasoned that if he was that depressed he wouldn't care if he was cold and wet and when he did start caring about being cold and wet he must be less depressed and so he went back inside. Well it made sense to him anyway. As a result he had a tendency to colds and flu. He hated having a cold, it made him depressed. Oh by the way, his name is Feron. He's easily recognised. He's the one whose feet don't seem to touch the ground. His mothers name is Fenchurch strangely enough. But having been brought up by monks he doesn't know that. He goes back inside after a thoughtful look at the waterfall. he thinks. He has just sat down when there is a banging on the door. A somewhat frantic pounding. He isn't sure whether to be interested in who might be there, hardly anyone comes round, or depressed at his silence being disturbed. He plumps for depressed, why change now? He goes to answer the door anyway. It's a girl. Somewhat mucky and tired looking. "What do you want?" "I'm looking for Excalibur, don't they live here?" He gives a short and rather sarcastic, "Hah!" He studies her for a moment. "I suppose you better come inside then." She follows him into the grand house. It seems empty, a bit dusty. Very quiet. "Are they out?" she asks. "Yes," he answers. "I... don't know when they'll be back. Perhaps never." "What?" "Perhaps they're dead. They could be I suppose. It's all rather depressing don't you think?" "I don't understand. Where are they? I need to see them." "They're gone. I'm Feron by the way. I was a member of Excalibur but they left me behind here. It's a bit... well... depressing. But I think I said that already." She looked upset. "I think I better leave." As she turned to go he grabbed her arm. "No wait!" She pulled away, falling to the floor. "Don't touch me!" The ground rumbled alarmingly. He looked at her with more interest. "I'm not going to hurt you. You're a mutant? Do... did Excalibur know you?" "My name is... Amara. I knew Rachael best I guess but I met Shadowcat and Nightcrawler too." He looked thoughtful. "The Phoenix Force is loose," he told her. "That's why I think maybe they're dead, but who knows. Sometimes I feel it but it won't come to me. It's all a bit..." "Depressing. Yes I know," she interrupted him. "Look is it all right if I stay here a while? I just... need somewhere to stay for a while. That's all." He seemed to be drifting away. "Sure. Make yourself at home. If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go and sit in the waterfall for a little while." "What?" But he had already left. Exhausted she sat down on the stairs and fell asleep there. When she woke up he was back. Hovering cross-legged about a foot off the floor. He looked excited, in a slightly depressed kind of way. "I have an idea." "Oh good," she said unconvincingly as she sat up. She felt awful. Her mind was fixating on the thought of having a bath. "We could start our own super-hero team!" he declared. "What? Are you mad?" "Well you know, sometimes I worry. I think maybe my mind is slipping away from me. It's all a bit..." "Oh Jupiter!" Unfortunately now that he had the idea in his head there was no stopping him. He placed adverts in the papers and in shop windows. Wanted: Super-heroes to form new team. Mutants welcome. Free bed and board. No time-wasters please. Amara suspected the free bed and board had more to do with the number of replies he got than the desire to fight for truth or justice. After discovering that the first fifty applicants had no super-powers of any description he pronounced it to be all a bit depressing. She ignored him and watched the television. The body had been found but not identified. She must have been reported missing by now but would they link her disappearance with it? Even if they did how would they find her? In a fit of panic she dyed her hair red and cut it shorter. Feron commented that sometimes, when he was depressed, he thought about shaving his head. She contemplated shaving it for him while he was asleep but it would probably just make him depressed. What didn't? - - - - Tom Jones was a student. Molecular Biochemistry to be precise. And Tom liked to be very precise. He'd gone to University to find out how to change two trolls from gold back to flesh. You see Tom is a mutant. His other name is Alchemy (see X-Factor #42). He'd discovered that he couldn't. Not that he'd told anyone else that. He'd bluffed his way through it. He'd been lucky that it worked, the consequences could have been... unpleasant. Anyway the trolls were still gold. Good thing nobody really cared about the fate of trolls. Well apart from other trolls. He could have got a decent job when he finished his degree but to tell the truth he had rather gone off Chemistry by then. It just reminded him how complex the world was. Besides it wasn't like he needed the money, not when he could turn lead into gold. Or copper or tin. The possibilities had seemed endless a few years ago. Now it seemed like there was nothing but limits, the limits of his mind. How many molecular properties can you hold in your mind at the same time? Not very many. Certainly not enough to bring back those trolls, the very idea seemed laughable. He opened the morning paper as he contemplated what pointless things he could do today to fill his time. A bath, maybe even two. A long lunch. Then he saw it. The word rolled around his head. "Super-hero." Well it sure had to beat layabout. His Mum was always getting on at him to do something that would make a difference. Or failing that to do something full stop. Well this was something all right. - - - - Dear Sir/Madam, I am writing to inquire about your advert in the local paper. You state you are looking for "super-heroes" to form a new team. I would be most interested in joining this team. I have worked with the X-Men, X-Factor and Excalibur and am myself a mutant. My name is Tom Jones and I am nineteen years old. My mutant power is to transform elements from one type to another. I hope to hear from you soon. Yours sincerely, Tom Jones (Alchemy). - - - - Feron brandished the letter under Amara's nose. "Look. It's Alchemy!" "Looks like a letter to me. What are you going to do? Turn it into gold?" "No. Alchemy. His power is to change the molecular make-up of objects. To turn lead into gold. He wants to join our team." "Your team you mean." "I don't know why I bother. I always seem to get stuck with the depressive females." Feron sat cross legged on the floor and allowed his face to take on a hang-dog look. "It's all so depressing." Amara ignored him and watched the news. They had identified the body from dental records. The police were trying to find any relatives. Sometimes she thought about giving herself in, anything to get away from Feron. she thought at the television screen. - - - - Alchemy arrived at Braddock Manor the next day with two suitcases and a rucksack. He seemed surprised at only two of them being there. "So what is this new team going to be called?" he asked cheerfully. Feron looked confused at this. "I hadn't thought of that. We could call ourselves Excalibur," he added hopefully. "But Excalibur call themselves Excalibur," Alchemy told him. "You mean they are still alive?" "Sure. They're up on Muir Island now." "Oh." Feron sounded rather disappointed. "Didn't you know that?" "No." His tone was icy. "Now if you'll excuse me I have to go and check on the waterfall." He glided out the door. "The what?" "Never mind," sighed Amara. "He's a bit... strange. Was he always so depressed?" "I don't know, I didn't know him for long. Why didn't he know where Excalibur were? I thought he was a member." "Don't ask me. They probably got sick of listening to him. Anyway, your room's up here." He followed her up the stairs. "Umm... I'm Tom, Tom Jones. Who're you?" "Oh! A... Amara. Amara Aquila." He nodded. "So is it just us three then?" "Don't go including me, this was his idea." "So you're not a mutant then?" "Well... yes. But I haven't really been in the super-hero business for a while. I gave it up." "Oh." Thankfully he didn't ask anymore questions. - - - - There weren't any more serious replies to Feron's advert. Hardly surprising really. She doubted most mutants would trust it. Of course Feron was depressed by this. Amara kept watching the television. And then it happened. They found Little Rosebud under the floorboards of the dead man's house. They found the photographs and the videos. And Amara found out how close she had come to that icy term, a fate worse than death. She switched the television off and stared at the wall for an hour. Thinking. Thinking that maybe they could have found that girl, if they'd known. Thinking about a dream that she had lost when she became Allison Crestmere. She went out to the waterfall. "How about the New Mutants?" she asked him. "I don't think anyone's using that one anymore." He smiled. The End, or just the beginning.