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mutatismutandisSummary: Rogue just hasn't been herself lately.
"You cannot continue to let yourself go like this, child." She winced at word "child," but then she sighed and did not react. She was used to it. To Charles Xavier, everyone was a child. Someone to be taken care of. Someone in need of his wisdom. It was his strength, and his failing. She wondered if he knew this.
"We have been over that argument before," he chided gently -- of course he'd overheard what she was thinking, he always could -- "and I'm certain we will go over again in future. Now, however, is not the time. I must concur with the others: you cannot go on like this."
She pressed her forehead against her knees, and this time she did sigh. Noisily. "What is this, an intervention? Don't y'all have anything better to do?"
A scarily plausible scenario, as disorienting and unsettling as the Salvador Dali painting it takes its name from.
The Persistence of Memory
"You cannot continue to let yourself go like this, child." She winced at word "child," but then she sighed and did not react. She was used to it. To Charles Xavier, everyone was a child. Someone to be taken care of. Someone in need of his wisdom. It was his strength, and his failing. She wondered if he knew this.
"We have been over that argument before," he chided gently -- of course he'd overheard what she was thinking, he always could -- "and I'm certain we will go over again in future. Now, however, is not the time. I must concur with the others: you cannot go on like this."
She pressed her forehead against her knees, and this time she did sigh. Noisily. "What is this, an intervention? Don't y'all have anything better to do?"
A scarily plausible scenario, as disorienting and unsettling as the Salvador Dali painting it takes its name from.
The Persistence of Memory
