a fool's musings

Fool, said my muse to me, look in thy heart and write...

Warning: Adult Content achromatic unfinished fic graveyard recs journal new stuff recent stuff my back pages January 2004 December 2003 November 2003 October 2003 September 2003 August 2003 July 2003 June 2003 May 2003 April 2003 March 2003 February 2003 January 2003 December 2002 November 2002 October 2002 September 2002 August 2002 July 2002 June 2002 May 2002 April 2002 March 2002 February 2002 January 2002 December 2001 November 2001 the five Ws, or, all about me profile e-mail victoria my livejournal the original P&R comments current mood: "pathological and unbalanced" Items of Interest People LiveJournal folks Baraita bishclone claritylit Jintian Kat Allison Kit Mason metablog mix-tapes Neil Gaiman Nestra Sarah T. Seema Shrift Sundry Mourning zendom Music Walk On - U2 Thunder Road - Bruce Springsteen If I Can't Change Your Mind - Sugar Sick of Myself - Matthew Sweet Town Called Malice - The Jam One - U2 The Space Between - DMB Books Lord of the Rings Catch-22 The Neely Trilogy Absalom! Absalom! Possession: A Romance Foucault's Pendulum Dreamhouse LA Confidential I Capture the Castle Sandman Waking the Moon Shows Angel Buffy the Vampire Slayer (in reruns) Alias West Wing The Simpsons webrings < ? fanfiction ! > < ? writers ! > diaryreviews.diaryland.com NYC Bloggers Comments by Haloscan.com all links, if I haven't screwed up somehow, should open in a new browser window

08.12.02 - 11:33 p.m. tense and memory The smell of gunpowder and ozone. Storm's lightning throwing everything into sharp relief for a few seconds at a time. The woman, crying, so helpless, so afraid. Holding out a hand, remembering what it was like to be that alone. "We can help you. Come with me." The woman rises. The barrel of a gun. The spark and flare and then impact. A huge hole where her chest used to be. Flat on her back, staring at the stars, feeling the blood rush out of her, her heart shattered into useless bits of bloody flesh and muscle. Logan, raging, rushes the woman who'd shot her. The woman raises the gun again and shoots him, stopping him. Searing pain. Rage. Blood. He goes down and gets back up. The woman fires two more shots before Logan kills her, opening her from throat to pelvis. He stumbles and falls onto Marie, his lips seeking the bare skin of her face instinctively. She isn't breathing. He presses his forehead to hers, seeking as much contact as possible, willing her to heal, even at his expense. She is warm and calm, floating in nothingness. And then she is jerked back into her body, lungs screaming for air as her heart repairs itself with Logan's healing power. She remembers her own death, three distinct times, and from two points of view. Each time, she wonders why he fights so hard, gives so much of himself, to bring her back. So what do you think of flashbacks? Memories? Showing, not telling, through the character's remembrance? I'm never sure if they're a good device or not. I mean, obviously, yes, in the hands of a good author, sure. But they can start to seem very gimmicky if overdone. And also, you know, I'm not sure *I'm* good at them. Oh, I think I'm good at the scenes themselves. It's the placement, the overall usage, that worries me. The "how" the story should be told. Present/past/present/past - not tense though obviously, that's one way of differentiating, but you can have past and then, what is it? past perfect (pluperfect?) if you're good. Just alternating the past with the *narrative* present, which may, in fact be *written* in past tense. Of course, this particular memory is in present tense, while the story is currently in past, because it's a story that will be a little too long for me to comfortably write in present tense, and the distance imposed by third-limited-past feels necessary. (Whew. D'land was down for-fucking-ever, and I couldn't edit that to make sense and it was driving me MAD.) At least when I think about the action parts of the story - and by "action" I don't mean battles or anything, I just mean the events, the what happens, the praxis (see, I can bring the Greek, too *g*). The flashbacks, the memories, the near death experiences, the voices, the dreams - all the things that drive Rogue to the behavior that leads to the events of the story, however, they seem to call for present tense. Which makes sense, because they're immediate. She's reliving them in the NOW (I keep thinking of Mely's great Minority Report Agathafic), even if they happened THEN. The problem, if indeed it *is* a problem, is that once I start in present tense, it takes me a few paragraphs to remember to get back to past tense for the narrative, as opposed to the memories/flashbacks/NDEs/dreams. And it irks me to have to keep resetting my thought processes. I don't like to think too much during writing about the big picture. I'm more interested in getting the right words down in the right order to tell the story, than I am about structure or narrative drive or theme or anything like that. I find that when I'm on, those things just sort of happen, without me having to think too much or force anything. Nothing should seem forced to the reader. It's just hard, sometimes, as the writer, to be able to see it *as* a reader, you know? I mean, I know what I've forced, and what I've cut and what I like/don't like/am so in love with that I kept it regardless of my betas' advice. But *you* (generic, gentle reader "you" *g*) don't. And you shouldn't. Eh, I'm babbling. I should get back to writing. *g* ~victoria link [current mood: thoughtful] [current music: Pictures at an Exhibition - Mussorgsky] [random quote: Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory ~PB Shelley] ~*~ 08.12.02 - 2:25 p.m. LotR Survey I've got a grande mocha frap, a toasted bagel with cream cheese, and two of my bosses are on vacation. What more could a girl want? I had one of those brain freeze moments this morning where I couldn't remember which diskette I'd saved a story on, so I ended up just popping one in and looking over the files, and wound up opening Dreams in Red and writing a "Rogue's first blowjob" scene. ::shakes head:: I'm not even sure how to do this story, as it's not a romance, it's -urk- if you know the song the title comes from, you'll have a good idea what the fic is about, and I open it up occasionally, get heinously depressed when I start thinking about it, and then stop. I mean, it's almost a year now since I started writing (this is one of the few I've got an actual *start date* on - 10/12/01. heh. I usually only have the end date, but for this one I put that in for some reason. I probably thought I should do that with all my stories. Hasn't happened.), and the idea's been around longer than *that*, but it's just so sad. I mean, it makes *me* sad, and it's rare that one of my own ideas does that. Usually I'm gleeful about the death/torture/madness/addiction I inflict on Rogue. Here it's just... sad. Anyhow, I've been writing a little on that and thinking of the progression, since it's sort of a Rogue and omniscient POV in past tense to tell the story of Rogue and Steve interspliced with first person present tense sections where each of the X-Men talks about their reactions to the relatioinship and its aftermath. And hten possibly a Rogue present tense POV last. I'm not sure. It's also possible to just end on the Logan POV, but I think Rogue needs to speak herself. ::wrinkles nose:: we'll see, I guess. Anyhow, another survey: From Katta LotR Survey 1. Who is your favourite character(s)? Faramir, Aragorn, Gandalf, Eowyn 2. What is your favourite LOTR quote? I can't really quote lines, but I've always been fond of "all that is gold does not glitter / not all those who wander are lost / the old that is strong does not wither / and deep roots are not touched by the frost" 3. How long have you been waiting for a live action LOTR movie? I never expected there to be one, really. I always thought it was far too complicated to make a realistic looking live-action movie of it, but with how far technology has come... 4. When did you first read LOTR and how many times since then? I was 8 or 9. Probably at least 10 times all the way through since then, and then in bits and pieces as well. 5. Whom do you think was cast exactly the way you imagined? Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, Galadriel 6. When will you see The Two Towers? Probably a week or two after it opens, when it's easier to get tickets. 7. How many times do you plan on seeing it? Once or twice in the theatre, and then many, many times on DVD if it's as good as FotR 8. Who is your favourite villain? I have a fondness for Grima Wormtongue. I like seeing him humiliated. The Balrog is damned cool. So is Smaug. I just feel terribly bad for Gollum, and Sauron's not really a character so much as a shadow lingering in the background. It's hard to get a handle on him in LotR 9. Which character are you most like? Sadly, Boromir, with some Merry, Pippin and Sam thrown in. 10. Mirkwood, Lothlorien, Rivendell, The Shire, Mordor, Gondor or the Misty Mountains. Where would you most like to live? Rivendell or the Shire. Actually, it's not on the list, but the Grey Havens appeal, since they're on the shore, in sight of the ocean. 11. Mirkwood, Lothlorien, Rivendell, the Shire, Mordor, Gondor, or the Misty Mountains. Where would you least like to live? Mordor, of course. 12. Favorite Hobbit? Pippin or Merry. 13. Favorite Elf? Legolas, though I was fond of Glorfindel in the book. 14. Favorite Dwarf? Gimli (though I always liked Balin and Bombur in The Hobbit, as well) 15. Favourite Human? Faramir. 16. Favourite Wizard? Gandalf! Who else? 17. Favourite Orc? Grishnakh? He's the only one whose name I can remember. *g* 18. Part in the books that made you cry? Frodo leaving Sam behind and going off to the West, maybe 19. Part in the movie that made you cry? ::looks embarrassed:: Boromir's death 20. If you had lots of money, a good life, family, friends and were happy would you give it all up to live in Middle Earth? No fucking way in hell. I like my modern conveniences too much. 21. If you were given a one night stand with ONE character who would you go with? Faramir. Or Aragorn. Or Legolas. You can't make me choose just one. Especially since Sean Bean makes Boromir so much more appealing than he was in the book. *G* 22. Was the movie what you hoped? Oh yeah. And more. 23. What do you think they should have changed? I would have liked to have seen the Sword That Was Broken scene play the way it does in the book. 24. Who is your favorite actor(s) out of the Fellowship? Actor? Ian McKellen rocks ass. 25. After seeing the movie, which weapon would you most like to learn? If Legolas would teach me, the bow. 26. Which LOTR female character would you want to be? Eowyn. She kicks ass and she marries Faramir. What more could you want? 27. Which LOTR male character would you want to be? Legolas 28. Thing you are most looking forward to in TTT? Ents! Faramir! 28. How did you get into LOTR? Someone gave my sister the box set of LotR and The Hobbit for Christmas. The box was pretty, golden, and the books looked interesting - there were maps, and I'm a sucker for maps, so I read The Hobbit and continued from there. I was 8, I think. Possibly 9. No older. I read it the second time in fifth grade, when I was 10, so it had to be 8 or 9. 29. How did you hear of the LOTR books, or who gave them to you? Don't remember. 30. Has LOTR (books/movie) changed or helped your life in anyway? Made me want to write, to create worlds like Middle-earth. ~victoria link [current mood: still geeky] [current music: Let It Be - Beatles] [random quote: If I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, \"Let it be.\"] ~*~ 08.12.02 - 10:13 a.m. Geekery, thy name is victoria Hee! I'm very excited. I'm not making any official announcements just yet, because I want to have everything in place, but the lovely and talented, yet time-pressed Kielle has handed over the reins of the original X-Men Movieverse archive to me. Hee! I have very fond memories of this archive, because Kielle was the first to archive me, which was a big deal to a newbie writer. This was also the place I read such seminal XMM stories as Defensive Lines, The Big Crunch series, and of course, Safety In Numbers. So I'm very giddy about being able to keep the old stories online and then, as time passes, reopening it. I haven't decided yet how that's going to work, so I'm not going to say anymore. I'm just really geeked, because the domain name has resolved to the IP address, which means the under construction page is up, which means I should be able to start FTP'ing files up in the next couple days. Just as soon as I fix all the linkage. *snerk* DD has agreed to be Princess of Logan/Jean Submissions, if and when the time comes, so I won't have to give my gag reflex a workout. *G* If you know you've got something that was archived on the site, and you want it removed, or you've got a new contact address or something, email me. ::dances off, singing:: What can't we face if we're together? What's in this place that we can't weather? Apocalypse? We've all been there The same old trips Why should we care? What can't we do if we get in it? We'll work it through within a minute We have to try We'll pay the price It's do or die Hey, I've died twice. What can't we face if we're together? What can't we face? What's in this place we can't weather? If we're together... There's nothing we can't face ...Except for bunnies. ~victoria link [current mood: giddy and geeky] [current music: I've Got a Theory - BtVS cast] [random quote: What can't we face if we're together? What's in this place that we can't weather?] ~*~ 08.11.02 - 7:42 p.m. Feminizing Frodo Be warned, there are some The Two Towers spoilers way down at the end of this ramble, if you haven't read the books and don't want to know what happens, don't read this. So there I am watching FotR with dad this afternoon, and it strikes me that while the Fellowship does indeed lack women, Frodo himself becomes what the women in such old-fashioned epic adventure tales are: He carries evil. The ring will turn men against each other, make them envious, make them fight to the death for the right to carry it, wield it. (Remember, women are generally considered bad luck in wartime situations, aboard ship, etc., especially in adventure tales. Even nowadays, there's still a plethora of action movies that relegates the women to the love interest/mother/doctor role, though not as across-the-board as it used to be.) Every evil thing that strikes the Company grabs at Frodo - the squid thingy outside Moria, the troll, even old Shelob herself. Now yes, it's very likely that evil evil things(TM) are attracted to the extremely evil thing which Frodo carries up on his person. They can probably sniff it out and they all want it for themselves. In the book, it's not so noticeable. I first read LotR when I was 8 or 9. I was not exactly a hotbed of feminist philosophy at that age (nor am I now, to be honest - I avoided Women's Studies like the plague in college, and haven't done much to rectify that since). And while I never really thought much about what Frodo looked like, it never struck me that he was handsome. He was a hobbit. He had dark hair and eyes and hairy feet. I was, later, perhaps influenced by the very bad cartoon version of LotR, and pictured someone similar to the cartoon-Frodo and never thought about it again, being too busy daydreaming of Faramir's raven locks and wise grey eyes to be bothered with mere hobbits. However, on seeing/hearing that Elijah Wood would be playing Frodo, and then actually *seeing* him in the movie... He is a very pretty young man, emphasis on *young* and *pretty*. Now, it's been a while, and my books are at home, but Frodo was what? 33 when Bilbo left? Was it not a joint 33 and 111 birthday party, because 33 is the age of majority among hobbits? And then a number of years pass before Gandalf tells Frodo that he's got the One Ring. So Wood, while talented, and quite believable as Frodo, doesn't exactly match what I pictured when I read the books, not the way the other characters do (except for Elrond, but I can't get Agent Smith out of my head, so that's more my problem than theirs, right?). Anyhow, Wood is extremely pretty, almost feminine, even, in his attractiveness. And he spends the whole of the first movie being protected and rescued by big burly men who never wash their hair (except for Legolas) and are lethal with their swords, bows and other weapons of destruction. Hell, he's even rescued by a *woman* (albeit an Elf woman), who wields a sword better than he does. (They should have at least allowed him the dignity of the wound he inflicts on one of the Riders in the book.) I'm just rambling, but I was thinking this afternoon just how easily Frodo, in FotR, slots right into the damsel in distress role, the fairy tale princess who is under a curse and must be protected at all costs, and how Wood's looks play into that perception. Just a thought, anyway. TTT should correct some of that, as well as bring the strong female character Eowyn into play (though there again, in order to go to battle what must she do? Dress as a man. She kills the Nazgul lord (it is she, yes, and not Merry?), and yet they couldn't even be bothered to bring her along, she had to dress up and ride after them.), but for now, it was an interesting exercises that other people may or may not agree with. ~victoria link [current mood: full] [current music: I've Got a Theory - BtVS cast] [random quote: It's do or die - hey I've died twice...] ~*~ 08.11.02 - 12:27 p.m. It's my party and I'll cry if I want to Thanks to Min for the helpful comments on the cheese fic. I will definitely think about expanding the beginning. I seem to be running into this "telling not showing" with backstory lately, which sucks. Of course, last night I read "Eight Blues" by darkstar, "The Scent of Rain" and "By Firelight" by Jenn and now I'm convinced I'll never write another word again, because I suck. I hate that. I hate hate hate that inferior feeling, where I read something and know I'll never write something as good as that. And objectively, I know I'll never write something *like* someone else - I mean, I'm me. I don't try to ape other people's styles really. Once or twice, yeah - Crave was definitely me flirting with Te's style, and in the Unspoken RR I think I might be writing like other people on occasion, just to keep the tone sounding the same over the course of the whole thing, but... Remember I had the Adopt a WIP Orphan idea a while ago? I've thought of it, and there's one or two I've talked with other authors about, but I don't know if I could *do* that - take their take on the characters and continue in that vein. Add to that my current feeling of bleh-ness, and well... I'm on a "I hate everything I've ever written!" kick. It will probably only last until I eat my bagel (sweet, sweet bagel), and this is in no way a call for petting or ego stroking, which is how it may appear. (Though, to be sure, petting is never turned away. *snicker* I'm just not fishing for it.) I just go through these envious phases where I think, "Why can't I write like that?" Then I write something I kinda like, and it passes. It's never fully gone, but it's not debilitating, usually. And as I've grown fond of the Boromir fic over the course of the week, I obviously don't think I suck all the time and at everything. I just ... sometimes I wish I had the strength and the drive to move outside my comfort zone. I stretch in little ways, but then I pull back. I don't know if it's me - if it's just I don't want to write brittle, sharp, beautifully hurtful stories, if it's that I can't, or if it's that I'm feeling pressured by fandom to write angst or whatever because that's perceived as better quality, and of course, who doesn't want their work to be good and lauded as "quality" writing? Eh, I know this will pass, and I'm trying to write different things (as can be seen by my dipping into two fandoms where I've loved hte franchise itself my whole life, but never even considered writing fic for) but right now, I'm just having me a pity party. Food now, and then a viewing of FotR. We've tried to convince my mother that she should watch, but she's being very resistent. ::shakes head:: Some people don't know what's good... ~victoria link [current mood: pathetic. also, hungry] [current music: All I Wanted - Michele Branch] [random quote: Antiquis temporibus, nati tibi similes in rupibus ventosissimis exponebantur ad necem.] ~*~ 08.10.02 - 8:45 p.m. easy cheese, karaoke and Simon and Garfunkel This may possibly be the cheesiest fic ever written. I'm not sure. At least I've finally exorcised the damned idea from my head, and can now work on other things, like editing the Boromir fic and maybe finishing off the Prodigal or something. *** Jumping to Conclusions "I think Rogue is cheating on me," Logan said, causing Jean to jump in surprise. He'd tracked her down in her office, and dropped the bomb without warning. "What? Why? How? Who?" "She's been disappearing a lot lately. At regular times. Like she's got an appointment or something, but who has appointments at nine, ten o'clock at night? And when she gets back, she smells of cigarettes and beer and--" He stopped. "Go on." "And well, Cyke." At her blank look, he said, "She smells like Cyke." Jean's mouth opened and closed in shock. Finally, she said, "I -- I don't know what to say." He nodded, pacing the room, feeling like a trapped animal. "At first I thought they were training together or something, but they're not in the Danger Room or the gym. And they're always gone at the same time. So--" "Scott's not cheating on me, Logan," Jean insisted. "I'd know it if he were." 'Poor Jeannie,' he thought. 'So blind, so in love.' "I'm following them tonight. They leave separately, but I know they'll end up together. Be in the garage at nine if you want to come with." He stalked out, leaving Jean alone with her thoughts. *** It was Thursday, his usual poker night, but Logan decided to give Rogue one last chance to confess. Later that evening, he sat on their bed and stared moodily at her as she brushed her hair and chose her earrings. She picked the diamond studs he'd gotten her for her birthday the first year they were together. They'd been so happy then. He'd thought, until last night, when she'd come home with another man's scent on her, that they were still happy. Apparently not. The black leather pants she wore hugged her curves enticingly as she bent over to pick up her boots, and her tight black t-shirt accentuated her full breasts. She was gorgeous. And she was dressing up for someone else. He came up behind her as she applied her lipstick -- a dark wine color that made her pale skin glow. He put his hands on her shoulders and nuzzled at her neck. "God, you smell good." "Mmm, thanks." His hands slid down to her hips, pulling her flush against him. 'Mine,' he thought savagely. 'Not Cyke's.' Squeezing her hip, he said, "Why don't we stay in tonight?" She giggled, rubbing her ass against him. "I'd love to, but I have plans with the girls." She turned and put her arms around his neck. "And don't you have poker night down at Pete's Tavern?" He knew her scent in all its variations, and she was nervous, but not fearful. She knew he'd never hurt her. The same could not be said of One Eye. After he was done with the Boy Scout, they'd need dental records to identify the body. He dropped his hands, knuckles itching. "Yeah. Yeah, I do," he growled. That earned him a concerned look from Marie. "You all right?" "Hmph." She caressed his cheek with a gloved hand and then pressed a quick kiss to his sideburn. "Love you. See you later. Good luck tonight." She picked up her bag and was gone. He sank down onto the bed, defeated. She was lying to him now. That was the one thing they'd never done -- they were always honest with each other, since the day in his truck when they'd shared their real names. Over the years, this honesty might have caused a fight or two, but it had prevented far more than it had caused, he was convinced. He watched from the window as she drove away. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she wasn't lying. He went to the kitchen to grab a beer. She was going out with the girls. He could deal with that-- Except that Kitty and Jubilee were in the kitchen with three or four of the younger students, making ice cream sundaes. His shoulders slumped in defeat. "Want some ice cream?" Kitty asked. "You look like you could use some cheering up." "No thanks," he grunted. He wanted to believe in her, but the evidence was all there. She was going out and lying about it. She came home smelling like another man. The first few times, she'd hopped right in the shower and called for him to join her, and he'd gone eagerly. They had an endless supply of liquid latex for shower play, and he'd gotten used to the feel of it against his skin. But two nights ago, he'd caught Scott's scent in her hair, he'd been unable to stop thinking of the other man touching her, having her. It was going to drive him mad. The sound of Scott's bike roaring down the driveway broke into his thoughts. "Shit." He hustled to the garage so he could follow. Jean was there, waiting, her face grave. "Let's go," was all she said. "I know where they are." They took the BMW and rode silently into the city, stopping finally in front of a bar called Mighty Jim's, down on Union Square. There were lots of people milling around -- most of them college age, Logan noted distastefully. The crowd around the entrance to the bar parted like the Red Sea for Logan. The sign in front said, "Live Music. No Cover," and as they went down the stairs to the bar, he thought that under other circumstances, he'd probably like the place. At the moment, however, all he could feel was betrayal, pain and rage. He could also feel Jean radiating calm and comfort beside him as they slid into a booth, and he wondered yet again why anyone would cheat on her. He was hurt and saddened by Marie's defection, but he'd always known she was too good for him, had always worried about the day she realized she could do better. Have someone younger, better-looking, smarter, not so fucked up. Someone with a past, a future. A name. But Scott -- he and Jean seemed so happy, so well-suited. Not that any man wouldn't have to be damn blind and stupid not to give Marie a second, third and fourth look, but -- He still couldn't wrap his mind around it, but he knew what his nose was telling him, and his nose was never wrong. The waitress brought their beers as he was thinking, and he growled, "I knew I never liked One-Eye." Jean covered his hand with hers, offering comfort, but she seemed more amused than sad. They didn't talk. Jean attempted to discuss various school matters, the current political climate, the Rangers' Cup chances, and the state of her wardrobe, but no subject elicited more than a grunt from Logan, who could barely pay attention to her. He was too busy scanning the room for a telltale white streak or pair of red shade. He found nothing though, which just made him grumpier. Jean said they were here, so where the hell were they? He was on his fifth beer and Jean halfway through her second when the jukebox went silent and everybody turned to the small platform in the back of the bar. A spotlight glinted off red shades, and then there was Rogue, swaying as Scott played the guitar, the two of them huddled together and then she began to sing, words he'd heard a million times before. "Hello, darkness my old friend, I've come to talk with you again." Her voice was good, if not Broadway caliber, and Scott's light tenor complemented her, their voices soaring in harmony as he played his guitar. After staring transfixed for most of the first verse, Logan turned to Jean. "You knew!" She shrugged. "It's hard to hide things from a telepath, especially if you're married to one." "Why didn't you tell me?" "They wanted it to be a surprise." He turned back to the makeshift stage. One song flowed into the next, and he could tell that the crowd liked the music. For the faster songs, Marie shook her hips and her hair, belting out the lyrics he'd heard her sing in the shower dozens of times. They played Beatles songs and Stones songs, and selections from the Kinks and Bruce Springsteen, and they closed with a version of Melissa Etheridge's "Like the Way I Do" that brought down the house. He was on his feet at the end, pushing his way through the crowd to get to her. She was talking to someone -- the manager, he guessed -- but she turned the moment he got close. "Logan!" "Hey, darlin'." She looked past him, and he knew Jean had followed in his wake. "You weren't supposed to tell him yet," Rogue said. Jean shrugged, and Scott threw an arm around her shoulders. "Some secrets aren't meant to be kept." Rogue laid a hand on Logan's arm. "We wanted it to be a surprise. I hated not telling you, but, well--" "Why don't we go someplace where we can talk," Scott suggested, gesturing toward the door with his guitar. They made their way out into the night. Logan's relief at being wrong and his pride at seeing Rogue do well were quickly changing into anger at being lied to and kept in the dark. By the time they reached the twenty-four hour diner two blocks away, his knuckles were itching. Rogue slid into the booth next to him and smiled apologetically. "I was going to tell you. Really I was. But--" "It was my fault," Scott interrupted. "No, it wasn't. I made the decision." "I should have told you not to keep it a secret," Jean said. "I just didn't expect Logan to react quite the way he did." They all looked at Logan. "What did you do, sugar?" He dropped his gaze to his hands, and cracked his knuckles to stall. "I, er, well, you see--" "He thought you and Scott were having an affair," Jean said, matter-of-factly. Scott burst into laughter. "What? You'd be lucky to get a woman as beautiful as Marie to look at you. No offense, Jeannie." "None taken," she murmured, but he ignored her and continued, "And she came home smelling like you. What the hell else was I supposed to think?" "Logan, have I done anything to make you believe I'm not happy?" He shifted uncomfortably. "Lying to me. Sneaking out with Scooter. And Jeannie knew, but you didn't tell me." He tapped the tabletop. "Not exactly trusting, is it?" "You jumped to the conclusion that I'm a harlot who's cheating on you with my friend's husband! That's not exactly trusting, either, Logan!" Their voices were rising and the other denizens of the diner eyed them curiously. Logan growled, but these were New Yorkers, and they weren't intimidated. He moderated his tone. "The evidence was there. I just--" "Jumped to conclusions! The wrong conclusions!" Rogue obviously didn't care that they were attracting attention, but he did. He didn't like attracting attention, though it might mean a good fight tonight, and a way of working off the excess anxiety that had turned into anger. "Smelled like Scott! You smelled like Scott when you had sex with me!" he roared, and it took every ounce of control not to unsheathe the claws just to get his point across. The spectators all leaned in a little closer. Rogue opened her mouth, and then closed it, lower lip trembling suspiciously. She rose and rushed out of the diner. "Go easy," Jean called as he followed her. "You can beat me up later," Scott said. 'You can count on that,' Logan thought. There were few things he hated more in life than making Marie cry, and even though he knew they were both in the wrong, he'd suck it up and apologize. It was what real men did. Real, pussy-whipped men, who loved their girlfriends to the point of nausea. She stood with her back to him, arms wrapped around herself, shoulders shaking. He could hear her making choking noises, and took a deep breath. "Baby, I'm so sorry--" He touched her arm and she turned unresistingly. She was laughing. *Laughing*. Not crying. "What the hell--" "I'm sorry," she choked out. "I know it's terrible. I lied to you. You accused me of cheating. I'm very angry. It's just -- there were all these people staring at us, like we were the latest episode of _General Hospital_ or something." Her laughter had always been infectious, and this time was no different. He snorted and grinned. "We did sound kinda ridiculous in there, didn't we?" She nodded. "Yeah. And, well, I'm sorry. I thought it would be a cool surprise. I just wanted to make sure we could actually do it before I told you. I mean, sure, karaoke is one thing--" "Karaoke?" "You know, they play the music but you sing the words--" "I know what karaoke is, Marie. What does that have to do with anything?" "Oh. Remember when you were on that mission to Bangladesh with Storm and Remy last month? Scott, Jean and I went out and got really drunk and did karaoke. And Jean, well, to put it nicely, she couldn't sing her way out of a paper bag. I think every cat in the neighborhood was outside the door when she was done. "But I used to sing in chorus in high school, and I know I have a pretty good voice. And Scott -- he was in a band in college. So after convincing Jean that she should just sit and watch, he and I did a version of 'Proud Mary' that rocked the house. So we started going to karaoke night all over the place. But then Scott mentioned he used to play guitar, and we didn't need to do karaoke, we could actually be, like, an act. We went to open mike night at a few places, and then, at this bar in Yonkers, we came in third. We went back, and the second time, we won, and the manager of Mighty Jim's asked us if we wanted to play at his bar. So we said yes. And that's where we are now. "It was just for fun." "Fun that you didn't want me to know about." "I--" She drew a deep breath. "You're right. Jean knew. It's just -- I figured if tonight went well, I would ask you to come next time, and surprise you. I just didn't want you to see me if I sucked." "Marie, baby, I would never think you sucked." She raised an eyebrow. "Okay, if you sounded really bad, I might think it, but I wouldn't *say* it. I mean, I love you. Even if you sound like a dying moose when you sing." "I don't sound like a dying moose." She was so cute when she was offended, but he knew that if he said anything, he'd get into even more trouble, so he just said, "No, you don't." She smiled. "We were good. We rocked the house." "You did, but don't get cocky, Janis." "Hee! Janis!" She wrapped an arm around his waist and buried her face against his chest. "No more lies, okay? I don't really like surprises." "Okay. And no more jumping to conclusion?" "Well, you've gotta admit, kid, things looked pretty suspicious--" She pinched him. "Ow! Okay, no more jumping to conclusions." He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "Let's go home." "What about Scott and Jean?" He looked back into the diner window, to see the Fearless Leader of the X-Men making out with his wife in plain view. He decided he'd like to be doing the same with Marie. "I don't think they'll miss us." End. *** I think it wants to be songfic, in the worst sense of the term, but I refuse to do that, so I'm left with this... not quite mushy enough to be mush, and not really angsty and not at all funny, which is what I was hoping for before I started writing. It's just... urgh. Oh well, I'm now depending on my beta girls and boy to somehow make it decent. Maybe I should just refrain from writing until my head clears up. Maybe... Ooh, and just so you know, I"m not ignoring my comments. I just want to be able to think clearly when I respond. I've also got a strong argument for including the "non-canonical" thing in the slash definition, but like I said, my head hurts. ~victoria link [current mood: sick] [current music: Giants-Patriots on television] [random quote: I am a rock, I am an island and a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries] ~*~ previous - next DiaryLand Disclaimer: Reading this diary is not required by law. If you do not like or agree with the contents herein, or find them to be offensive on more than one occasion, please go elsewhere and don't come back. Management is not responsible for any adverse reactions to content within. The painting is "Boreas" by John William Waterhouse. Again, not a muse, but I like her. She suits the color scheme. The quote is from Sir Philip Sidney. 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