State of My Mind

October 12, 2016:

Rogue is brought back to the X-Men HQ where Charles, Blaquesmith and Gambit help her break free of Apocalypse hold.


NPCs: Blaquesmith, Professor X


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

After several rounds of back and forth between Illyana and Blaquesmith the mutants were released from Limbo. The contained Famine held within the trans-temporal sphere and deposited back on Earth in the X-Bunker itself.

Presently Gambit awaits Charles and Blaquesmith to return impatiently, his knuckles raw torn up meat wraps. Painful but his pride was wounded even more. Not one but four X-Men had been taken and he was incapable of stopping any of them. Alive, safe from the grip of Apocalypse and here once more, fretting over his comrade's fates.

It has been almost an hour now since the Time Traveler and the Professor have disappeared. Off doing whatever telepathic get to know you psi-types do when they first meet. If it is anything like Blaquesmith got along with Magik he hopes Xavier is prepared.

"Gambit." The Cajun looks up as the Leader of the X-Men and Blaquesmith return. The older man wheeling in to sit near the thief.

"We may have a solution and more, a plan that can work in our favor."

"First you must trust me and know that I would never harm one of my X-Men. Never. Second… we, you and I must delve further in to Rogue's mind than I have ever gone, we much reach painfully deep in to her psyche and try to draw her forward."

"Why me?" Remy asks.

"Your connection with Anna-Marie is palpable even to those of us who are not telepathic. I will require your aid."

"Right, anything. I am ready."

"Are you? This is not the same as the Darkhold, the Darkhold brought fears forward, warped those and used them to turn Rogue and yourself in to someone else. Twisted you."

"This, from my understanding is something different all together, this is actually a true side of those afflicted, Apocalypse is a master manipulator and he understands the best way to get someone to do something for you is for them to want to, what we see now will not be fueled by fear but by Rogue's very own beliefs. Ones she may have buried but they are, none the less, her."

"I don't care, Charles. I want to help her. I owe this to any of them, I been there each an' every time, me, I come back and dey go. I feel like a coward."

"You are not a coward, Remy. But, I ask you again, are you ready?"

"Yes. I believe so. Lets save her."

Blaquesmith clears his throat while pushing one of Beasts devices over, a machine used to extract nanites and it appears the Future Mutant has added some modifications. Small ones but they should be enough. "While the two of you are in softening her resolve, lowering her mental defenses I will work on siphoning away some of the Celestial tech."

"Some?" Gamnit asks.

"Yes, only some. This is the other part of this that is tricky… we are clueless when it comes to Apocalypse. We need someone on the inside. We need a double-agent. I thought I had that with Ozymandias but he was a snake, he duped me." Blaquesmith insists.

"You wanna send her back to them?!" The Cajun's voice rises to a shout. "Back to Apocalypse, back to what we got her from!?!?"

"Gambit, please, calm down and consider the others. This is an opportunity we will not have again, you know Rogue, she would want to do this if she had a choice in the matter." Charles adds.

"But she don't have no choice, homme. No choice at all." A sigh escapes Gambit. "Whatever, let get this over wit. Maybe we ask her while we in there poking around."

"Place your hand on my shoulder Remy and we will begin… "

"Ready." Blaquesmith confirms…


State of My Head.

The wormhole sinking into her mind goes from -dark- to darker.

It's been a long bumpy ride sittin' back in the saddle
It's time to get down, dirty up our knees in the battle
Come on, round up the boys, gonna make the walls rattle..

Along the walls of the cavern eyes peer forth, Remy will recognize them. The only thing showing is the incandescent green of reflection upon black scaleras, ivory of rows of jagged teeth, and the feel of scraping slime as a tongue slathers along exposed skin, leaving snail-trails of slime behind that nearly dissolves fabric behind…

But then comes the fear as fabric melts away and skin is exposed!

Absorbed bits feign away, looking like beaten animals, shielding themselves as light encroaches into what -is- truly Rogue, at least what the true Rogue has absorbed despite wanting to or not.

Uppn a skeletal horse, Remy rides, a saddened look in those crimson eyes rimmed in darkness, but when he turns upon the horse his smile is like the Darkhold gremlin, those cards flying their way with a pull from the saddlebag, and when the horse rears beneath its hooves laden in hocks of manged fur the others reside.

Behind them, a darkness whirls, and within, an emaciated form of Rogue lays curled, nearly stripped of the green and white 'X' Attire, clutching bony knuckles through strands of similarly bereft and barren strands, pale locks hitting the ground that is con-caving beneath knees.

Oh, my eyes are seein' red,
Double vision from the blood we've shed.
The only way I'm leavin' is dead.
That's the state of my, state of my, state of my head..

Charles is walking here. Upright, proud, the gait of a man that was once a soldier. Confident and easy one foot after another. His attire is green fatigues, rolled up sleeves, black gloves, combat boots.
"Come on, Remy. Pay no mind to the things around you, we mustn't lose focus."
"That not so easy, Charles." An echo? Sharles sharles sharles? No it's himself, or Rogues vision of him on the horse mocking him, smiling like the Cheshire cat. "At least she still see me handsome." Perfect time to jest.
"Rogue! Hold on!" Remy thrusts forward shoving a large bodied female out of the way, a man, no a woman, ugly hair, an apron, stains all along it talking in a lilted voice. The Blob? Blobette? "What is going on with dat, chere? Why you…"
"Remy, do not get distracted." More firm this time Charles points towards the curled up and tattered Rogue. "There. We must reach her, move around yet with them. Do not force. We do not want to hurt her mind. This is hers, we are only visitors, touch nothing and no one. Just… to phrase a true mind, be like water."
"Bruce Lee, Charles? You never cease to amaze." Gambt is listening though, trying his damnedest to move past the distractions, to reach the sad torn up looking ragdoll of a woman that is Anna-Marie Darkholme.

They can move like water, but as they do so, a brick heads their way. A Carol of old, the red sash a show against something that seems to span black and white against the backdrop like a blood spatter as she seeks impact upon the intruders, Marvel's own facade sunken… Struck by Famine as the rest of them.

And when she impacts between Charles and Remy, the crater Anna is curled within sinks as if struck as well, but the circumference of (absorbed) souls that surround her howl in pain. This is not them!

…Not her.
The figure that unfurls bare fingertips from the fall of auburn and alabaster, and as strands hit the ground more cracks form. Lips part almost as if in a plea, but the cry that comes forth is plaintive while the absorbed entities take it as a moment to charge at the invading duo despite their emaciated state…

…A state negated by their intrusion on the outside, and finality within.

"Remy, I will handle them. You continue to seek Rogue, bring her out from behind Famine. She can fight this." As Charles speaks Hoplite armor encases him a T visored helm, pointed shield and a spear. A Dreamscape Spartan ready to rally and face down the mass of personas captive inside of Rogue's psyche.

Remy slides underneath 'Carol' tumbling and kicking up in to a run past the throng, a fist full of hair has him jerking aside what looks like Mystique but he is unsure, tossing her aside at a skeletal Toad. These are phantoms from Rogue's time among the Brotherhood no doubt.
A pause given only as he comes head to head with Magneto, the young woman idolized the man, looked up to him, maybe even has an attraction for him and it shows here. He is monolithic but only an illusion. No substance. Rogue never absorbed the man and the Cajun knows this, he rushes through the wraith and on-wards, "Rogue! This not you, ma chere. It me, the Swamp Rat, Charles and I came in to save you. Apocalypse gone and made you like Warren, made you a Horseman, you need to come out, let us help you so we can save the others." A mouthful, he imagines if he had breath in here he would be panting. How does Spider-Man and Deadpool do it?
Swinging around in a circle he peers through the darkness, feels for Rogue, attempts to find her in the shadowy madness. "This Famine thing, it so clashy, so not you, its got no color at all, you full of color, belle."

Yeah, I'm full of deep cuts right down to the marrow,
but there's no doubt we'll get out from the bottom of the barrel!

Rogue felt incapable, unable, but the Famine, it gave her the ability… Purpose! All of them…

But none of them wanted this, not truly. Not even Rogue, herself.

Blackened pits her eyes rested in ran like mascara down pale cheeks, fingers that claw from shedding hair descend along her facade, smearing the black along emaciated cheeks like war-paint with Remy's words, but an echo all the while behind him those blackened eyes of an emerald glow watch Charles fluidly topple the apoco-plague ridden mentalities.

"After alla this, ya find me with color, Swamp Rat? Ya see me…" A deep draw of air in among the cse of saddened sniffles and draws of hyper-air and insects draw inward, a light fading, reflected in small sparks within her eyes, but when the 'Rogue' before him coughs they expel and the con-caved ground they trsided on crumbles, leaving them on a solitary isle, dangling over an abyssal chasm.

"I matter to HIM, I can do something meaningful…." But the deaths, the plague, the wails that ring a cacophony in the backdrop of her words. Rogue did not want this, only Famine, and that is not her…where it counts, although it will ever be a part of her now.

"Help me, Mister Lah-beau, Ah need no more of this…" Hands splay foward and flesh laden in hair litters her palms, ripping soul asunder in the battle within her head.

"Sharls," she says in an echo of Remy's own words. "Ah can't, all Ah want…"

The tattered gloved hands barely reach bony fingers to skirt Remy's and in that kneel before him her hands fall between legs as if reverent, but when Rogue looks up iris' bear a revitalizing white…

"Is ta be free."

The only way I'm leavin' is dead.
That's the state of my head!

"You were free, petit. You were free when you was an X-Man. Apocalypse want nothing but to make you a slave, he took two more of us today too. Just like he doin' this to you, hes doing it to them now too." Remy reaches out and clutches those bone thin arms, up righting her and drawing her in to a hug. Even as his own cheeks sink in, eyes bulging out from the emaciation and he himself becomes little more than a skeleton, as is the effects of Famine.
"Get out of your head, girl. This all gris-gris jus' like the Darkhold it's making you different. Remember the horses? 'member the Dam? C'mon, chere. Charles is fighting for you right now, you need to fight for you too. Get up and put all this down. You been through too much to lose yourself again."

The rhythm of the battle raging behind is in pulses, like every beat of her heart, and with every faint hammering the black fades, diminishing scalera to normalcy of whites, the green glow fading to that mossy iris' and the black sinking to dilated pupils…

A gasp comes to lungs as Remy embraces her and begins to shrivel, the tatters of attire that fell like ashes gathering like rewind had been pressed. Lifting from the splintered ground, drawing it up with the charred bits as they reform and begin to paint bare skin back in a blackened attire of a bodysuit akin to form-fitting latex.

Rogue's head back and fingers pulse, a grip fastening around the Cajun that becomes serpentine even as fingers become coated in the shining black of wasted ash now reformed.

Rogue took that moment to smear fingers along Remy's jawline as they became coated, protected… A single tear clearing a path down the blackness of Famine sunken sockets all the while the cavern beneath them that left them upon an abyssal isle reforms.

"Yah not safe here shugah…."


Upon those words her lips barely slipped over Remy's own, but giving life… Giving her 'scape a life as well as that of where Charles' battled for her, the foe drowned in a light unknown to this place of sorrow… Several falling before Charles with a feel of warmth in return.

… The stasis cracks.

Before Remy can respond to Rogue in any fashion he finds himself snapping awake, legs crumpling underneath him and the overwhelming need for hydration, food, sleep, all of it besets him. A groan and he realizes he is upon the floor, sunken in as he was in the mindscape, his clothes hanging off him in rags. "She okay?"

Charles Xavier likewise slackens in his chair, head falling down as his spine is visible in bumps upon a scrawny neck, the stasis had indeed cracked but before that both men were losing to the power of Famine, their close proximity coupled with being inside of Rogue's mind perhaps. The only one who looks unaffected in all of this is Blaquesmith who sits behind that machine of McCoy's, the consoles on it lit up and he glances up, "She is awake. If it is her we are about to find out… " He hopes she is of sound mind for neither Professor X or Gambit are of sound body. "Rogue?" The time traveler inquires after a few heartbeats of silence.

The stasis chamber is unmoving despite the revival of Rogue's 'guests' in their expulsion. The free-falling form of the Southern Belle seems still despite the spiderwebbing of glass that glows before her. Bubbles form in tiny slips before lips, rising upward as they part and then get sucked in with the sudden opening of eyes.

Scarket O'Hara's scream is muted by the plasma keeping her body afloat, and then suddenly it all bows outward and shatters, spilling the clear ichor and her body forth to remain on hands and knees with hair hanging in tendrils like sea-weed around her face while air is gulped in greedily, a cough spattering a black miasma across the floor in front of splayed hands.

"Not evah again! Ya'll hear!?! Stay outta me! Stay safe…" The Steel and Magnolia voice of a modern day Scarlet O'Hara is paused by a retching sound, spine that protrudes through that black coating of reforming attire shows her own lacking before she slides and remains on splayed knees, slicking her slimy hair back from her face.

"Don't make a girl regret opening up. Next time I'll punch ya…"

Pause and Blacksmith is eyed, gaze narrowing.

"Who ya? I dun know ya. I swear I will rope ya and drag you for miles city lookin' boy.." Though as she is trying to stand in her own mess she is sliding and falling.

Way threatening there, Rogue.

"Do not worry you are in your X-Home and I am Blaquesmith, a friend. Let me help you." The mutant says quietly while walks over picking up Remy's discarded trench-coat to lay over top of the nude warrior-woman.
Remy croaks, "No, not yet… it jus' getting good. She be okay like dat for a few."

"Of all the times to jest, Cajun. You can barely stand." Blaquesmith chides while steadying Rogue with a hand then checking on Charles. "Dehydrated, malnourished… nothing your modern medical science shouldn't be able to fix given a few days at most weeks."
"It all better now… " Remy says with a weak smile as he watches Anna-Marie with the only eye he can open. He looks like he was on the set of Thinner as does Charles.
"Shall we all rest, eat and then meet up again? I will find someone here to help the three of you… " Blaquesmith offers.

Charles inhales heavily lifting his head, "No need. I have already alerted them. Someone will be in shortly to look after us and escort you to a room, a secure room. I trust you understand."

"I do. Fully."

"And… thank you for your help."

"It is an honor to assist the X-Men."

Charles smiles.

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