Changing suits

Just on the edge of town, by the major highway, there’s a seedy bar that’s mostly habited by truckers, bikers and hookers. And occasionally one mutant.

The only name she knew she had was Loren. That’s the name on the dog tags she wore around her neck at the moment. She really had no idea if that was her real name at all since she had little memory of her life beyond ten years back. She really didn’t even know how old she was. If you had to guess by looking at her you might say early thirties and if kind late twenties. Her skin was smooth and flawless, a little dark as if she had spent some time out in the sun. Her eyes were also dark, sometimes looking like deep black pools. Her black hair was short and a little wild, hanging around her face. Usually it hung in a long braid down her back to just above her ass.

Many people had asked why she had such long hair for the life she leads. Her answer is always, “fucking thing always grows back when I cut it!”

By the time she woke up in the morning it would be a foot longer.

Tonight she had decided to cut it on the notion that she might run into some trouble. Or maybe she was just looking for some.

She wore an old leather jacket over a black tee shirt. Tight but flexible faded jeans lead down to a pair of army boots. She cut an imposing figure even if she was only 5’5”.

She chewed on the stub of a cigar as she lined up her shot at her pool table, sinking the 13 ball. She stood back up and inhaled on the stogie, blowing hair out of her face, it already getting too long for comfort. Her mind tripped back to a vague memory of someone asking her why she smoked cigars and how only men smoked cigars.

Caught in reverie she grunted outloud and said in a slightly rough voice, “ain’t like it’s going to kill me.”

She bent over for another shot when she felt the old familiar tingle that told her someone was looking at her ass. She turned and saw a trucker at the bar staring back at her. A hooker was trying to keep his attention, babbling away, but he kept his eyes on Loren. He licked his lips and winked at her.

Loren leaned back against the pool table and looked him over. Lean, young, no beer gut yet, not too hard to look at. Maybe she should take him for a ride and save him for the STD she could smell on the hooker.

She was about to go over and make the hooker take a hike when the doors behind her opened loudly and a familiar scent hit her nose, making alarms go off in her head. She whirled around to see Sabertooth.

Sabertooth was 6’2” and had the long, lean kind of muscles that made you think she was weak when she could rip your insides out with the claws on the ends of her fingers. Her hair was long, loose and thick. Her eyes a baleful red when she saw Loren.

“Wolverine,” she rasped. “I’ve been looking for you.”

A growl started deep in Loren’s chest as three claws slid out of the back of each of her hands, gleaming in the light.

“Ya shoulda kept looking, Vicky!” Loren snarled out, a haze of rage descending over her.

Victoria Creed. Also known as Sabertooth, she is perhaps Loren’s oldest acquaintance. But you would never call them friends as whenever they see each other, they end up trying to kill the other. Neither of them knew when they first met or how long they've known each other but they knew for a fact that they hated each other.

***************************
Back at the institute, a tall, muscled dark man was sitting in his attic room, enjoying a cup of chamomile tea, made from his own garden.

His name was Oran Munroe, also known as Storm when in uniform. Early in life he had been seen as a god back in his native Africa because he had been able to control the weather and bring rain to dry lands. Then one day he had met a woman who became one of his best friend’s in life. She showed him that he wealleally a mutant and that there were many other like him, her included. She offered him a place to help those like them.

Oran accepted. Even though he knew he would miss his home, the lure of other like him was too great to pass up. And here he was, a teacher to this generation of mutants, teaching them how to live and work in a world that hates and fears them.

He was always calm and patient, teaching them control and finesse, a good ying to Loren’s furious yang, Oran thought. That woman had so much anger in her. And not knowing where it came from didn’t help any.

Oran looked over at the clock and saw it was midnight, so he did what he did every night at this time. He got up and headed to the kitchen, making a cup and earl gray tea and heading to the Professor’s room.

(Author’s Note: is there a female tense of Professor?)

Like always he stood outside of the door for only a moment till a voice drifted into his head saying that he may enter. Oran entered with the cup and tea, saying “its midnight. Time for all saviors of the world to go to bed.”

A blond head, wrapped in a low bun, tapped away at a computer. Without looking up the head said, “a few moments if you please.”

(Author’s note: for some reason I just see her as a blond. Does anybody know his hair colour when he wasn’t bald?)

Oran sighed. “Charlene, we have had this same discussion every night for the past 4 years. A few moments always turns into 5 hours, now turn off that damn thing or I’ll unplug it.” He explained calmly, setting the cup of tea beside the Head Mistress of the Institute for Gifted Youngsters.

Charlene looked up with a slightly petulant look she saved only for Oran at this time of night. “The last time you did that, I lost a whole days work.”

“Yet I feel unrepentant about it,” he added. “besides you should have been saving.”

Charlene, sighed, rubbed her eyes, saved her work for the morning and shut it down.

“You know I am a grown woman,” Charlene Xavier started, wheeling herself out from her desk and taking the teacup. “And running this school. It is very ridiculous to have one of my employee’s tell me its bed time.”

Oran chuckled, getting behind the chair. He pushed them out of the room and down the hall. “If I didn’t come and get you every night you would stay up all night working, over exerting yourself.”

“I know,” she said, sipping her tea. “But there is so much work to be done, now more then ever.”

“Are you talking about Magneto?” Oran asked.

“Yes. I think everything she’s done so far is just paving the way for something bigger. Something we will all have to be ready for.”

Oran nodded, as he opened the doors to Xavier’s private quarters and stepped back.

“We can handle whatever it is that comes. Good night, Professor.” Oran said.

“Goodnight Oran. Same time tomorrow?”

“It’s a date.”