Perfectly Normal

PERFECTLY NORMAL CHAPTER EIGHT
Disclaimers Apply
A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… I think my non-fanfic muses need CPR… InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink, Dracena and Greywolf are loverly and wondermous for archiving/hosting. J ProPhile: *gloke* Morgan: Hello? Readers/Reviewers: Thank you so much for reading/reviewing as you can! It’s much appreciated!

She wrinkled her nose at the small closet, longer than it was wide. It had several empty hangers on the wooden rods lining the walls and a faint smell of cedar rising from the narrow space, adding to the overall feeling of suburbia and dull homelife that, to her mind, was stifling. Taking a deep breath, Mystique turned her attention to her large suitcase of clothing sitting in the middle of the unmade bed, open to reveal the stacks of neatly, almost fanatically so, folded clothing. It was almost accusatory, she thought, the way they were all so neat and orderly, waiting for someone to use them and give them purpose. She could hear the whispered voices of the students as they passed her room, heading for the meeting in the dining room. Someone downstairs dropped a piece of equipment and she harbored the secret hope that it broke and they would have to delay filming. No such luck, she realized when no swearing came from the crewmember in question. She would have to stay for the days of filming, smile and play nice, try to avoid the library…
“Mystique?” Lance stood in the doorway, not meeting her eyes but not shying from her like he would have a year or so before. He was staring at the shoes at the foot of her bed, the worn ones that had seen better days. It was as if he were holding onto to the image for fear of drowning if he let go, holding onto this reminder that she was only human, because only a human with faults and weaknesses would have worn out shoes. “Magneto said you’re supposed to be downstairs right now and if you don’t hurry up, he will send the camera crew up to film you getting ready.”
She sniffed in her best haughty tone and tossed her now-black hair over one shoulder. Her guise as Principal Darkholme would be too suspicious here, too likely to raise questions from any parent who had a child at Bayville High School under her tutelage. She had settled on being Raven Blau, mainly so she would not have to think too much when someone called her name. Straightening her sweater set with practiced fingers, she slid her feet into the black flats Lance was staring at, flats perfectly suited to a woman who had middling income and little care for fashion. If only they knew how much work went into looking normal, she thought as she pushed past Lance without a second glance, they wouldn’t complain so much. She did not slow her stride until she reached the stairs, which she took carefully due to the slick bottoms of her footwear. She could see the thick cables running across the foyer, just waiting to trip an unwary student or adult. Magneto’s carefully modulated voice drifted from the dining room, along with the quiet shuffle and rustle of a truly bored audience. Mystique paused, not wanting to plunge into the fray yet, and slid into the shadows lining the hall as Lance tromped his way down the stairs, uncaring of the dangers of the slippery surface or the equipment. He traipsed past her and with a resigned sigh, let himself back into the meeting without a backwards glance. It was amazing, she thought somewhat detachedly, how average they all seemed, how perfectly like other teenagers, but how much power they truly had, how different they were.
“What are you doing there?” Mark called quietly from across the hall, pressed into one of the nooks designed to hold one of those old fashioned oversized vases with huge arrangements.
“I am a ficus,” she replied, perfectly deadpan. “Rustle rustle.”
Mark blinked at her twice before nodding slowly. “Right. Same thing as I am.” He carefully eased from the nook, moving stealthily, almost as if expected a sneak attack from the side. “Your eyes are the same,” he noted dryly, once he was just out of her arm’s reach.
She paused, then realized he did not mean the color. “Some things are harder to hide,” she shrugged. “Especially when I’m working with a similar body and face shape.” She glanced down the hall, knowing they did not have very much time at all. “Just for the record, I think this is a stupid idea.”
“For the record,” he rejoined, “we have some serious talking to do later. About what—who—was at your former place of residence.” He stepped back, turning sharply towards the dining room and striding down the hall, leaving her to stare after him.
“Well,” she blew out a breath, “this is going to be oodles of fun.”

“Ah, so nice of you to join us,” Magneto said lightly as Mark slid into the back row of seats. “This is the staff librarian,” he began, only to stop again when Mystique strode in, past the rows of students, and headed for the front of the room. “And this is Raven Blau, our curriculum specialist and head teacher.” He smiled at her tightly, stepping aside as she took his position at the front of the room.
Mystique blinked at the bright camera lights, shifting her focus to the disgruntled faces in her audience. She felt suddenly very exposed, very naked before these enemy lines. “I have spoken with the hospital this morning and Professor Xavier is having surgery this afternoon,” she began, holding up her hand for silence. “He will be home by the end of the week.” She felt rather than saw Magneto giving her a significant look. She knew what she had to say and felt the words clot in her throat, not wanting to be said. “Now, on to new business… Things are going to be changing at the Institute, given the recent happenings in the news. Please find your packet of information in your first period class rooms.” She let out a breath and felt marginally better. “The first round of interviews for the documentary will take place in the rec room. Scott, Kurt, Kitty and Amara, please make yourselves available for the next hour and a half. You are all dismissed.”