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I, Mutant	By : Nemain Category: X-Men - Animated Series (all) > FemSlash - Female/Female Views: 6936 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men Evolution, or any of the characters from it. I make no money from from the writing of this story.

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I, Mutant Chapter Nine

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A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE �, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta� Almost the weekend! InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink, Dracena and Greywolf are loverly and wondermous for archiving/hosting. J ProPhile: *gold star * Morgan: *stalks loudly * Readers/Reviewers: thank y�all for reading/reviewing as you can! I appreciate it!

�In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen[1].� The cold, hard kneeler pressed into her knee bone but she did not care. Offer it up for the souls in Purgatory, she thought, closing her eyes before Father Craig. �Benedictus Deus Pater Domini nostri Iesu Christi,� she replied automatically, barely hearing the old man who had served the parish since before her mother had been born. He was strict, not one of the liberal prelates from America. He would not hesitate to punish the wicked, she thought. She was too young for Communion but she thought, briefly, about going up to the front anyway, just so he could see she was there, that she was praying. She opened her eyes and found the good reverend gazing down at her intently as he mouthed the Latin mass, his cold gray eyes piercing her as she was sure God�s own eyes must. Swallowing hard, she hurried to catch up with the responding congregation, feeling the tag in the neckline of her dress itching her and her knees starting to go numb. But, she told herself, she was doing well. She was being good. She knew the Mass by heart, how to respond and when to do it. There was no fault in her prayer, she thought, then winced. Pride, she heard Father Craig scold her in her memories. Pride goeth before a fall. She rose when the people on either side of her rose, and she stood back, pressing her legs against the hard seat as they squeezed past her to take the bread and wine, transubstantiated into the body and blood of Christ.[2] Father Craig�s intense gaze was still fastened upon her and her mouth went dry. She had done something wrong, made some mistake in the course of the service. She had done something that would displease the priest and her Lord. She knew what was to come next. She knew it was the only way to learn.
�It�s called mortification of the flesh,� she whispered to Jenny, her best friend in the world and the only one at school that did not make fun of her carroty hair or gangly limbs. �They used to do it a long time ago, sort of like punishing themselves for thinking naughty things.� She pointed to the picture in the book, stolen from the school library�s special section. �See? Those are hair shirts. And that one�s a band of thorns��

�That�s disgusting!� the blonde girl marveled, flipping the page. �What�re the hair shirts made from? Horse hair?� She traced the page with one stubby finger. �It looks like horse hair��

�It�s human hair,� Rahne replied softly. �When you become a nun, you cut off all yer hair and they used to make these hair shirts from it. They�d put nettles in, too!� She shook her head in silent wonder. She sometimes wished she could show her devotion like that, so Father Craig would stop giving her those looks, stop telling her to come by his office. She knew she could do better, be better. But she just wished she had proof she was not an unnatural child. He had demanded she show him her teeth the other night, and he had been almost offended by the pointy canines that were her sole inheritance from her long deceased father. Shutting the reference book and tucking it under her thigh, out of sight of Sister Mary Lazarus, she slipped one of the laminated cards out of her sweater pocket and passed it to Jenny. �I got a new one. Loup Garou.� [3]

�RAHNE SINCLAIR!� the nun�s voice shattered the silence of the study hall, making all spines go ramrod straight. �Hand it over right now! Those ridiculous monster cards have gone unconfiscated long enough! Go see Father Craig, you unnatural child! Jenny MacLeod, you go stay here. You�ve done naught but be corrupted by her odd cravings!�

Rahne could not hide the flaming blush creeping over her neck, clean to her scalp. The rest of the students dared not look at her; Sister Mary Lazarus would take the ruler to their palms for that. The trip down the hall was long and cold, the school�s heater not yet on despite the freezing temperatures outside. Father Craig said it was a waste to run it, especially when the parish could not afford such frivolity. She paused at his office door, then straightened her spine and forced herself to enter diffidently.
Her legs stung from the paddling a few days previous, but that was nothing compared to the twisting pain in her gut. God�s punishing me, she thought. It�s divine retribution for being a morbid child. She bent over the counter, groaning softly to herself as another wave of pain washed over her. �I�m sorry,� she creaked. �Indulgentiam, absolutionem, et remissionem peccatorum nostrorum, tributat nobis omnipotens et misericors Dominus.�[4] She gasped again, gaining her composure as the cramps faded. Father Craig had warned her the punishment would be brutal but she had thought the caning was the end of it. Her heart was racing and her skin itched, prickling like ants all over. Her tongue felt huge in her mouth and her nails seemed longer than before. She wanted to run; something in her head was telling her to run if she wanted to feel better. The cramps came again and she cried out softly, clamping her hand over her mouth. This wasn�t the Curse. She had bled once already but it was nothing like this�

�Rahne! Come out! You�ve been in there an hour!� Father Craig�s angry knock fell rapidly on the door, startling her.

�I�m� I�m ill!� she called back. �I�m sorry!�

The door flew open and the tall, stern man swept into the bathroom. �Get to your feet!� He grabbed her by her upper arm and dragged her into the hall, berating her the entire time. �You�re lax in your studies! And you have the unnatural interests of a hellspawn!�

Rahne couldn�t help it. She snarled. Something in her broke and this animalistic noise erupted from her throat. The priest went still, dropping her to the floor. Her eyes were wide and it seemed as if her senses were too keen. She could smell the priest�s sweat, the dust on the antimacassar, the stench of fear all bitter and sour. �Oh, God,� she began, then her body convulsed.
Run, she thought. Run. Her four feet pounded the ground, the old scar on her shoulder pulling only a little as she crested the hill. She ran as if Craig and his posse of devil-mad Scots were behind her, ran as if the hounds of Hell nipped her tail. She ran so hard she could not breathe, so hard that her legs finally gave out under her. The sounds of anger and hate, confusion and uncertainty faded into dim memory and she closed her eyes. She was home now. Home where she could hear Kitty yelling at Kurt, where she could smell the rich loam of the garden and the smoke of Logan�s cigar. Home, far from Muir Island and the devil that chased her.

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[1] http://www.oldstmarys.org/sacredliturgy/latinmass.html

[2] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Transubstantiation

[3] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Loup_Garou

[4] May the Almighty and Merciful Lord grant us pardon, absolution, and remission of our sins.
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