Changes

By Jennifer Bickley (Violetlight)

Disclaimer: Once again, I don’t own the x-men, Mystique, or any of Marvel’s other characters. The character of Motoko I borrowed from the anime and manga series “Love Hina”.

When you live on the streets, you begin to miss certain things that other people take for granted, like real food, decent bathrooms, showers, a bed to sleep in. It's those little things that people barely think of that can make all the difference.

But being a mutant has its advantages.

I found that my ability to turn into anyone was more than just an unusual way to play dress-up. It was a very important survival skill, and it gave me an edge over other street kids. For example, once, when I was really tired, I hung around a hotel until I saw an important-looking lady come out, wearing a fancy business suit, and yelling impatiently for a cab. I walked right past her, into the hotel, slipped behind a coat rack, then turned into a twin of her. All I had to do was tell the desk clerk I had left the keys in "my room" and volia, I had a real bed to sleep in for a few hours. I could use my shapeshifting tricks to do almost anything, from sneak into a gym to use the showers, to steal food from busy street stalls.

I spent a lot of time at the big, central library. I didn't even have to use any other disguise other than my regular "Raven" one. It's surprising how little people use libraries, when they're so useful. For most of one day, for example, one of the only other people I saw was a middle-aged, greying man. Anyway, he was helpful in pointing out the biology section:

"Human genetics? You're kind of young for that, aren't you?"

"I like this stuff."

"Heh, you remind me of my nephew. He's a quite a few years younger than you, but he's really into science. He's going to really make something of himself one day, that Peter, and if you keep reading, I'm sure you will too. Anyway, have fun."

"I will. Thanks, mister..."

"Don't call me mister, you make me feel old. It's Ben."

"I'm Rav..., I mean, Mystique."

"Mystique? Hmm, kids today..." he mumbled, wandering off. He seemed nice, but would he have been so nice if he knew what I really looked like? For some strange reason, I thought that maybe, just maybe, he would. Ben's family called out to him then from the children's section, his wife, a kind-looking older woman, and a cute little boy who must have been no older than four, with big, Coke-bottle glasses and clutching a kids’ science book on spiders. That must be Peter. They look like such a nice, happy family. I turned away, back to my book. I shouldn't think about things I can't have.

Anyway, I learned quite a bit about my type of mutation. Apparently, it's caused by something called the "X-gene", which is actually a whole series of genes in a person's DNA, which causes different things to happen to that person depending on their mutation. It talked about some mutants that could fly like birds, some who became strong enough to lift up cars, even some who could read minds. According to the book, mutations usually manifest themselves at puberty, when so many other changes are also happening to people, but some are born looking different, like me. It didn't say if anyone else out there could shapeshift, but just knowing that I wasn't the only mutant in the world was a comfort.

I know what I want to do now. I want to find other mutants, other people like me. Maybe then, I'll find someone who will understand me. Maybe even someone who will love me for who I am.

Before I start my journey, though, there's one place I have to go first.

One of the only people who had ever been nice to me when I was growing up was my karate instructor, Ms. Motoko (or, as she preferred to be called, Motoko-sensei). She's an accomplished, big-city lawyer, as well as a karate instructor, and even writes what she calls "trashy romance novels" in her spare time. I read one of her books, "The Sword of True Love's Bane", and it wasn't that bad, even with the dorky, dumb hero and the quite violent heroine, who kept kicking the snot out of him. Anyway, when I asked her once why she taught me, while other clubs and teams wouldn't let "the mutie" join, she laughed and said that in the girls dorm where she had grown up in Japan, she had met many people who were far weirder than me, blue skin and all. She was one of the only "normal" people I had ever met who had appreciated me for what I could do, not judged me by how I looked. I wanted to see her one last time before I left.

The dojo was empty. I shouldn’t really be surprised, since classes aren’t scheduled to start for another two hours, but seeing it like this is kind of strange, with the exercise mats neatly piled in a corner instead of spread out all over the place, and no cries of “ki-ya!” every few seconds as students practice. It was almost scary.

“Raven?” I heard Sensei’s voice behind me. “It’s been a week, I was starting to get worried about you.”

“Sorry for making you worry, Sensei …” I answered, and just seeing her there with that kind, concerned look on her face, a look nobody else ever gave me, was too much. I ran into her arms and just cried, telling her everything that happened to me. I don’t know how much she understood between sobs, but just the fact that she held me, stroking my hair, being more of a mother to me than my own mother ever was, helped.

Once I had calmed down, Motoko made me a nice hot cup of green tea. She was quiet, with a look of concentration on her face I had only seen on her before when she was worried about some upcoming case. Finally, she looked up from her tea and quietly asked, “what are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know, search for other mutants, maybe? I mean, in a big city like New York I can’t be the only one.”

“No, I suppose not.” Mokoto mused. “You’re not returning to your family then.” It was not a question. I shook my head anyway. “I had tried talking to them on several occasions, but I soon found it was useless to talk to people who do not want to listen,” she continued, “but you don’t need me to tell you that.”

“No, I don’t.”

“I have to say, I’m impressed with how resourceful you have been.” A small smile crossed her lips. “Back in Japan, you would make the perfect ninja.”

“Thanks, I think. But I didn’t think there were any ninjas anymore.”

“That’s what they want you to believe.” Motoko said in that direct way of hers I admired so much. “There are a lot more things in this world than people want to believe. You are proof of that.”

She got up then, and went to the katana sitting as usual in its scabbard on the wall, though I occasionally caught Sensei Motoko practicing with it after karate practice sometimes. Her movements seem like a dance between her and her sword; I always wanted to learn to do that myself. She unsheathed her sword and unwrapped something from around the hilt. She stood there quietly, thinking.

I walked over to her. “Sensei?”

In her hands was a small, silver skull-shaped pendant on a silver chain. “This is an heirloom my sister gave me when I came to New York. It was the only thing we ever received from our father, who was a ninja – the skull symbol of his clan.”

“It’s beautiful …” I breathed. Something about that pendent seemed to call out to me.

“It’s yours.”

“What?! No Sensei, I couldn’t …” I started.

“I was hoping that one day I could take you to Japan with me, maybe take you to my family’s temple and train you in kendo, but now your journey lies along a different path than mine.” She placed the pendant in my hands. “Please take my teachings and this pendent with you, Mystique, and our spirits will forever be joined, no matter where life takes us.”

I nodded silently. Nobody else in my life had ever given me such love, such understanding, but Motoko was right. I couldn’t just stay with her, no matter what I would have liked. I needed to find the other mutants, others like me. It’s just something I had to do.

Besides the pendant and a hug, Motoko gave me nothing else, not because she was unkind, but because she knew she didn’t need to. She trusted that I would be able to take care of myself, like I had been doing. That trust meant more to me than any thing.

I put on the skull pendant not in the usual way around my neck, but centering it on my forehead, just at my hairline, fastening the silver chain at the nape of my neck, like it was a super heroine’s tiara. I’m not sure why I did that, it just felt like the proper place for it to be.

Now, I truly began my journey, without regrets, and without looking back.