A.N./ Hello! Welcome to the first fanfiction of moi, dazzleCROWNS. I've been sitting on this idea ever since a friend requested for me to re-write Twilight (we got into an argument; I said that I hated it like a mf and she was all "well then re-write it! Make it better!").
I hated the idea of using Bella and Edward, so I added a spin on things by adding everyone's favorite Southerners! And after I did that...it began to slip further and further from the Twilight plot...I don't even think you guys would have caught on unless I mentioned it... So that means it's safe for all you fellow Twilight-haters to read. And I hope it's enjoyable for all the ROMY fans out there...I couldn't resist :)
NOTE: Instead of using Rogue's codename, I stuck to her real-name, given in both the new comic and (slightly?) the movie-verse: Anna-Marie. The name seemed to fit more in this AU, partly because of her whole no-mutant thing and the fact that she does, in fact, hail from the South, land of all the Mary-Beths and Louisiana-Dallases. Don't worry, though. She may not be named "Rogue" off the bat, but it's still the spunky, angry chick we know from X-Men: Evo with a little dash of the flirty Rogue from X-men: TAS.
Disclaimer: If I owned Twilight, it would involve tons of domestic violence, all directed at Bella. I can't even imagine owning X-Men, that's how far-off I am from the possibility.
Without further ado, I give you the prologue for Wendigo!
D o w n S o u t h
I guess I'm what you'd call a "problem child."
My name is Anna-Marie. I don't know my last name; I don't think that I've ever had one. I think I was born in Mississippi, since I'd been found there and lived there all my life. When I was two months old, they found me in a trash can at the local grocery store's public toilet. Someone had apparently tried to throw me away.
The people who found me turned me in to the CPA and I was put in a foster home within weeks. I was never truly considered one of them, one of the Johnstons, but then again, I never really wanted to be. Who wants to be the youngest in a family of nine children? I guess that they all hated me for not wanting to be like them, but I soon got over a life without any real friends.
I was six when I found out that the Mrs was some kind of a prostitute, trying to make ends meet for her crack addiction and the absence of her jailed boyfriend. I was nine when she locked me in a dog cage for trying to throw out her drugs. After that incident, though, something changed. From that moment onwards, I had a friend.
Merry-Lewis was the second-oldest of the nine, and the only one that I could imagine liking. She had a sensible head on her shoulders. She never went out partying, never did drugs, always returned home straight after school and she was the one who really cared for the rest of us. The girl began to try teaching me, said I was the only one she thought had the ability and the interest to learn. She said that I could be anything I wanted when I grew up, like a scientist or a doctor or even the president. She told me that she believed I could change the world, that I could break free of that dump and make something of myself.
Nobody, not even my nice teacher Mrs. Colwen, had ever said something like that to me.
The longer I spent with Merry-Lewis, the more I began to love her. She was like the big sister I never had, sometimes filling the gap of a mother to me even though she was only a few years older than me. I aspired to be just like her when I would someday grow up, and I thought that I really could fulfill the aspirations dancing around in my head with Merry-Lewis' help. She became my friend, sister, mother, teacher and...family. For the first time, I had what was so elusive to me.
I really did love her. Until she died.
I was twelve. I'd just gotten home from school, wanting to tell her all about what I learned and how the teacher praised me when I got a good grade on a science test. Even now, I can remember exactly what I'd answered, what the questions were, my exact percentage score. I got a 96. But that ceased to matter when I saw the police cars parked outside of the crowded mobile home. The paramedics pronounced her dead on site, lifting her battered and broken body from the floor of the living room and hauling it off, along with the lightly damaged form of Mrs. Johnston.
Her latest in a string of boyfriends blamed her for not "delivering" all of the money she'd earned selling herself. And he took it out on whoever was in the house at the time. When the whore came back and saw Merry-Lewis bleeding on the floor, she called the cops, taking a few beatings herself before they actually arrived...and the guy bolted.
I spent the rest of the day in a daze at the social worker's office, a place that I'd come to know even better than the collection of places I'd be shunted off too.
From that moment on, I didn't stay long with anybody. Most of them were all the same—just the same kind of festering familial sore as the Johnstons. Considering my background, though, I still managed to stay in high school. I got average grades, only balanced out by my near-perfect test scores since I never turned in my homework. I stopped doing that ever since my third guardian decided that girls weren't supposed to learn and threw all of my books away.
I learned that it was easier to cope with the mess if I learned to ignore it.
I never had any kind of attachment to my always changing "homes," always afraid to get close to people. And then I noticed it.
Every time I was sent to a new home, something bad happened.
The first time, it was an elderly couple who needed a little gopher to order around and do their work as they spent the rest of their lives living on retirement. After a particularly nasty argument with the soggy bitch of the house, she'd gotten into a car wreck. I thought nothing of it, until it happened four more times, to four different people, in four different houses I'd been adopted to.
I didn't have any real friends in the public school I went to; we were all just "acquaintances." I didn't really have the chance at closeness to anybody because most of the time my foster parents refused to allow me to have any friends over. Even if they had, my new discovery had sealed my fate, further impeding any of the rare passes made at me by boys or the attempts to be friendly.
This was until a crush I had on a guy named Bobby turned into something much deeper. He was my first boyfriend, my first tangible kind-of relationship to anybody since Merry-Lewis. I often sneaked out of the house I was deposited in to meet him secretly, late at night, to go on "dates" that usually took place at the nearest McDonalds.
We never did anything other than the occasional hand-hold or hesitant kissing; Bobby seemed to understand my need to go slow. He was the first person to really know where I came from, what kind of background I had. He understood. At least, I thought he did.
Robert Drake was a senior at Tupelo Public High school when I was in the ninth grade. I guess he felt left out when he listened to the other guys on the football team talking about their "scores" with the slutty cheerleaders, and we began to drift further and further apart.
Our late-night meetings were suddenly full of him trying to pull a "move" on me; he tried to bring me to his house a lot in hopes of "scoring" with me, the Untouchable, Unapproachable Anna M. Apparently, I had some kind reputation, and any guy who had sex with me would be seen as a "master." Well, at least that was what he's mumbled hurriedly as his explanation for having sex with Jean Gray, cheer-leading captain and holder of the title of the Most Perfect Girl on Earth.
I was torn, my heart ripped to shreds right in front of my eyes as Bobby removed his hand from my chest and broke away from me. I hated him. I hated him like I'd never hated anyone in my life before. He'd been pretending; that entire thing that I though we shared was all an act. I hated liars. And I hated Robert Drake.
A few weeks later, he was killed in a botched burglary attempt. Shot clean through the head. I figured, like I had for everyone else who I knew died, that I'd somehow been the cause of it. I knew that he probably didn't deserve to die, that cheating on a girl that nobody seemed to want wasn't a crime that warranted death.
But this time, I didn't care.
I boosted five hundred dollars from the Munroe's house and ran off. I didn't get very far; the next morning I was back at the Social Workers' office. My foster parents packed my things neatly into my purple school bag immediately after finding out who'd taken their money and relinquished their guardianship over me. I was shipped off to New York because no potential foster homes in the state of Mississippi were particularly willing to take in a sixteen-almost-seventeen year old problem child.
I hated it, at first. The feeling of being totally unwanted was crushing, and hard to disregard. It had always been difficult to pretend not to give a damn, but this time it seemed impossible. I stuck at it, though, knowing that the second I turned eighteen I would be free of all this, free to do whatever I wanted. I wasn't sure if I wanted to go to collage; the idea of being a somebody after eighteen years of being treated like a nobody seemed too impossible now. I'd kept Merry-Lewis alive in my head, preserving her memory, and I figured that I should take a crack at it for her sake, if not my own.
It was the first night in New York that my life took its fated turn.
I met you.
Yeah, yeah I know. Not very exciting. It's just supposed to set up the character of Anna Marie, and then the action starts next chapter, I promise. However, this does serve as both a prelude to the story AND as an interlude to the story; basically, it's a conversation that takes place later on.
You can tell pretty much straight off that this is completely AU. Rogue retains part of her powers (whoever she gets close to dies) but she's not so crippled that she can't touch. She's not a mutant, just supremely cursed.
Review and make me supremely happy?