Я O G U Σ

send me a ★ for a facebook status from my muse to yours

send me a ☂ for three tweets from my muse directed at your muse

send me a ▲ for an instagram picture from my muse about your muse

send me a ✿ for a snapchat from my muse to yours

send me a ☯ for a youtube video or vine about your muse from my muse

send me a ☏ for one voicemail left by my muse on your muse's phone

[They would be SO PRETTY.]

I had to tone it down it was going to be in the reply itself

cautiously opens tumblr

CHOKES

Rogue didn't learn to speak until later than expected. She was little more than a toddler when her mother vanished to the Far Banks, and the trauma of losing her mother ( with no real explanation from her father or the others of the commune besides 'she's gone' ) lead to the girl to grow quite inward. Her father took care of her for two years after Priscilla was taken, during which the girl would only ever speak the occasional word here or there. It didn't help that Owen rarely spoke to the girl, or that Rogue was sequestered away from other children after they left the commune. More often than not, her father left her to her own devices.

By the time Owen dropped his daughter off with Carrie, he had accepted that the girl would likely not speak properly. Carrie, on the other hand, refused to accept such an excuse-- and noted that a bit of socialization would likely do wonders. What Rogue saw as her Aunt needlessly tormenting her ( constantly asking questions, forcing her to repeat statements until they were full, proper sentences ) was the woman's well-meant intentions at getting the girl to speak and respond to her.

After a year of living with her Aunt, Rogue's speech had caught up with that of her age group.

Rogue never really held on to a lot when she was young. She got used to her mother's lifestyle of needing to drop everything on a whim and become someone new, and the only things she got to take with her had to be able to fit in a backpack. But there was one thing she took with her through every identity change, every country and state she travelled through, buried at the bottom of her bags. A necklace with a daisy flower charm.

The jewellery is cheap, the clasp barely staying shut at the back, the paint scratched off of the charm long ago. But it belongs to Rogue's memories, and hers alone; the memory of it dangling in front of her while Priscilla held her close in her arms. Owen had sent it to her in one of the letters he wrote for his daughter after leaving her to live with her aunt. The only thing she has that connects her to either parent.

To call it a 'prized' possession might be a bit false. She hates it, she wishes she could get rid of it more than anything-- but it still sits in the bottom of her jewellery box.

"A hundred and sixteen." The number fills a notable silence that had passed between the pair. She wasn't not sure why she was opening up to the man: maybe she trusted him. Maybe she was an idiot. Either way, the number is out there now, and the explanation follows suit, "It's usually one'a the first questions someone asks, once they get how my power works. How many voices Ah've got in my head? One-hundred, sixteen."

"Ah ain't yer mama, Wade. If you wanna play five finger filet with a katana, more power to yah." Honestly, she'll be more impressed at seeing how he plans to wield a sword while simultaneously keeping his hand flat on the table... but God help him if he cuts his arm off for a joke. Again.

IT CAUGHT HER off-guard. Everyone was so intent on seeing the Jubilee they knew that they refused to acknowledge the woman she was here. A woman who had scared some of them to the point of wanting to change it. Rogue had not been a part of that so it would have been wrong for Jubilation to hold that against her.

“It is… a relief. Everyone tries to see her in me but they are looking for someone who is no longer there. They’d do better to concern themselves with her.” She paused, collecting her thoughts. “But the gesture is appreciated. Especially seeing as I am now stuck here.”

WELL, at least she hadn't made it worse. Small victory, but she'd take them where she could find them. "They mean well, they just... have a real crappy way a' showin' it, sometimes." Understatement. The X-Men were creatures of habit, and when their tentative balance was knocked askew, chaos usually followed. That much, Rogue knew firsthand.

actually me. “oh i’m doing short starters” … two paragraphs later.