i'm nobody's property.

Telling someone to fuck off was usually reacted to with more vitriol, or fear. This girl wasn’t giving Lorna anything, and she wasn’t sure why that made her want to speak to her again as they stood in the crowded underground train. Maybe she really was becoming that pathetic early twenties girl who didn’t have a single friend outside of the cat that appeared from time to time on her fire escape. Lorna shifted on her feet, her heavy boots scuffing against the linoleum, and then looked back over at the girl. “Nice jacket,” she muttered.‌ “They have it in black?”

He wasn’t stealing from her. Good for him, otherwise Lorna would’ve made a point to tighten that expensive looking watch around his wrist so much that his hand would’ve fallen off. He was stealing from someone else, and that wouldn’t normally bother Lorna, but it was like a trainwreck – you couldn’t quite look away even if you wanted to. Apparently, judgement was something the pickpocket was used to, because when he crossed the crowd, it was the first thing he alluded to. Lorna raised an eyebrow, then looked down at his hands. “I wasn’t assuming anything,” she replied, moving her gaze back to the man’s eyes. Unusual – a mutant too, perhaps. “But I was thinking that I wouldn’t mind seeing that again. Want to pass on some of your tricks?”

“Speak for yourself, Reyes,” Lorna said, scrunching her nose as she looked at the couch on the other side of his living room. She was more than comfortable sitting against the wall on the floor. It was dusty down there – apparently being a literal demon took up time that should’ve been spent with the Hoover – but it was a lot better than the potential substances she could be sitting in if she went to Robbie’s couch cushions. “Is it the flaming head?” she asked. “Is that what turns them on? Because I’m finding it genuinely hard to believe that any woman would walk in here and not immediately want to light herself on fire.”

The Avengers were something else. Lorna tried her utmost to keep to herself, to avoid them at all costs, but unfortunately it seemed she was destined to run into every superhero type from here to Nebraska in spite of the fact she was keeping a low profile. Today, she was sitting at work in Rand Enterprises when she spotted a familiar shock of red hair, and she let out a low groan as the other woman walked up to the desk. “Asking about your day is part of my script,” Lorna replied, looking up at her with a sharp smirk, passing over the visitors’ book for her to sign, “not something I’m genuinely interested in. If you want to take a seat, I’ll send Mr. Rand through.”

Lorna was still getting used to the customer relations portion of her job. It wasn’t sales, thank God for that (she still had nightmares about her few weeks in retail), but apparently receptionists were meant to keep a smile on their face regardless of how stupid the people that arrived at their desk or over the phone were being, which Lorna found ridiculous. Today, though, she ended up being the only person to come in, the rest of the receptionists calling in with the flu, and everyone in the city seemed to have come down with a major case of dumbass.

Welcome to Rand Enterprises. That’s all she had to say. But when she came out of the office behind the desk only to find a woman standing on the other side, Lorna had to drop the box between them and send her a glare. “It’s two minutes to five o’clock,” she informed her. “If you’re here to ask me to pass you onto Mr. Rand or Mr. Meachum, I’m supposed to tell you they’re here until five on the dot, but they’re gone already. You know, like most normal people.” Danny wasn’t gone, of course, but Lorna wasn’t going to subject him to this – and she really didn’t want to stay until this meeting was over to lock up. “Come back tomorrow and we’ll see if we can slot you in, Ms…”

Lorna never really had a job before. She cleaned up tables and washed dishes for the diner a street away from the Danes’ house one summer when she was fifteen, but other than that, she didn’t have much experience with showing up on time, putting in eight hours in the day, and going home with money in her hand. Growing up, she had her foster parents to provide for her. At eighteen, she had herself, and her powers made it so it was never particularly difficult to get her hands on something of value – metals were precious to more than just Lorna. But now, she wanted to do things differently. She wanted to be more subtle. She applied for every job on the list, and when she actually got an interview, she was surprised to find she was given a second chance.

It was entry level, they said – paper pushing, monotonous stuff. Sometimes, though, they said, with a flash in their eyes, you get to see the boss. Lorna put on a suitably impressed expression, let out an ‘ah’ that sounded false even to her own ears, but it passed muster. So far, she hadn’t seen the man she was sending documents through to, but when the elevator doors opened in front of the reception desk, she figured that was about to change.

There were very few people Lorna knew in New York City. That, of course, was entirely the point. She made quite the name for herself back in California, and while she was sure her infamy extended beyond the state she was raised in when she was carted off to the Raft, New York provided a security blanket of anonymity that couldn’t be denied. There were so many people trying to make it big here that it wasn’t hard to hide if all you wanted was small, something that you could call your own and nothing else.

Lorna was learning how to make do with small. She told herself it was better than the alternative – but there was still that uncomfortable flip in her stomach when she thought this is your life now. It was that feeling that had her thinking of an old friend, and it didn’t take long for her to pick up on the fact that he was in the city too.

Her aunt used to say that the things Lorna got involved in would follow her even when she wanted to escape them. There was no getting out from under them. There was no sidestepping, no hiding in the shadows. Get involved with people like that, Esther said, and I’ll be worrying about you for as long as I live. Worrying was worth it, though, for what Lorna was doing here. She couldn’t find it within herself to regret what she was doing. Those kids showed up at the homeless shelter, or caught her on the street, and she knew they had no place else to go. (She also knew what it was like to rely on someone so intensely that it burned, even if they were just an idea. Maybe especially then.) She couldn’t leave them anymore than she could stop feeling the hum of the gratings on the road.

Lorna didn’t make a habit of keeping up to date with movements of the Avengers. In fact, it was pretty much the opposite that was true – but she also knew that it would be impossible not to know at least vaguely who they were. They were all over the news, their accomplishments broadcast on high while mutants’ contributions were overlooked or outright condemned. They were a force that she could be angry at (like so many others) but that was about the extent of the effect they had on her life – at least, that’s what she thought.

The kids all brought intel that led back to one source, if you dug far enough. When Lorna organised a meeting, though, she expected an elderly white man with a white suit, given this city’s predisposition towards outrageous mob bosses. She didn’t expect to be standing face to face with the Black Widow herself. “You’ve got to be shitting me,” she said, crossing her arms against her chest. “If this is an attempt to trap me, you’ve got another thing coming.” Lorna looked at her for a long moment. “Using the kids against me is cold even for you, Romanoff.”

One thing that you could rely on no matter where you were in the world was the pervasiveness of gossip. Some mutants could go undetected, living their lives pretending to be something else to keep themselves safe. Others, like Lorna herself, carried their mutation like a badge or a brand, impossible to ignore. When she heard whispers of one such mutant, Lorna made it a point to seek the girl out. She told herself New York would be different to San Jose, that she would only act on jobs that came to her doorstep, but not learning when to stop was always one of Lorna’s shortcomings.

She followed leads to a magic shop, curiously wandering around the store for a few moments before she spoke to the girl, recognising her almost immediately. “Quick question,” Lorna said, flashing her a small smirk, about as friendly a greeting as she could manage. “Is there anything in here that screams ‘thanks for being a semi-decent dad, apart from all those times you weren’t’? I’m looking for the perfect Christmas present, and Dad’s a little …” She drifted off, thinking of the word. “Unconventional.”

Things got a little out of hand. Things always got out of hand when it came to Lorna – call it the curse of her life, among the others – but as far as she was concerned, this was far from the worst the situation could’ve got to. So what if a cop was thrown into the Hudson by his belt? He didn’t see her face, the kids got away, they were safely in Canada now to be transported out by one of Lorna’s old prison buddies. For all intents and purposes, Lorna would consider the night a success, but then the NYPD sent out the cavalry. Five cars lined up, and three of them ended up piled on top of each other, shattered glass scattered over the concrete.

Still, Lorna kept out of sight. She rose herself up to the rooftops, using them for a quick getaway, but when she made her way back down to ground level several blocks away, she found herself walking straight into a brick wall – a brick wall with a red visor and a stern expression. “Oh great,” she muttered, barely managing to hold back a groan of frustration. “It’s you. Just when I thought my night couldn’t get any better.”

She shouldn’t be doing this. She really shouldn’t be doing this. Being out for herself, doing what she needed to survive, that wasn’t what led to Lorna’s problems in the first place. It was pushing the boat out, trying to follow in her father’s – in Magneto’s – footsteps that had her with a collar around her neck in an orange jumpsuit. New York was a new chance, and she wasn’t going to waste it … but she also wasn’t going to turn away kids if they showed up on her doorstep, even if those kids refused to admit how they knew she was there. Chances were one of them was a telepath – they seemed to be popping out of the woodwork everywhere – but Lorna wasn’t going to delve any deeper, wasn’t going to treat them like freaks when the world already had that covered.

The kids were supposed to meet her at midnight, but Lorna got there an hour early, just in case. She stepped back from the warehouse by the river, taking a look at potential entry and exit points. From experience, she knew how nasty it could get, and with a few waves of her hand, she moved steel beams to block off all entrances but the one she told the children about. It was only when the creaking of metal ended that she heard footsteps, and she turned around, hands still raised.

If he’s entirely honest, he scarcely even remembers what had happened this time.  There’s a causal chain, obviously, leading him to the situation he was in now, hovering several feet above a Brooklyn Bridge shaking in its foundations, but the process itself eludes the small part of the back of his brain that’s trying to parse out the situation.  Something with a cabbie and a throwaway comment about something on the news, he thinks.  

He does remember, irritatingly, a long-ago conversation on the sofa of Xavier’s mansion, one of the few times he’d let his mental walls down to let Charles prod at his mind.  Remembers the telepath’s warning that his rage was a violent, uncontrolled thing, his attempts to try and coax Erik into learning restraint.  He’d rejected it, then, had always rejected any attempt to control his nature. 

The little voice in the back of his head that sounds annoyingly like his oldest friend and frequent opponent suggests that perhaps that hadn’t been the wisest of choices.  

One of the police officers fires at him again, with a rubber bullet, and while he manages to dodge it, it only ramps up his anger another notch.  He’s already reaching out for the police car behind the man, fully intent on turning to his own projectiles, when the bridge goes still.  

He can still feel it in his bones, can still feel it’s response to him, but every push he gives gets a push back, and it’s clear that someone else is fighting over the structure with him. Who would dare?  He rises another few feet above the bridge, eyes skimming for the culprit, when he spies the shock of green alongside the shoreline.  

Oh.  “Get off the bridge,” he tells the officers, voice low, and a moment later brushes aside some of the cars stalled along the edge closer to the other party in this tug of war.  A tractor-trailer laid onto its side across the lanes ought to do the trick so they have no choice but to go the other way, for now.  Before they can even respond, he’s disappeared over the edge of the bridge, sticking to the shadows beneath before landing in front of the young woman he’d spent over two decades watching and protecting.  

“Lorna.”  The name slipped out before he thought to stop it, before he even had time to consider how unwelcome he might be in the life of the daughter he’d communicated with by post alone for her entire life.  

It started with pens shaking on the tables when she walked past. As the years drew on, the teacher’s desk started moving on its legs when Lorna became irritated during class. The last time she let loose, she brought down a building, and the worst thing about it wasn’t even the officers that were trapped inside. The worst part was how easy it was. Since then, Lorna didn’t really need to try to manipulate any metal she wanted to – any metal she needed to in order to survive.

This was the first time she had attempted something on this scale, though – and the first time she felt any kind of resistance. The metal was still calling to her, singing, but it wasn’t pulling itself towards her. It wasn’t responding intuitively to her movements, even as she focused more intently, closing her eyes so she could just feel in the way that she found always helped in the past.

The tug of war let up immediately, suddenly, and Lorna opened her eyes just in time to see a trailer whip across the bridge, sending officers diving for cover, piling their cars up into a barricade. One swift movement, perfectly executed, and Lorna flashed back to the thousands of videos and news feeds she had poured over, taking in every little detail.

She knew before she saw him rising above them. She knew because it made sense, but also because she felt it, deep down in her gut. He landed in front of her, and Lorna dropped her hands to the side, the bridge groaning with the sudden release.

He looked just like she expected. He exuded a level of power that Lorna could only dream of, but there was also a part of her magnetism that called to his – they were poles apart, two sides of the coin. He said her name, and Lorna’s jaw clenched, taking a sudden sharp breath.

The daughter of Magneto. Those words, often uttered in hurried whispers and with flitting gazes, had followed Lorna her entire life. Sometimes, they were in her own head, nightmares that had her waking up and going immediately for the medallion stored in her bedside drawer, pressing the metal to her chest as she reminded herself she had someone out there, someone looking out for her. Sometimes, they were spoken with reverence. Others, fear. Her powers were clearly linked to the infamous mutant, and Lorna wasn’t sure whether to be terrified of that fact or proud. She often flitted between the two. But when she heard it in New York from the mutants she helped move through the city, it wasn’t in regards to her. It was about someone else. An Avenger. The only mutant on the team. The Scarlet Witch.

Great minds, it seemed, worked alike. Lorna followed those whispers to track the other girl down, and pretty soon, she found herself being watched as well. It was a dangerous game, given Maximoff’s affiliations, but this wasn’t broad daylight in Central Park. This was late evening outside one of the homeless shelters Lorna found refuge in, just a little off the beaten track. Lorna was always more comfortable in the dark.

It’s Lola back again, this time with magnet girl AKA Lorna Dane! I’ve included a little about section under the cut, and an extended history can be found on her biography page!

This wasn’t her problem. This was the complete opposite of her problem. Of all the things for Lorna to get involved in, a gathering of NYPD vehicles on the Brooklyn Bridge – a bridge that was suspiciously shaking in its foundations, the cords dangerously close to snapping – was definitely not what she imagined intervening in (after all, what right did she have to preserve life after bringing down that building on the cops chasing her years ago?). She already told Scott Summers to go to hell. She already said to Rogue that the last thing she wanted to be was a hero. But when she heard the screams and the radio transmissions, she couldn’t just keep walking towards her bus stop.

That, and there was a tingling in her veins, the groaning and creaking metal calling to her in a way that she’d experienced her entire life, but never quite this viscerally.

Lorna stood on the pier metres from the bridge, knowing if she went any closer chances were she’d have some variant of non-metal cuffs around her wrist before she could blink, even if she was trying to help. She took a breath, closing her eyes as she moved her hands, allowing the energy building up within her to flow out through her fingers. It was only a temporary measure, more of a game of tug of war than anything, but it would give them time to escape.