arguements, rocky relationship tangles, and mention of drinking beer.
Main character: Anyanka
Disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to Anya (created by Joss Whedon) or anyone from Marvel’s X-Men comics.
Distribution: Jinni, Cat, Paula – anyone else ask.
Note: 20 minutes with Anya response
"You're having a psychic affair with Emma Frost! Why wouldn't I be upset?!?" The woman with red hair shouted at the man in the red sunglasses.
He waved his hand, and bellowed right back. "You were too busy with everything else to have time for me!"
"Ah would have expected somethin' like that more from Gambit than you, Cyke." The woman had a white streak in her curls, and a southern accent.
An Asian looking woman with purple hair leaned against the wall, apparently unaware that November was no longer swimsuit season. "No, I would have expected it from Warren. And guess what, I found him with that blonde."
"You're having an affair with Emma too?" The redhead glared at the man with the large feathery wings.
"Who's having an affair with Emma?" He looked around, an expression of panic on his face. "I'm not sleeping with Emma."
"Sleeping wouldn't have me this angry!" The redhead snarled, glaring again at the man in the red sunglasses.
Anya blinked, feeling rather like she was stuck watching a tennis match. "Who's Emma?"
"The White Queen." "A stuck up arrogant bitch!" "A corporate associate." "Another telepath." All came at once, the voices blurring together.
"How dare you try to blame this on me anyhow!" The redhead kept glaring. "You should know how to turn someone down by now! And just when did this even start?"
"Are those two married?" Anyanka asked the woman with the stripe in her hair.
"Yeah, although... Does someone dyin' and comin' back from the dead count as that 'till death do you part' stuff? I think they've both died since the weddin'. Of course, they can't stay away. Scott was the most recently dead, sort of." She shrugged.
A lean shape shadowed the doorway, and with a mutter of Creole curses retreated. Anya blinked, wondering if that had been Remy LeBeau. If it was, then she had a few things to say to him...
"She didn't go off and start an affair while you were dead!" The man with the wings glared, as his wings twitched. "Even though all sorts of handsome men asked her out."
"Did you try to put the moves on Jean? Warren Worthington, you rat!" The purple haired woman demanded, and suddenly a purple knife was surrounding her hand.
Anyanka watched as he made a break for it, darting down the hallway with the woman chasing after him, swearing in English, Chinese, Russian, and French. Some of those sounded interesting, actually....
"You and Warren?" Scott sounded angry, and might have been glaring, but it was impossible to be sure.
"I did not! You're the one cheating!" The redhead screamed back.
"Hey. You look like you're getting a headache from all that. If you want to slip out, they won't notice." The short man had wild hair and an amused smirk as he peered into the room. "I've got beer."
Anya smiled, feeling hope at last. Sliding along the wall, she slipped out of the room, looking at the man, discovering that he only came up to her eyes. "Do you have any angry lovers? Furious ex-lovers wishing vengeance on you?"
"As far as I know, anyone that I've had any serious feelings for either never got involved with me or they're dead." He glanced at her, and raised one eyebrow. "Why?"
"I'm the Patron Saint of Scorned Women." Anyanka sighed. "And I think I was supposed to make someone here miserable. But..."
"But you can't sort things out." He chuckled. "Sounds about normal for here. Why not just try to relax over some beer?"
Following him to a small pond, Anyanka watched as he lifted up some bottles of beer, accepting one with a smile. "Thanks, I think I could use that."
A few beers later, Anya sighed, glancing back towards the house. "I'm starting to think the best revenge on them would be just... let them sort it out themselves."
"Sounds fair enough." The short man shrugged. "Another beer?"
"Thanks. So, why don't you have anyone?" She looked at him, noting the muscles and the self confidence. "You look to be a very rugged, primal male with lots of muscles."
"It's the long term that gets me. Either someone shows up and kills them, they have a fatal accident, or they're in love with some other bastard and I don't get the girl." He sighed, opening another beer. "Except for the occasional fling with nobody expecting anything but a good time."
"Will you show me a good time?" Anyanka offered, glancing at him. "You look as if you should be able to do a very good job of it."
Carefully, he set the beer bottle down, smiling at her. "Darlin', that sounds good to me. But what about your headache?"
"Well, the best cure for a headache is supposed to be sex, and the release of lots of some sort of pleasure chemical.... so... pleasure me?" She unbuttoned her shirt, letting it fall from her shoulders.
"Sounds like my sort of medicine." Logan reached for her with a smile.