Hiding

All characters except for Roisin and any mutants or humans you don’t know belong to Marvel comics.


Roisin hummed with glee as she worked alone into the night, the old-fashioned yellow streetlights casting a meshwork of shadows through the wrought iron gate that covered the front of her shop. If she listened closely she could still hear Kurt breathing in the next room, murmuring in his sleep every now and then. She listened for a sound that would indicate he was having a dream of something pleasant, hoping not to hear the sounds of nightmares or the horrors she had felt that he experienced.

She twisted her fingers in the air and stepped back to admire her handiwork. There in front of her was the most darling (well to her anyways) outfit she’d ever seen. A crisp white blouse with almost painfully sharp collar points, and a skin tight black PVC like corset connected to an also indecently tight pencil skirt with a tiny diamond opening for her tail sat in front of her and she smiled.

I have to start charging more for my work… she thought to herself as her fingers buzzed from the effort of creating the fabric and threads from her mind. Roisin walked across the shop to where the stockings were displayed and chose a pair of nude Cuban heeled stockings. She contemplated making herself a garter belt and then realized she was kind of tired and it would be easier to just grab one off the wall. Best part of owning the store, she thought, I get whatever I want and I can just make more…. All of the sex toys in the store were ordered wholesale from a company run by two very sweet lesbian mutants out of Provincetown in Cape Cod. They'd taken advantage of the accepting community and moved there years ago, done some research and figured out how some of the more common mutations manifested in the genital region. They'd developed sex toys to accomodate those customers and Roisin was one of the only suppliers of thes unique toys outside of Cape Cod and San Francisco. Some of the clothing she ordered wholesale from various websites she’d found out about through her various contacts in the business, some she had sent in from Europe. But the real money maker at the store, she thought to herself proudly as she surveyed the surroundings that she’d staked her heart in, were her custom creations.


As she had told Kurt a little earlier, her mutation had manifested when she was thirteen. She’d been standing in front of her closet before school one morning, tears running from her cat eyes, her tail swishing slowly back and forth. Yet again there was nothing she could wear that fit comfortably over that infernal tail- She’d tried covering it with long skirts but still the tail looked strange- after all, none of the other girls had tails. She thought about finding old fashioned skirts, like the ones that women wore a long time ago, feeling she’d rather be known as the girl with bizarre clothing than the girl with the mutation but it wasn’t like bustles were in or easy to find. She knew she’d be mocked anyway, the girls all hated her, called her a slut, called her easy. Puberty had hit Roisin like a ton of bricks and overnight she'd grown a pair of overly large breasts for her tiny 13 year old frame. In some future anthropological study, Roisin was sure that someone would determine a correlation between large breasted young girls and the seemingly unstoppable impulse of all the people around her to decide that suddenly she was "easy". The eyes of the girls in her seventh grade glass- most of whom were still stuffing their bras with Kleenex were narrowed in jealousy of her blossoming figure and they just added to the insults about her. The boys who had relentlessly teased her for years, saying cruel things about her cat like eyes now had even easier material to use against her. The fact that there were lots of nasty connotations about cats and girls didn’t make getting up and facing another day in homeroom an appealing prospect. She’d looked back into the closet and balled her fists up shaking in frustration. She’d pictured a skirt in her mind: A-line with a small flower pattern and a touch of lace coming from the hem with a perfectly fit opening for her tail, and then suddenly she’d felt her fingers burning.

She’d stretched her hands out, looking down at them in horror.oh God, now what? she’d thought, terrified that she was experiencing a secondary mutation or karmic slap. Instead she saw wisps of thread-like material pouring out from her fingers. When the threads were about eighteen inches away, they started lining themselves up and weaving themselves together as if on an invisible loom. Dumbfounded, she watched and heard a beautifully strange sound coming from the undulating mass, similar to that when someone ran their fingers over a wine glass like she’d seen a performer do on a late night TV show one time. As the threads came out her fingertips buzzed but the feeling was more strange than painful. The wisps continued pouring out and then stopped and the rate of the threads movement increased. The movement continued and as Roisin stared, she saw the color of the wisps change to match the skirt she’d imagined a few moments before. She watched soundlessly as the threads danced around playing that eerie sound, weaving themselves faster and faster and the thought of Rumpelstiltskin and the girl who could weave straw into gold popped into her mind for an instant and then the skirt she had imagined a few minutes before suddenly existed where before had only been the rejected remnants from the closet.

She’d tried it on immediately- surprised that it fit perfectly and even had a little diamond shaped opening for her tail- and started laughing uncontrollably. She tried to replicate what had just happened, to prove it wasn’t a hallucination, and in 45 minutes she’d made four more skirts in different patterns and cuts and colors. It was the first time she’d ever played hooky from school but that day she stayed in her room all day, telling her mother she was feeling sick, and made enough clothes that she could wear something new every day for a month. Not long after that, she realized she could also manipulate the cloth of already existing garments and was able to customize the remainder of her wardrobe to her satisfaction. She made clothes for her mother as well, and a few ties for her father. School was getting harder and harder to deal with, and eventually after two more years and countless awful encounters she convinced her parents to let her drop out and try for her GED. She’d passed on the first try at the age of 15.

Feeling trapped in the town she lived in, knowing that the neighbors whispered about her family and said hateful things about her mother, such as implying that Roisin’s attributes were due to her mother taking drugs during her pregnancy with Roisin made her furious. She also hated the strain it was causing on her family and decided one night to run away. She made plans for a few days, going around to the few fancy boutiques in the neighboring towns, wearing those fancy contact lenses that changed your eye color or in her case, changed your pupil shape to that of a human, and wearing a long 40’s style shirtdress that hid her tail efficiently. She’d brought some of her custom creations and the owners of the stores had snapped them up, giving Roisin a total of $1500 to start her new life. She’d left the following morning, leaving a note to her parents and promising to keep in touch. She’d gone to the city, because that’s where every teenager who runs away from home goes.

Knowing a little bit about the east village and the area arout. Mt. Mark’s Place and Alphabet city from the few conversations she’d overheard during her outcast days at high school, Roisin figured that was the best place to start. She sold a few more items in some of the shops along St. Marks, and was able to afford a tiny hole in the wall that was a sublet in a sublet of someone else’s, an outcast from her own town like Roisin was and like many of the young people who lived in the area. They rarely talked, Roisin and this other girl, but Roisin found out that her roommate’s fancy clothes and perfumes and jewelry were financed by her job- working as a dominatrix in a small dungeon on Avenue C. She’d convinced Roisin that she’d make a fortune, what with her tail and eyes, and Roisin had eventually agreed to give it a try, figuring it’d be interesting to see at least, never imagining that she’d actually enjoy it.

In less than three months, Roisin was making enough money at the dungeon that she was able to rent another place by herself and was working extra on the side. She worked four days a week at the dungemainmainly in the afternoons and early evenings, catering to bankers and stockbrokers and CEOs and other men and sometimes women who spent their entire lives ordering others around and making all the decisions. For these people to give entire control up to her, to allow her to make all their decisions and take the pressure off of them, was incredibly cathartic to them. At first she’d been a little skeeved by the whole thing, but she was learning to read her empathicers ers a little better by then and was able to feel the difference in her clients from when they entered, all power suited and bulging forehead veins to when they left, again power suited but with a relaxed and content aura. Confidentiality was key to both staying in business and getting more business, and Roisin was a natural at keeping other’s secrets. The fact that she was able to read their emotions and better anticipate what they needed from her made her job easier. Plus she got a kick out of seeing some of the more obnoxious people put in their place. She had private clients she saw regularly and the money she made from them and the dungeon was starting to become a real nice little nest egg.

She’d been saving up money for eighteen months when she’d met Logan and begun their brief relationship. She had been thinking about getting out of the business, more interested in making clothing than in beating yet another rich stockbroker andan han had made that choice even more appealing. She found it fascinating how his mutation was so useful, his and the other X-Men- all super power like. She made clothes. Oooh. She felt she'd been sort of gypped in the power department and still couldn't fathom what the hell having cat eyes and a tail had to do with anything. Maybe her mother had done drugs. Things with Logan went well for awhile- Obviously she couldn't really hurt him but he certainly enjoyed her attempts, straining against the leather ties she'd bound him to the bed with. The cat o' nine tails, usually just a decoration had actually gotten some use on him, and she was fascinated by the way the whip marks dissolved within moments. Watching him narrow his eyes and growl in satisfaction as she beat what she had figured out was guilt over what he'd done in the past and what he knew he'd done in the future she'd always felt herself getting incredibly turned on and Logan was the first client she'd allowed to touch her. Hell,she'd begged him to. Standing over him that one day, seeing the sweat glistening on his chest and the fading purple marks from the riding crop she'd used and the way he looked right through her- well she'd been dripping wet and it was only a matter of moments before he'd ripped free of the restraints and pulled her on top of him. In seconds her clothes had been ripped to shreds and he was buried up to the hilt in her, grinding his hips in a way that made her dizzy with need. It prly hly had lasted about two minutes before she screamed, coming harder than she'd ever come before. She'd actually passed out for a few minutes and when she came to, she felt the tip of her nose was numb. Within a few days, she and Logan had totally skipped the beatings and restraints and had gone straight for trying to fuck each other to death, or so it seemed. She was thrilled to have found someone whose vigor matched her own and also whose healing power made him ready to go again and again. Things were great for a few weeks, though she ignored the looks and sighs he made whenever she got dressed to go to work. "He'll get over it" she thought, packing up her bag of costumes and props.

When he’d given her the ultimatum- dominatrix or him, she’d been angry and insulted that he thought he could control her. Controlling others was what she did for a living, after all. How dare he? Still when he took off, she’d been pretty devastated and it was only running into Sandy LaSalle and the chain of events that that had started that had brought her to where she was in her life now. Where she was in her life was a good place, she thought to herself, if only a little bit lonely.