Long-lost daughter of displacement activity
Several drabbles showcasing the domestic side of mutant life. Lorna-centric. Part of my Lehnsherr Family AU, though one could slot the first four into 616 if so inclined.
October is her favourite month of the year.
Mom takes her trick-or-treating, Dad stays at home to pass out candy to the kids.
Mom spends a month making her outfit. It's always an elaborate fantasia of colour and fabric, often assembled using leftover materials from the previous years.
So far she's been a mermaid, a wood-nymph, three aliens, and several kinds of fairy princess.
When she was younger, strangers would come up and coo admiringly at the adorably costumed little girl.
She wins at least one award per contest entered.
Halloween is the only time she can show off her hair.
She's never had a babysitter in her life. Mom quit her job to take care of Lorna and started working from home.
Mom and Dad stopped going out in the evenings for years afterward. Instead, they entertained their friends with backyard picnics and dinner parties.
Once she'd learned not to scream or cry and could eat properly with a knife and fork, they began taking her to restaurants and plays and ballets and concerts.
When she was old enough to spend the night on her own, they started going out alone.
The house feels strangely empty without her parents inside.
She's one of the prettiest girls in town and boys are always asking her out.
She says “no” to every offer. She tells them her parents are very strict about dating, which is true.
Sometimes she gets wistful when she sees couples walk by.
She's the only girl in school who's never kissed a boy, because that would let him too close.
Any boyfriend she had would eventually expect more than just kisses. Second base might be managed, in the dark. Third base, possible, if it only went one-way.
Home runs, out of the question. She would lose the game.
The other girls think she's terribly vain.
She checks herself constantly in a mirror, every break she gets. She often excuses herself to fix her make-up, which consists mainly of tinted moisturizer, lipstick, and carefully applied brown mascara.
She carries two tubes in her purse, the contents checked every morning before school. Sometimes she needs to touch up after gym class, despite the protection of the ugly old-fashioned shower cap.
She hangs her bag inside the stall, where she can immediately reach her clothing, safely waterproofed inside plastic.
She has to be fully dressed before she can step outside.
It's lonely on the base.
The only person near her age is Scott. His dad's an Air Force pilot.
She writes her parents at least once a week.
Sometimes, it's more than once. They censor outgoing letters, making her rewrite them to their satisfaction, removing mentions to “sensitive information”.
She can tell Mom and Dad that she's doing well.
She can tell them how much she likes the care packages they send twice a month, full of books and cds and home-baked treats to share.
She can't tell them that Scott exists.
She can't tell them to take her home.
It's like living in a fairy tale, right down to the castle.
She has a room in said castle, which the family retreats to on weekends.
Her new father is wise and handsome and strong, and her stepmother very nice and not wicked at all. Her sister is bewitchingly beautiful and her brother an ice prince who thaws at her approach.
She's trying very hard to fit in, to truly earn her place.
She does whatever task he sets her without a single word of complaint.
If she's good enough, maybe Daddy will let her see her parents again someday.
At home and school, she wears her hair green.
Before heading out, she dyes it brown again.
The twins help. Wanda blends the colours; she doesn't need to measure to get the proportions right. Pietro applies the mixture, spreading it evenly with swift sure hands.
Together, they rinse and dry.
They take her to visit local attractions. Museums, parks, and shops; showing off their favourite places to their newfound sister.
One day, she'll be more like her brother, who sports his snowy white head with pride.
For now, she'd rather have tourists stare at the surrounding sights instead of her.
October is her favourite month of the year.
Mom takes her trick-or-treating, Dad stays at home to pass out candy to the kids.
Mom spends a month making her outfit. It's always an elaborate fantasia of colour and fabric, often assembled using leftover materials from the previous years.
So far she's been a mermaid, a wood-nymph, three aliens, and several kinds of fairy princess.
When she was younger, strangers would come up and coo admiringly at the adorably costumed little girl.
She wins at least one award per contest entered.
Halloween is the only time she can show off her hair.
She's never had a babysitter in her life. Mom quit her job to take care of Lorna and started working from home.
Mom and Dad stopped going out in the evenings for years afterward. Instead, they entertained their friends with backyard picnics and dinner parties.
Once she'd learned not to scream or cry and could eat properly with a knife and fork, they began taking her to restaurants and plays and ballets and concerts.
When she was old enough to spend the night on her own, they started going out alone.
The house feels strangely empty without her parents inside.
She's one of the prettiest girls in town and boys are always asking her out.
She says “no” to every offer. She tells them her parents are very strict about dating, which is true.
Sometimes she gets wistful when she sees couples walk by.
She's the only girl in school who's never kissed a boy, because that would let him too close.
Any boyfriend she had would eventually expect more than just kisses. Second base might be managed, in the dark. Third base, possible, if it only went one-way.
Home runs, out of the question. She would lose the game.
The other girls think she's terribly vain.
She checks herself constantly in a mirror, every break she gets. She often excuses herself to fix her make-up, which consists mainly of tinted moisturizer, lipstick, and carefully applied brown mascara.
She carries two tubes in her purse, the contents checked every morning before school. Sometimes she needs to touch up after gym class, despite the protection of the ugly old-fashioned shower cap.
She hangs her bag inside the stall, where she can immediately reach her clothing, safely waterproofed inside plastic.
She has to be fully dressed before she can step outside.
It's lonely on the base.
The only person near her age is Scott. His dad's an Air Force pilot.
She writes her parents at least once a week.
Sometimes, it's more than once. They censor outgoing letters, making her rewrite them to their satisfaction, removing mentions to “sensitive information”.
She can tell Mom and Dad that she's doing well.
She can tell them how much she likes the care packages they send twice a month, full of books and cds and home-baked treats to share.
She can't tell them that Scott exists.
She can't tell them to take her home.
It's like living in a fairy tale, right down to the castle.
She has a room in said castle, which the family retreats to on weekends.
Her new father is wise and handsome and strong, and her stepmother very nice and not wicked at all. Her sister is bewitchingly beautiful and her brother an ice prince who thaws at her approach.
She's trying very hard to fit in, to truly earn her place.
She does whatever task he sets her without a single word of complaint.
If she's good enough, maybe Daddy will let her see her parents again someday.
At home and school, she wears her hair green.
Before heading out, she dyes it brown again.
The twins help. Wanda blends the colours; she doesn't need to measure to get the proportions right. Pietro applies the mixture, spreading it evenly with swift sure hands.
Together, they rinse and dry.
They take her to visit local attractions. Museums, parks, and shops; showing off their favourite places to their newfound sister.
One day, she'll be more like her brother, who sports his snowy white head with pride.
For now, she'd rather have tourists stare at the surrounding sights instead of her.