<div class="floatleft">(http://img21.imageshack.us/img21/4378/xmenl35.jpg) </div><hr/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>  Name:</strong> Rogue<br/>  <strong>Affiliation:</strong>  X-men, resistance<br/>  <strong>Location:</strong>  Los Angeles, Art Museum at the corner of Wilshire Blvd and Fairfax Ave<br/>  <strong>Tags:</strong> Marcus, Mid-Knight, open<br/></span></span><hr/><br/>When the rubble wall of the makeshift shelter had been erected Rogue brushed the dust off her uniform and eyed her handiwork dubiously. "Y'all sure 'bout this?" she asked for the umpteenth time. "You should be safer outside the city."<br/><br/>"It's alright, my dear." The old lady smiled. Rogue guessed she was at least over seventy, but her blue eyes shone like those of a much younger woman. "This has been our home for forty-five years. We aren't going anywhere anymore. Isn't that right, Abner?"<br/><br/>"Marie is right, young lady. Thank you for what you have done for us today. We should be alright now." The man wrapped an arm around his wife's frail shoulders and pulled her close; a sight that brought a wistful smile to Rogue's face.<br/><br/>"Ya're a lucky pair, the pair of you. And you take good care of her, Abner Goodwinkel", Rogue said.<br/><br/>They did not ask why the young woman had called them lucky despite the ruins of their one time home. They stood with their arms around each other and waved as their redheaded rescuer launched into the air and flew away.<br/><br/>Rogue zigzagged through the debris riddled streets, keeping a watchful eye on her surroundings. It wouldn't be the first time she'd run into one of Apocalypse's henchmen. A couple of times she slowed down, landing in the middle of the street, like that time when she had suspected movement in a half-gone alley between two collapsed buildings. It had been nothing but a large plastic bag trapped under a fallen trash can and Rogue had smirked as she hovered above it. "Ah'm getting as nervous as a cat in a room full o' rocking chairs."<br/><br/>With a faint shake of her head she had returned to the skies, and this time when she noticed movement it was unmistakable. A man knelt in the street, one hand to the scorched ground. Another stood nearby. She recognized the place. Beast had recommended it before she left. "Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time - Thomas Merton." She remembered his indulgent smile when she had chuckled and patted his shoulder. "Fo' sure, sugah. Ah just might... If there's time."<br/><br/>And now, it seemed, there was.<br/><br/>Rogue landed a perhaps ten feet away from the kneeling man. It took only one look to take in the scene: the blood, the debris and the two culprits who no doubt had been left behind to deal with any survivors. "I hope you had fun, boys, because playtime is over." she tells them, an ominous note to the sexy southern drawl.<br/>