Private Palace Kitchen of the Lensherrs
“I feel like Stephenie Meyer,” said Alex. He stood next to the counter top in a pair of blue jeans and a white tee shirt, dipping another chip into the bowl of salsa he had just made. At present, it was only he and Gabriel in the kitchen, standing next to the stove in the royal family’s private kitchen, rather than the industrial-sized kitchen in the palace basement.
“How so?” asked Gabriel. Gabriel was in the process of trying to grow a beard, and this was a rather rough stage in said process. There were patches of hair in various spots on his face, mismatched with patches of bare skin.
“Well, it’s because I’m obsessed with what I’ve created. Man, this is salsa is fantastic!”
“It is pretty fantastic if you just focus on a few aspects of it,” said Gabriel. “Hey, I bet if you made another dip, people would eat it just because you made it.”
“You mean it wouldn’t matter how gross it was?”
“Yep. Hey, what do you say to people who think the tomato and onion are too dominant, and that there’s not enough of the other ingredients?”
“That I don’t care,” said Alex, sticking another chip into his mouth. “You know, a lot of people got really excited when my onion took its peel off.”
At this point, Emma Frost walked in, almost unrecognizable. Emma was the fiancee of Alex and Gabriel’s brother Scott. At the moment, she looked different than they had ever seen her because she had no make-up at all on, her hair looked as though it had been attacked by an animal. Her eyes were swollen and blood-shot.
“Emma,” said Gabriel, “are you okay?”
“No,” she said. “The news.”
Gabriel ran over to the television on the other side of the room and turned it on, setting to the closest news station possible.
“This is Trish Tilby reporting for Channel 9 news. For those just joining us, there has been a massive earthquake in Port-Au-Prince, Haiti. The Prime Minister has issued a statement saying that they are estimating as many as half a million deaths as a result.”
“Oh my gosh,” said Gabriel. Alex was speechless.
“My sister was there,” said Emma quietly.
“It thought your sister was being held down stairs.”
“That’s Cordelia,” she answered, trying to control her sobs, “Adrienne was in Port-Au-Prince. I can’t get a hold of her.”
The Royal Gardens
“I swear,” said Pietro to Crystal. The two of them were walking in the gardens behind the palace, with no clear destination in mind, merely content to enjoy one another’s company. Pietro was wearing white pants and a blue- and black-striped shirt, while Crystal wore a white sundress with her brown hair with the oddly-shaped black highlights tied back in a loose bun. “Wanda seriously used to think that bats were reptiles.”
“I don’t believe it,” she said, laughing and shaking her head.
“It’s true.” He scratched the back of his head nervously. “Listen, Crystal, about the other night…”
“It’s fine,” she said. “I’m not going to get all clingy on you or anything.”
Pietro referred to a night, about a week ago when the two of them had slept together. This was their first time being around each other since then.
Before the subject could be discussed any further, Pietro noticed a man running across the gardens with a very concerned look on his face. Peitro recognized the man as Robert Drake, Palace Press Secretary.
“Drake,” the Prince called.
The brunette man wearing a blue suit and gold tie looked over.
“What’s happening?” Pietro asked.
“Massive earthquake in Port-Au-Prince!”
“That’s in Haiti. Thousands are dead, and more are being found every minute. The UN is called for an ‘explanation’ from Lord Magnus. It’s ridiculous. Christians think it’s the rapture, and humans think it’s the start of some sapien-mutant war.”
“What should I do?”
“Convince the general population of the planet that mutants aren’t the cause of everything that goes wrong.”
“You bet. Anything else?”
“Not at the moment. Just don’t talk to any press.”