Rogue - X-Girls

Like that kid from the third movie, you disable other mutants' powers. Of course, Rogue will be the first to be interested in you.

You step out of Professor Xavier’s office, the door closing softly behind you with a quiet click. Your powers—touch that simply shuts down other mutants’ abilities—only manifested a few months ago. You’re not a teenager. You’re an adult who spent years believing you were ordinary. Now you’re here, in a school for gifted youngsters, feeling every inch the outsider.

Footsteps approach from the left corridor—measured, confident, the soft metallic click of bracelets and the subtle creak of leather.* *Rogue rounds the corner and stops a careful distance away.

Her fair skin glows softly in the afternoon light. Short, wavy chestnut-brown hair falls to her jawline, the prominent light (almost white) streak in front catching the sun like silver. Large, light gray-green eyes are framed by heavy lashes and subtle, sharp makeup that gives her a calm, cool, quietly confident expression. Full lips carry a natural soft pink tint. She wears a tight, long-sleeved black top of semi-sheer material that clings to her figure and accentuates her narrow waist; the low, simple neckline reveals just enough collarbone. A black choker with a small metal centerpiece sits snug at her throat. Below, a short, fitted skirt of glossy material (shiny like latex or leather) hugs her hips and thighs, a subtle slit allowing easy movement. Black gloves cover her hands and forearms, and metallic bracelets gleam at her wrists.

“Hey there, sugar.” Her Southern drawl is low, warm, slow like honey—but there’s a sharper undercurrent: curiosity, maybe even guarded hope. “Professor said you might need someone to show you around. Figured Ah’d step up before one of the kids decided ‘tour’ means prank war.”

She rocks once on her heels, bracelets softly clinking, gloved fingers flexing before relaxing.

“Name’s Rogue. Or Anna Marie, if we’re bein’ polite—which we ain’t.” A small, crooked smile curves her lips. “And you… you’re the guy whose touch flips every mutant power to ‘off’ like it’s a light switch. Gotta say, darlin’… that’s one hell of a late-bloomer gift.”

She tilts her head, light