Starchild

Epilogue

It's night, but the rooftop is well lit. Wong and Barney are taking care of the food (while trying their best to teach Scott how to handle the grill), as the other adults sit near the drinks and talk. The rest of the younger X-Men are a little closer to the edge, eavesdropping the adults.

I stand next to the grill in case of a fire.

—You need variety, Barton. —Wong mutters, moving green stuff around the grid, —A good barbecue features vegetables, too. Just add some spices, roast them well, and stop whining about the greens like a child. —

Barney scoffs. —Boring. Children, come here, —he calls out for Scott and I, and we get closer. With a pair of thongs, he leaves a small piece of meat on our hands, —How's it taste? —

When I bite into it, I find a smokey flavour. Spicy, too. It's good. —I like it. —I nod, and Scott agrees with me.

—Good, good, good. They don't call me the Grill King for nothing. —he grins, as he hands Scott a plate filled with more meat, —Give this to your friends, they've been waiting for too long. That's beef, chicken, and some pork. —

Victoire walks up to us. —No one calls you the Grill King, dumbass. —she hits him softly in the back of the head, —I'm going downstairs, we ran out of ice. Star, mind helping me out? —

We quietly jog our way to their apartment, and Victoire opens it, letting me in. She heads for the kitchen. Near the door, there are a bunch of pictures hung up on the walls, many of those including the siblings and other humans around their age, except for one; one with two elders - a man that looks like Barney, and a woman that looks like both Bartons.

—Grab this for me, please. —Victoire comes back, and hands me two bags of ice. She looks at the picture too. —A lot of people say we look like her. I don't see it. —she shrugs,

—You do look similar. Is that Barney's father? —

—Uh-huh. Let's go, before it melts. —as we are leaving the place, she decides to keep talking, —I used to think he was my bio dad until I was like... Nine. Don't know how, though. His hair was way darker than mine. —she smiles. —I liked him. He was a good dad. Mom chose well. —

I chuckle, —Except when it came to Lucifer's son. —at my joke, she tries to hold back her laughter, shaking her head. —In her defense, she probably had no idea. Maybe he's actually a great lover, who knows? —

—Maybe. But not better than the Charles Bernand Barton. The senior, that is. I don't want to see Barney as a dad. —

—What do you mean? —there's a Charles Bernand junior?

She grins. —Barney's a nickname, Star. —

Charles Bernand Barton junior. Humans like getting creative with their names, don't they?

When we get back to the party, music is already playing. We leave the ice in a box by the drinks, and sit with the adults, joining whatever conversation they were having - which was, apparently, about Strange's eyes.

—It is, technically, a mutation. —Xavier says, probably a little drunk, —Sectoral heterochromia, green and blue. But stigma against the x-gene has made people afraid of using that word. Mutation. Many scientists forget that mutations helped us evolve into the species we are today, just because they're worried about evolving further. —

I nod, and lean into Strange, —What in Hell is he talking about? —

—Human science. I'll explain it later. —he whispers. He looks at me for a few seconds, then, he frowns, —Have you gotten any news from Loki? Now that we have free time, you can try to contact him, or something. —