Starchild

Three Men, One Wardrobe

Note to self; when you are too lazy to help in any chore, use the fact that you are not from here as an excuse. My culture is different, isn't it? How would they know if I know how to do the chore or not? Strange did not question it twice when I told him I don't know how to use a broom.

I know how to clean. I am great at it. Father taught me to clean my own mess, and to help servants clean other people's messes. At this point, it's almost automatic when I spend more than thirty minutes in a dirty room. But watching most of the X-Men, the siblings, and Wong try to clean up the house as quickly as possible before either the neighbours or the family notice what happened, is more entertaining than cleaning up myself.

We, the group that cannot clean (although most if not all of us might have lied), are sitting on the living room's couch, as the cleaners run around getting rid of any sign that a demon existed here carelessly.

Strange is sitting on my left, Maximoff on my right. Jean on his right and Raven on her right.

In Hell we would be confused with the house of Sloth. Sure, Strange cannot hold any glass items, but we all know that's not the only task he could do. Raven is just sitting here, watching McCoy amused - I will admit, he looks funny with a broom on hand - and Jean might be the only one helping from here, with her telekinesis.

Maximoff is reading on his phone. I say to him, —You are fast, you could clean all of this in less than a minute. Why don't you? —

He shrugs, and looks at me, —Can you clean it up with a snap or something? Be honest. —after a second of consideration, I nod. He nods too, —It's just funnier not to, ain't it? —I nod again.

I look around. The siblings are fighting over who cleans the blood specks on the floor (possessions can cause nosebleeds), Wong is sending Strange tired deadly glares, and McCoy, Brunette-Boy, White-Hair-Girl, and a new blue teenager I had not met before, are trying their best to place the sleeping family in a comfortable spot.

—Who's the blue guy? —I ask, —And, honestly, what are the names of the other two? We didn't get an introduction. —

He points at the girl, —White hair is Ororo. She's pretty dope. Pretty cool. Can, you know, control the weather and all that. Comes in handy when you want a snowy day. —he points at the brunette, —He's Scott. Jean's boy toy-—Jean is quick to punch him in the leg, and he laughs. I will not question it. —He's like a frat boy. Well, not really. He kind of is the leader though. Or he thinks he is. —he then points at the blue boy, —That's Kurt. He wasn't with us at the Vatican, but he's part of the team. He's funny. His skin's cool. —

I frown. —I am sorry to tell you but I don't know like five of those words. —

—Oh. —he frowns, —You british? —

—What's that? —

Jean cannot help but laugh, apparently listening to everything we were saying. She stops moving things. —Are you actually not from here? From Earth, I mean. —

—No. —I shrug, —Is it too obvious? —

Maximoff raises his eyebrows. —Now that you say it, yeah, kinda. Still, that's so cool, dude. —he turns his entire body at me, —Where are you from? Are you like an alien? —

—I'm from Asgard. You know, like Thor? I have heard you love him here. —

They both nod, one of them more enthusiastically than the other. That is, of course, Maximoff, who even pats his chest on the place his heart should be. Jean chuckles, —Yeah, he's great. I guess you're a relative of his? —

I nod, —In theory. Loki is my Father. He told me you kicked his ass, he is still a little insecure about it. —

—Ah, wrong superheroes. —he purses his lips, —Wish I was in the Avengers... —