Jean Grey, Bobby Drake, other X-men When : October 12th, sometime after noon What : Rogue wakes up to a whole new gig.
Rogue had gotten off the train, and headed away from the Westchester train station on foot. That had been earlier, this morning as best she could figure by the angle of the sun. Feet clad in low heeled black boots kept time on the side of the road, thumping against the blacktop and gravel of the shoulder in time with the throb in her head.
She didn't remember going to into the city. Didn't remember ever owning the small leather backpack she had slung over the shoulder of her hooded green cloak. She certainly didn't remember the small, brow leather bound journal that was in it, with pages of her own handwriting.
She doesn't remember who or when she was given the silver bracelet engraved with her codename. She can't find the tags she knows she wore once. Her clothes are just clothes :Boots, dark jeans, a black tank top underneath a open knit green sweater. Her coat, at least, was familiar to her.
Had Carol taken over again? Had she gotten her way, and forced Rogue into the city to do who knows what? These were the questions Rogue kept turning over and over again in her mind. Had she killed someone else, lost herself to their personality, and now just can't remember?
She hadn't dared to try and fly in her current condition, the headache, the confusion, making her err on the side of caution, no matter that it was a much slower progress. She would get to the mansion, get home. Someone had to be there. Someone who could tell her everything was all right.
Had to be.
White-streaked auburn pushed back behind her shoulders as Rogue looked up. The familiar outline, the gate. A shrug to secure that backpack, before Rogue headed up to the front door.
"Please, dear Gawd...let someone know me. Let me be home." Rogue whispered aloud. "Ah don't wanna be crazy."