Even in a crowd of everyone wearing matching green hoods, Rogue was impossible not to spot; the young woman had a horrible knack for not being nearly as inconspicuous as she often hoped to be. Despite finally being in a place where the weird and strange were rather mundane and normal, the odd everywhere, Rogue remained out of place, sticking out like a proverbial 'sore thumb'. No matter what she did or said, she remained forever on the outside looking in. The knowledge of nearness and what a single touch could accomplish making it impossible to ever be comfortable in her own skin, in spite of keeping herself as isolated as possible from the rest of the world. Sometimes, the teenager felt as if she never stopped holding her breath; a ticking time bomb with an unknown amount of time left till detonation. She knew nothing about her powers accept that skin to skin contact triggered them and only bad things followed such an action. It made her forever unsettled and on edge, obviously anxious at times and a bundle of nerves the rest. In spite of being covered up from head to toe, she still couldn't stop herself from cringing when a brush of clothes occurred.
In the hotel lobby, Rogue took up a place along the wall, eliminating one area of possible contact. The brunette swore she felt their eyes, all of the beady and judging on her, burning holes in the minimal amount of flesh exposed. She didn't dare look up to check; if you looked up, you increased the chances of catching someone's eye, grabbing their attention, and with it too many unanswerable questions. In reality, no one was looking at her at all; the staff was going about their business like they always did. None of them spared a single glance in Rogue's direction. Why would they? She was just another guest if she was not one of them, right? And being here, in this rumored crazy town, how could they have not seen it all at some point in their lives? The rational side of Rogue already thought of this, went over the details, the annoying logic in her head, but fear and paranoia were logic's hardest to defeat foes and right now, inside Rogue, they were pounding on it mercilessly. They had logic beaten and bruised, backed into a corner and Rogue's eyes permanently glued to the strangely clean floor beneath her feet.
The sound of approaching footsteps triggered the ever familiar, human flight or fight response. All of which played right along with that paranoia and fear still grappling in her head. She looked up with more determination and courage than she felt. The sight of a familiar face, finally, among what seemed like a vast sea of strangers with malicious intent. Dr Grey. The red hair. Kind eyes. There was no one out there, besides Logan, that could make you feel as accepted as Dr. Grey could. She had a gift for it, a knack for reaching people and just...understanding them. Her entire aura just radiated with calm, control, and a sense that somehow, in the midst of something as crazy as this, everything would be okay. The professor had it too which was completely counteractive to what Bobby told her before she'd fled the mansion. Once more, she was struck with the horrible knowledge that people were, for the most part, never what they seemed to be on the outside. It was sad and more than a little disheartening; a large pill to attempt to swallow on top of everything else this place had to offer. Yet, Logan, someone Rogue trusted more than normal, seemed to have faith in Jean. He believed her to be a good person. It gave Rogue enough of an incentive to lend out a hand of uneasy, but viable trust. For the moment anyway.