Challenge #00045:
The first press conference of newly elected state senator, Scott Summers, in which he tries to explain how someone who sees only red can govern those with full vision. Hard questions are asked by both reporters and Duncan Matthews, himself the newly elected leader of the FOH and sporting IRA styled terrorist backup.
“How can you claim to have a far-reaching vision when all you can see is red?”
Gah. Dumb question #3. Again. State Senator Scott Summers kept his face friendly and save his sighs for a rare private moment. “It’s precisely because of that limitation that I can see further. For instance, I’d like to see a time when you and your colleagues in the press stop asking that question.” Laughter from the assembled scribblers. “As you well know, the sight of the minds’ eye has no physical limits. I may only see red on the physical plane, but my imagination has no such boundaries. Next question.”
“Did you use your mutant powers to steal my girl?”
The press, as one person, turned to see the men who had crashed the press conference.
FOH, the opposite number. Occupy Wall Street had the Tea Party. Democrats had the Republicans. Scott had Duncan, and Mutant Freedom had the Friends of Humanity.
The speaker was both in one. Duncan “I didn’t do it” Matthews was, according to his insignia, a Major in the Friends of Humanity Militia. Some of whom he had bought with him.
Silent, hulking grunts, all of them. Almost resplendent in their uniforms and looking slightly evil with their little red armbands.
The press almost loomed in their seats. “Duncan… we’re both forty. You should at least try to get over that. Second, my only mutant power is that of a kinetic force beam. I can’t use that to steal anyone. Third, Jean, the woman who chose to generously share her life with mine, is also a mutant, a telepath, and a telekinetic and as such can turn your brain into mush if she wanted to.” He had to swallow hard to stop saying, And I don’t know if anyone could tell the difference anyway. “Clearly, she doesn’t want to. Fourth, and most important, Jean, like any other human being does not and can not belong to any other human being. She was never yours, Duncan. She was always, and still is always solely hers.” His voice had raised during his speech, so he took a breath during the resulting applause to settle his feathers. “If you, and the others like you think of people as property, then it’s no wonder that the memberships to the FOH are dying off. Next question.”
“Are you going to de-regulate mutant sweatshops?”
Oh brother… “Short answer, no. Long answer, mutant ‘sweatshops’ need regulation to prevent them from being actual sweatshops where businesses believe they can treat someone who can do more for less as garbage. Everyone, everywhere, has the right to fair pay based on their performance, comfortable working conditions, and care based on their needs. Mutant-run factories have benefitted America by producing more of the world’s needs in less time and at less cost than anywhere else. They produce jobs, not just for mutants. Many of these 'mutant sweatshops’ as you call them feature humans and mutants working together, earning the same wages, and in conditions better than the average office. So, no, I am definitely not in favour of de-regulation.”
“Is your wife manipulating you with her telepathy?”
Dumb question #1. Jesus Christ… “What answer would you believe?”
[Muse food remaining: 7. Submit a prompt! Ask a question!]
Challenge #00044: Trial of Error
End with this sentence: “Failure had become the only way he knew he had actually tried.”
Rael could not believe in his makers. He had, after all, witnessed them sleeping in the labs, relieving themselves, and skimming the news over morning stimulants and breakfast.
It was hard to worship anything when you’d seen them with food dribbling down their chin.
It was even harder to believe in anything when they were testing and training you at the same time.
Rael hated the tests. So did his older siblings, Ayg and Kint. And they couldn’t even hate them together, because they were each tested alone. The only time they even had to attempt to communicate was meal times and even then, they were monitored.
The makers were everywhere.
A klaxon blatted a rude noise and the red light lit the area with its ruddy glow.
Another failure.
What did they want from him? Why did they do these things? How could he possibly understand when they never explained?
Failure had become the only way he knew he had actually tried.
[Muse food remaining:5. Submit a prompt! Ask a Question!]
Challenge #00043: Time is Money
Time currency and exchange rate issues.
The clerk looked up from the pile of gold coins. “What are these?”
“Quatloos,” said Emris. “My savings. For this holiday.”
“Ah.” The clerk began typing. He was rather handsome for a lizard. With an impressive crest jammed under his ridiculous hat. “I have fifteen planet systems with variations on the Quatloo… Where are you from?”
“Greater Deregulation.”
“Ah.” This time, his voice was sadder. “Hm. We have three of those. May I look at your galactic passport?”
Emris handed it over and took off his infovisor.
The clerk was scrutinizing the stamps. “Mh… Ha! East turn-wise Greater Deregulation… Oh dear.”
Emris put his infovisor back on. “Something… wrong?”
“Your Quatloos… are only worth a handful of Days, even at the best rates. And your planned stay is for… two months.”
“…but I saved up for so long…”
“And that effort should not go unrewarded. Let’s see what I can do for you…” Frantic tapping, beeping and error sounds. “Ah! Yes! I can get you a grand total of of a Standard Year.”
Emris gasped. “How did you manage to do that?”
“Your Quatloos are made out of certain metals… that are worth more than the money they represent.”
[Muse food: 6. Submit a prompt! Ask a question!]
Challenge #00042: Life’s Great Mystery
Scott wins a bet with Logan and he divulges wisdom from the mount, including and especially how to get the better of Duncan with his mind and not his fists or powers, with Todd offering to help as an olive branch of peace.
“Told you I could do it.” Scott panted. “Pay up. Enlighten me.”
Logan made a lazy gesture indicating an otherwise neglected bench in Xavier’s extensive gardens. He was never much for talking, even when he was a teacher, the first time. He preferred getting kids to think for themselves. Fight for themselves. Stand up for themselves.
Harder than it looked, now Scott was trying it.
“You an’ Dunc.”
“Yep.”
“What’s the exact problem with ‘im?”
“You mean other than that he has the morals of a dead whelk and twice as smelly? Or that he treats women like garbage and gets away with it? Or that he bullies everyone he sees as weaker than him and gets away with it because he’s a sports star and is raking in the dough for the school?”
“…and he’s dating Jean.”
“Jean chooses to stay with him. That’s her choice. I… shouldn’t let it bother me.”
“Right.” Logan nodded. “But it does. You think you know her better than anyone. Maybe that’s part of the problem. Maybe she just likes jerks.” A shrug. “But the way t’ deal with a jerk jock is t’ expose him.”
“What? Secret recordings and stuff?”
“No. Nuthin’ illegal. Tallwater’d probably help there if she heard ya. Don’t let 'er hear ya. Clear?”
“Clear.”
“You an’ Dunc’ve been at each other f'r forever. Not just because of Jean. You’re equal opposites. Like ya said, he’s got the morals of a dead whelk. You fight with your muscles, you’re fighting him where he has the same strength. You can’t win.”
“…fab…”
“You gotta fight him where he’s weak. Use yer smarts. Set him up for a big fall in front of everyone. Something where all his negative points get highlighted at once.”
“I might be smart, but I’m not that smart.”
Logan gave him a long look. “Think you have to win this all on your own? You’re a leader. Lead.”
Toad 'nonchalantly’ wandered closer. Always on his guard for an attack that didn’t happen. “Yo, I heard sumpin’s up against Dunc’.”
“You might have heard right…” Scott allowed. He was still unsure of the Brotherhood boy, but he remained civil under Sara’s influence.
“Mebbe I could… I'unno… help make sumpin’ happen to him?”
“Tallwater in on this?” asked Logan.
“She promised she’d -uh- stick to th’ social engineerin’.”
She’d need to. Especially after that thing with the inflatable hippo.
[Muse food remaining: 2. Submit a prompt! Ask a question!]
Challenge #00041: The Noodle Incident(s)
There was that one time with the limes, the rhododendron hedge and the grand piano that all parties agreed never to speak of again…
Oh, the potential for each of these. I don’t know which universe to play with. So I’ll play with all of them :)
There is a certain genius for mischief. People who possess it are generally pranksters and the geniuses at it can make their chosen victims laugh at their own predicament.
Two such geniuses, Rael found, should never go together.
He already had enough on his personal agenda with Shayde, a creature who possessed magics in advance of current technology. But it got infinitely worse when the Enterprising Endeavour was in port and Hwell Barrow escaped the watchful eye of his saurian business partner, Ax'and'l.
Hwell had initially tried, according to all reports, to ‘blarney’ Shayde. Shayde, on the other hand, spotted him coming from a mile off and turned him down flat in ways he did not understand until ten minutes after she left the room. Things escalated quickly from there. He sent her chocolate-coated insects. She sent him caramel encrusted lizards. He somehow managed to dope her shower head and dyed her hair teal. She somehow got into the Enterprising Endeavour’s systems and dyed the air fuchsia. He set a flock of guinea pigs loose in her garden. She shipped live cargo to a very distant port… live cargo that liked to eat the containers she put them in, and breed like insects.
There was that one time with the limes, the rhododendron hedge and the grand piano that all parties agreed never to speak of again… Nobody could prove who did it.
The Enterprising Endeavour was in dock again. Which meant that Lyr, being both a precognitive psychic and a keen observer, had once again drafted Rael as bodyguard and reliable eye-witness. Which, in turn, meant he had to move his warming tank in for something Shayde called a 'sleep-over’.
“Ye serious. Ye never heard o’ smores?”
“Never,” said Rael. For all he knew, this was another Drop Bear story.
“Ah, yer in fer a treat,” Shayde opened her door.
Hwell had escaped his guard and managed to completely fill Shayde’s quarters with peculiar, helium-filled balloons.
“Condoms,” said Shayde as they escaped their former confines and began drifing into the corridor. “He cannae resist the classics…”
X-Men Evolution Universe
“What are you doin’, Tallwater?” Logan growled.
“Nuh-thiiiinng…” Sara almost sang. She was up to her elbows in bits and bobs, building a Device.
“You’re up against Fixit again, ain’t'cha?”
Sara put her screwdriver down so she could face him. She’d gone from aqua to very much more than a little bit blue-ish. And she was almost glowing. “I owe him one.”
Logan shook his head. “You been on his case ever since he accidentally sent you jauntin’ dimensions.”
“And he has the nerve to retaliate!” Sara was snippy, and when she got snippy, her Bostonian accent got thicker. “And he’s better at it… Well… There was that one time with the limes, the rhododendron hedge and the grand piano that all parties agreed never to speak of again…”
“Y'never thought of callin’ a truce and working on the problem?”
Sara glared at him. “That,” she sniffed, “requires him to apologise first.”
And, because I love it so much…. Dresden Codak’s X-Men Reboot Universe
In the opinion of Pepper Potts, there are some kind of geniuses there should never be two of, let alone two of in the same general area. Like, an entire continent.
Her life was interesting enough just trying to keep a leash on Tony Stark. Playboy multimillionaire genius inventor and any other nouns you had to spare. But now there was Sara Adrien. Mutant chameleon creative genius and a lot of other spare nouns, and a few of them actually polite.
Tony hated her for two reasons. One: she re-designed his holographic emitter vambrace so that it could both disguise a person for longer and fit into a rather clunky-looking sports watch. Two: she had found out his full name and used it against him whenever she was ticked off with him.
Well, not exactly hate hate… but not quite as mature as friendly rivalry, either. It was hard to maintain friendly rivalry with someone who had subconsciously absorbed the theories of ninjitsu as a method of getting the pranks past both Tony’s and Pepper’s paranoid security measures.
The nanobot packaging had been the last straw. Not that it disassembled its wrapping paper form and then spread anywhere it detected Tony’s DNA, but that it graffitto’d, Tony Stark is a louse! anywhere it had enough clear space.
And he couldn’t sue her for libel, because she’d paid to have a new species of louse named after him.
Pepper couldn’t see anything that would make them stop. There was that one time with the limes, the rhododendron hedge and the grand piano that all parties agreed never to speak of again… but it just kept… going.
“Eureka!”
Never before had three syllables struck terror into Pepper’s heart. She had to look, just so she could appreciate the train wreck that happened afterwards.
It was a hovering hula-hoop. Or rather, it looked like a hovering hula-hoop.
“What monster have you created now?” Pepper asked, only half-joking.
“Personal weather system.” Tony in a manic mood was never much for excess verbiage. “It’ll follow her around, stealth at first, of course; and rain on her - and only her.”
“This could not possibly go wrong,” Pepper deadpanned flat sarcasm.
As per protocol for these things, Tony set it loose, waited half an hour, and then sent the taunting text, How’s the weather?
And for two weeks, nothing happened. Two glorious weeks without so much as a black fax.
Tony actually relaxed. Well, relaxed for Tony.
Then came the garden party. A fine mist filled the air, but it did nothing to dampen the spirits of anyone in attendance. Until Sara showed up. Glittering and spectacular and - Pepper noticed - not being rained on.
“Why the hell is she dry?” muttered Tony.
“How the hell should I know?” murmured Pepper.
“Mister Stark,” said Sara.
“Ms Adrien,” said Tony.
They shook.
“Wonderful work with the programmable watering system,” said Sara. “I have it doing the rounds at Xavier’s. And congratulations on your fashion choice.”
“…zuh?” said Tony.
“I hear orange is the colour for celebrities of your calibre.”
Pepper and Tony looked together. He had turned a brilliant, vibrant, fake-tan orange.
Tony licked his hand. “Orange kool-aid?”
“I was out of Tang.”
“I’ll get you for this.”
“Really, Mister Stark. You have to stop handing me the weaponry. Those are the nanobots you originally sent after me, remember?”
Tony fumed. “Yes,” he growled.
“And nice try suborning the Sentinels. It won’t work a second time.”
“Wait. I didn’t reprogram the Sentinels.” Tony turned to Pepper. “Did I?”
Pepper didn’t have to check. “No. That wasn’t us.”
“Hmph,” said Sara. “Someone is using our personal vendetta against us.”
“Us?” Tony quoted.
“I did not put you on SHIELD’s watch list.” Sara snagged and sipped some juice. “My motto is Mostly Harmless, as you will recall.”
Tony caught on. “Someone’s trying to up the stakes.”
“Shall we happen to them together?”
Tony had a very nasty grin. “Yes. Let’s.”
Oh dear. Now he had Pepper in conniptions at two syllables.
[Muse food remaining: 3. Submit a prompt! Ask a question!]
Challenge #00040: The Shocking Truth.
An outsider to everything talks about seeing something they shouldn’t, fully knowing the ramifications of their seeing will impact the entire world they live in.
Shayde knew she was on time. She checked the chrono four times after she heard Rael’s voice in the negotiations room. He was, apparently, talking in some variety of Bird. One of the languages that gave her ‘universal translator’ ability trouble. Something about beaks…
This was one of those negotiation rooms that had been repurposed from an interrogation room and, as luck would have it, the neighbouring observation cupboard was empty.
She swallowed her claustrophobia and ducked in for a quick peek.
Rael was talking to a gigantic Rhode Island Red. Six foot tall if he was an inch. Beady little eyes, crest, wattle and shiny black tail feathers.
Sure, the rooster also appeared to be wearing an ornate golden dressing-gown, but he was still a rooster. Shayde ducked back out into the hallway for some better air and tried to think through this.
Five hundred years had passed since she left Earth. More, if you counted time from the one-way wormhole colonies that crossed great physical distance by going backwards in time. Anything could have happened.
She had to say something. Even if it caused a war.
She snagged Rael by the elbow as he emerged and whipped him half a meter down the hall to whisper, “Ye ken ye been talkin’ to a giant chicken, yeh?”
“Ambassador Bu only appears to resemble the Terran bird Avis Domestica…”
Shayde waved a frantic arm at the six-foot bird. “He’s a chicken, I tell ye. A giant chicken.”
Rael cast a pleading gaze at the bird. The bird gently pulled her away from her something-more-than-friend with his wing.
With the scaly, chicken-claw hand that had been hidden by his wing-feathers.
Then he spoke GalStand. He had trouble, because of his beak, but he still spoke. “It’s all right. I get this all the time.”
Shayde boggled. She knew she was boggling. It was just one small step from outright culture shock and screaming down the hallways. Keep it together…
Ambassador Bu trilled out some very un-chicken birdsong.
“Ambassador Bu T! (descending whistle) (low whistle) would like to invite you to lunch and a trade of rude questions,” said Rael. Then he explained, “It’s a regular thing when he manages to disturb someone.”
Public place. Food. And rude questions? How could a gal resist?
[Muase food remaining: 3. Submit a prompt! Ask a question!]
Challenge #00039: The Doctor is in
Anywhere in the story: “It never ceased to amaze him how little the world seemed to care about those it had little use for.” Also include a banana.
London was overgrown. Those bits that were left were barely holding together. And still, someone took the time to write on walls.
It was a warning. Red was a difficult colour for paint in this kind of arena, but someone had still taken the time to make a bright red paint. And then paint a stylized bull’s head with horns, the word ‘MINATOR’, and an arrow pointing back the way he had come.
This was a clear warning.
Running feet made the Doctor turn, but he couldn’t see the runners. They were long gone. He stared at the graffiti, trying to remember anything about that particular spelling.
“Are you fuckin *MAD*?” someone shrieked. They seemed horrified to see him there. The speaker was short, far too thin and dressed in boring grey and brown. She seemed to be having trouble breathing, which was why she had trouble running.
“What?” he said.
“Run, yer nut!”
“What?”
Now she ran to him, seized his wrist as if she were saving his life and dragged him away from the warning sign as fast as she could manage. “*RUN*! That’s where minator is. An’ then there’s th’ bots.”
“Bots?” he echoed.
“Jus’ fuckin’ run!”
He kept pace with her. He was no medical doctor, but he could still tell she was in a bad condition to even try to run. Her lips were turning blue. Her breath rattled in her lungs.
“You run everywhere?” he said by way of conversation.
“Onna ground ya gotta,” she panted. She had that slack-lmbed run of people who had no energy left to run but still had to try so they could survive. “Bots an’ minator. They get ya. They kill ya.”
“Ah,” he said. “That would be bad.”
She rolled her eyes at that understatement.
They arrived at some kind of bus stop just as the bus literally took off for the city high above.
The girl fell onto the empty seat with a lot of coughing with a side of phlegm.
“You don’t sound very well,” he noted.
Another eye-roll and flat sarcasm. “Gee wow, you must be a fuckin’ doctor.”
The last of the Time Lords looked guiltily skywards. “Funny you should say that,” said the Doctor.
“So what you doin’ sown 'ere?” she wheezed. “Suit like that stays upside.”
“Me?” he said innocently. “I’m… inspecting.”
“Y'aint takin’ nuffint from me, y'bastid,” she said automatically.
“What? No! No, no. Definitely not. Look for yourself.” He took out the psychic paper, willing it to show a benevolent message.
She took it, squinting at the message and dragging a finger across the font only she could see. I… am… official… but… friendly. I… am… here… to… help. I… can… be… trusted.“ She boggled at him over the black wallet as she handed it back. "Y'got that lot lammed?”
The doctor stared at the traitor psychic paper. “Odd. It’s not supposed to *do* that…” He really thought about the message.
“Yeah?” she grinned. At least she was smiling. If he had them smiling, he had hope.
“It’s *supposed* to help you think I’m vaguely in charge of fixing what’s wrong. Somehow, you got the gist and not the complete message. Shall we try again?” He handed over the little wallet once more.
This time, her dragging finger helped her read, “The… Doctor. I… make… things… better.” She startled. “Whidafuh? 'Ow’d y’ do that? You some kinda magician?”
There was some confusion, but eventually she introduced herself. “Rollins. Hope Rollins.”
A deal was struck for food. In that, at least, it was wise to always have at least one banana. She ate it skin and all. As they waited for the next bus, the sad facts of being a 'grounder’ came out. About being literally the lowest of the low. Of lurgi, and minator and how the bots could kill you just for being too slow.
It never ceased to amaze him how little the world seemed to care about those it had little use for.
Well, he was here, now. He was going to get things sorted.
This was why he called himself the Doctor. Like his psychic paper said for him, he made things better.
[To meet Hope, try this story. Muse food remaining: 4. Submit a prompt! Ask a question!]
Challenge #0038: Where Art Thou, Daughter?
Before Josie’s mom goes to Kraplaquistan, recount the last conversation she had with Jason and how little she really knows how awful he is, even as it reeks and ferments before her very eyes due to her obsession to bring Josie back to her point of view.
Porche greeted Jason with a warm hug and a kiss on each cheek. “Daar-ling! How have you been? I’ve been dying to see you since Tullagawupwup…”
Jason smiled warmly for her and waved away a disappointed blonde in the background. “Porche, dear Porche… Have you heard anything from poor, lost Josie? Has she changed her mind?”
“I heard from a good friend that one of his distant cousins glimpsed her in Kraplaquistan, of all places.”
“That is a lot of miles to track her down,” Jason snagged a passing champagne. “I do hope that inheritance dear Josie is due is not catching a beating. I’d hate to think of you lovely ladies becoming destitute.”
“Oh, no, don’t you worry your darling head about it. I pretty much budgeted for all this travelling since before dear Josie took it into her head to go gallivanting. Securing the knowledge of my poor girl’s future and its security is just a drop out of the reservoir.”
“And I trust you’re well adept at keeping any… nasty rumours under wraps?”
“Of course, of course. My best friends own the networks. The rest can be dismissed as hateful things people spread on the internet. Lesbian, indeed,” Porche sniffed.
“Ha. I put rest to that one,” Jason laughed. “You can’t be a lesbian if you’ve had sex with a man.”
“Yes. No need to state it so crudely, my dear.”
“There’s a polite way to say it?”
“Perhaps that you both enjoyed a ménage?”
“Oh yeah,” Jason swapped his empty glass for a handful of canapés. “I ménaged her brains out.”
Porche cleared her throat and pretended not to have heard Jason’s last remark. For all his occasional crude attitude, he was of good stock with some very good political connections. If she could just convince that idiot girl to give up her nonsense and live properly, then Porche’s grandson may well be leader of the free world.
As she drifted away, she could have sworn she glimpsed Jason re-joining the blonde he disappointed earlier. One of his more regrettable tendencies was that he lacked a certain amount of volume control.
“Yeah, that’s the old bat. Gonna marry her only daughter for the money, fuck ‘er until she pops out a kid or two, and then set us up on our own little holiday island. Ugly as hell, the both of them, and the daughter’s damn flaming. Of course I’m all yours. I got a whole library of excuses to stay away from them.”
Boyish high spirits. Once Josie had him settled down, he would forget about the blonde. And if he refused to part with that silicone-stufed piece of eye candy… Porche would just have to find out the girl’s name - and make her life… inconvenient.
Nobody put one up on Porche VonSmythe. Tomorrow, she was going to fly to Kraplaquistan and drag Josie back to the altar if she had to. But for now, it was smiles, glitter and wine.
[Muse food remaining: 5. Submit a prompt or ask a question!]
Challenge #00037: Whither Shall I Wander
Include anywhere in the story this line: “Anywhere was home, unless the place included her.”
Josie was a wanderer. Anywhere was home, unless the place included her.
She did not use her name. It was always she, her or, in extreme situations, that woman. Just a glimpse of her, just the thought that she might be there, that she might have followed her across oceans, continents, rivers, towns or down the endless roads… had Josie packing her bags and moving on.
And the worst thing was, that woman refused to take a hint.
Always following her. Tracking her down. Demanding a confrontation. Resolution. Closure.
Josie didn’t have anything more to say to her. She’d said it all so many times over, in the years Josie couldn’t escape. And she just would not listen.
Then came Kraplaquistan. A shitty little town in a shitty little country, with the best person in the world. Max. Josie stayed longer than she had ever stayed anywhere - saving her years in purgatory with her, of course - she made a place. Helped the community. Moved in.
And just like always, she turned up. At a social gathering Josie couldn’t escape because it was in her honour. With everyone staring.
Josie put on a rictus and tried not to bite her as her hand came in for a handshake that looked more companionable than it felt.
“My dear,” she said. “When are you going to give up this nonsense and come back home to Jason?”
“I’m still a lesbian, Mom,” said Josie. “And Jason’s still a rapist asshole who thinks his dick can solve everything. This is Maxine. My wife.”
[Muse food remaining: 4. Submit a prompt! Ask a question!]
Challenge #00035: Not My Fault!
Jean discovers a reason why Duncan should be dumped and Todd shows her why Scott might be a better choice, all while they hang upside down from a tree. By accident.
“It'snotmyfault, IsweartoGod, pleasedon'tkillme!”
Jean was still getting her bearings. A tough thing to do when gravity wanted all her blood to settle into her head because the ground was directly above it.
She let open her ‘walls’ a crack to scan for any other intelligent life besides… Toady Todd Tolenski.
Urgh.
Well, on the plus side, she was upwind of him. On the minus side, she was upside down, in a tree, and apparently miles from anywhere.
“How’d we get here?”
“Not my fault, I swear.”
“Yeah. I think you established that in the first picosecond of consciousness.”
“Yo, don’t try to move 'less ya know what’s there,” Todd advised. “One wrong move an’ -tchk!- broken neck.”
Something warm was sliding slowly up her spine. It felt sticky. An entirely different tendril of malevolently bright and viscous blue drooled towards the ground in front of her.
She tried to pull herself upright. Alas, that meant getting further into the slowly oozing bright blue dribbles.
And there was lots of it on her clothes.
“What the hell is this blue stuff?”
“Not my fault! I didn’t do it. I was inna hall!” Toad tentatively touched his tongue to the vibrant blue goo. It must not have tasted good, because Todd winced and reeled his prehensile tongue back in. “You musta seen it. I walked right by you an’ Dunc’ and he kinda casually knocked me into a locker.”
“I didn’t notice that bit…”
“Yeah, like anybody does.” His voice switched to a mocking falsetto. “O Duncan, yo’ so manly wit’ yo’ big muscles and Aryan good looks. Who cares what the rest of the world is doing? Tee hee…”
“Maybe if you washed more often…” Jean decided she’d had enough of being inverted, blue goo or no blue goo, and struggled to right herself and untangle herself at the same time.
Todd had similar ideas and a harder time. “Yeah, well not ev'ryone gets to be perfect,” he said as he awkwardly got at least upright. “You say 'wash more often’, I have t’ distill the freaking water wit’ no power an’ try finding some kinda soap that don’t make me sick to mah stomach.”
She stared at him. “What?”
“You did an article 'bout it, right? Why there ain’t that many amphibians 'round here no mo’?”
“Oh yeah. The chemical water treatments and soap is polluting the waterways and… making… frogs sick…” Another I-can’t-believe-it stare. “You’re serious? Bathing makes you ill?”
“Like an animal shelter’s worth o’ dogs, yo.” He had found a stick free of goo and was using it to scrape as much of the goo off himself as he could. “And whatever this shit is, it’s damn toxic. Hazmat toxic. I’m'a be barfin’, bath or not. Ugh.”
Jean reached out with her mind, finding the 'feel’ of the goo, and the 'feel’ of Todd, and then taking the goo away from him.
“Thanks.” He picked his way around the tree as if the goo was lava. “We should get outta here.”
Jean de-gooed herself and floated them clear of the mess. “If you want me to talk to Duncan about the locker…”
“Nope. Nuh-uh. Negativo. No. Way. Just means I get it worse behind yo’ back.”
“Duncan is not that mean.”
“Uh. Yes he is. You can -i'unno- pick his brain t’ see what he’s been up to? You’d see if yo’ did.”
“That,” sniffed Jean, “would be unethical.”
“As unethical as distractin’ you from lookin’ inna chem lab while one of his buddies builds that goo-bomb?”
Jean rewound her memories and looked at them anew. Duncan was actiing nervous and edgy. And kind of desperate to stop her on her way to Trig.
…because he knew she’d report him.
“Uh,” she said.
“Or as unethical as chattin’ up cheerleaders when you ain’t lookin’?”
“Wait. What?”
“Or as unethical as beatin’ up geeks to do his homework for him?”
“Now that’s not fair!”
“For who?” asked Todd. “He’s lyin’ to yo’. He been lyin’ to you since th’ start of it. An’ he goin’ keep lyin’ 'till you catch him an’ put yo’ foot down. An’ then he’s goin do it mo’ when he thinks he’s safe.”
“Like anyone else wouldn’t be a liar. Lying is natural in any relationship. People want to make themselves look good.”
“Mebbe, but Dunc only wants to look good. Y'awsayin’? Meanwhile, yo got a guy right there fo’ yo’ alla time, tells yo everythin’ but one truth an’ respec’s yo’. An all he is to you is chopped liver.”
Jean made a face, trying to orient herself in a world turned blue and drippy. “Who could that be?”
“Shades, over there.”
She followed Todd’s gesture to find Scott, messy with blue goop, running to her. All anxiety and worry and - to be honest - abandonment issues.
“Jean, are you okay? Did Toad–?” He made a fist, got halfway into a fighting stance.
“We’re fine. Todd has been helping me out.”
Todd made a show of his empty hands and a sick, please-don’t-hurt-me grin. “That’s me. Knight in rusty armor.”
Jean did something she promised herself she’d never do. She dipped into her friend’s mind. She hadn’t known such relief in anyone since… Since her telepathy had turned on and she’d tried to run away from the voices and her mom had found her and swept her up in a hug and cried…
So relieved that a loved one was still okay.
Duncan, some vast meters distant, was only worried about whether or not he or his idiot buddy was going to get caught.
Someone was headed for dumpsville. Population: Dunc.
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