Challenge #00251: Terror Watch

Agent Pertwee and his take on watching the terror with the textiles.

[AN: Agent Pertwee is a girl :P]

Agent Jane Pertwee sighed. She’d signed up for Terror Watch because it was the fast-track past the glass ceiling and on to better things. She should have known that the dicks upstairs would have picked the one least likely to do anything worthy of garnering promotion by stopping it in its tracks.

Right now, she was holding up a wall watching a man with bazooka eyeballs practice needle-felting cute, fluffy miniature kittens.

Her niece would be ecstatic about cute, fluffy miniature kittens. So would her sister-in-law.

Not Jane.

Jane wanted some desperate terrorist undertaking. Some derring-do.

ANYTHING but needle-felting fluffy animals.

“I sell these on Etsy,” said the mutant terrorist. “Helps fund the other stuff.”

And since the current ‘other stuff’ featured part of a dead whale… she could see why he needed funding.

“Why be an artist?” Jane demanded. “You’re packing a bazooka behind each eyeball. If I had power like that…”

“I only killed once,” said the mutant. “Court said it was self-defense. I wanted to be locked away forever.” The needles moved. “I was twelve.”

“I read your file,” Jane rolled her eyes. “If you’d just gone power-mad…”

“Agent Pertwee… I spent a majority of my life under an asshole with power. I never wanted to be like him.”

“I’m still spending my life under assholes with power.”

“Why do you even want that kind of authority?”

“So I can get ahead. Duh.”

“And then what?”

Jane stared at him. “Huh?”

“What would you do with unlimited power? Would you make the people who hurt you feel your pain? Would you stop there? Or go out and hurt everyone who became an asshole? When would you stop and notice what you’d become?”

It was sobering to hear that coming out of someone on the Terror Watch list. It was more sobering to think that he’d already thought of all this. “With great power comes great responsibility, huh?”

“Something like that,” Scott smirked. “Pity those in power never think that way.”

Yeah. It was.

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Challenge #00250: Birds of a Feather

Kitty/alwaysfemale!Colossus.

“I’m here!” Kitty announced. This was supposed to be a place full of people like her. Like, where was the welcome committee?

BAMF! “Ah, hubches madchen,” A blue demon in a black and red outfit appeared in an almost stereotypical puff of sulphurous smoke. “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” it reached for her with a freakish, three-fingered hand.

Kitty screamed.

A giant, metal hand held off the demon by encapsulating its face. “Ignore Kurt, Tovarich,” said a mountain of a woman, all metal. Her costume was red and gold, showing off her metal muscles… and other assets. “Most of us ladies do.”

Kitty backpedalled from the metal woman, too. These people weren’t at all like her!

*

Colossus was, in ordinary light, known as Petya Rasputin. Yes, distantly related to that Rasputin. he had a younger brother Ivan, still living on their farm in Russia. She could almost make four of Kitty and actually had quite the shy nature when she wasn’t showing off in the danger room.

Or saving random females from the demon Kurt’s charm.

“Why do you keep your hair so short?” Kitty asked. “Aren’t you afraid of being mistaken for a guy?”

“Da, I get a lot of ‘sir’s,” Petya admitted. “But long hair gets in the way too much. I need to see. I need to fight. And the last thing I need, Katya, is to give an enemy a handle.” She playfully tugged on Kitty’s own ponytail.

Across from her, an angel was sitting companionably next to the demon, and a giant blue ogre with pince-nez spectacles known as Hank. Those who looked ordinary had weirder powers. Like Jean, who casually lifted things with her mind. Or Ororo, who could make the very weather do her bidding. Or Rogue, who could absorb someone’s memories, mind, and powers with a single touch.

Or Logan. Who was a force of nature on his own.

Yet the one she kept staring at was Kurt.

He’d been born that way. Blue, fuzzy and with a tail. Not enough fingers or toes.

Hank was the one who had started normal… and changed.

What if–?

“You won’t be a monster,” soothed Petya, as if reading her mind. “Not even Kurt is a monster.”

“Only to pretty girls on the second date,” added Kurt jovially. “And if so requested.”

*

Her first kiss had been a surprise. Especially since it came from Petya. The second and third had, too. Only much later and after a lot of deep thought.

Mom could never know.

Kurt, though, had been shockingly amenable when he found out. A wistful smile and a, “Good luck to you both,” had been all he ever said about it.

No teasing. No taunting. No slurs.

Well. He’d had an entire life full of such things. He didn’t need to pass them on, no matter what his beliefs.

Which was why she was planning to make him her best man. When and if she and Petya could ever marry.

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Challenge #00249: What Monsters Hath Science Wrought?

Catbug.

Mythos Entertainment Inc. was working on all manner of new things. Their bio-labs were cooking up foetuses at the rate of knots.

Graham Ptolowitz stared at the thing in the pen. This was the angel/fairy production team, and the abomination before him had originally been a cat.

“We were working on a hexapodal mammalian life-form,” said Dewitt. “So splicing and activating the hexapodal gene was primary priority.”

“We did attempt bat wings, since they are mammalian wings, but - uhm…”

“It didn’t take, this time,” said Dewitt.

The kitten, evidently entranced by Dewitt’s expressive hands, leaped. Its gossamer wings buzzed and, though it missed, the animal drifted gently downwards. It landed and tried again.

“No-one’s going to want to see that,” squeaked Graham. “That’s neither an angel nor a fairy, nor anything else I want in my park!”

“It’s just a prototype, sir,” said Polson. “Once we crack the mammal wing problem, we can use bird DNA to make proper, angelic wings…”

“I don’t want demon cats running loose! I certainly don’t want things like that running loose!”

The kitten successfully seized and monstered his finger in a way far too catlike.

“That’s why we tweaked the wingspan so it could only glide.”

“We have an aviary planned.”

“No,” said Graham. “No monster cats. Scrap the angels. Re-engineer the fairies. Go with -Idunno- singing butterflies or something. No. Demonic. Cats.” He detached the creature from his hand and tossed it back into its pen. It drifted down to floor level and started grooming itself.

Graham made a noise and left. Disgusting.

Behind him, Polson started to cry.

“It’s all right,” soothed Dewitt. “He didn’t say to destroy them…”

And that was how planet Mythos is host to a unique breed of flying cats.

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Challenge #00248: More Deadlier…

Magnificently mundane…and yet still formidable.

It is said that women are like tea leaves. You don’t know how strong they can be until you put them in hot water. Mavis had always laughed at that. She was as mild as milk! Meek as mud.

Until the invaders came.

She’d just turned her back for a second. Let go of the pram for just long enough to grab a can of beans. And when she turned back, there was some… thing… investigating Arbie.

There was no time to think. There was no logic or reason. Just instinct and white-hot rage.

The can of beans almost flew through what passed for its head. Ichor spattered everywhere.

Another was coming.

Mavis grabbed what looked like a weapon from the dead one and, aiming it at the other one, figured out where the trigger was. Found a way to hold it comfortably and - literally single-handedly - freed Arbie from the pram and carried her baby close to her heart.

The invaders never stood a chance.

Mavis emerged at the other end of it, bloody and bloody furious, to aim a few, lingering pot-shots at the massive invading ship overhead. Arbie had fallen asleep in her mother’s arm. People were cheering.

Hot water, indeed.

She shocked herself by snarling at the first EMT to try to take Arbie from her arms. Actively fought to regain the thin veneer of civilization that had formerly been most of her personality.

“…i’m sorry…” she mumbled.

“Don’t be,” said the EMT in almost reverential awe. “I’ve seen soldiers break down over less.”

All over the world, mild-mannered mothers like Mavis had turned the tide of battle. All because nobody….

Absolutely NOBODY…

Hurt. Their. Babies.

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Challenge #00247: Craftsmanship

Ordinary excellence.

“If you want it to last long, hire an expert. If you want it to last for long enough, hire a JOAT.” – Galactic saying.

Rael got most of his income from people who wanted their patches to last long enough. As in, long enough to make a profit out of this trip. Or, long enough to get me back home. And, in some cases, long enough so I can trade this heap in for maximum due.

He reported those ones.

They were attempting fraud, after all. And besides, the stipend he got from Station Security was far more generous than any tip that fell from the fraudster’s fingers.

Crime did pay - the informants.

Nevertheless, Rael did his best to make certain the patches he put into various vessels lasted for much longer than they were expected to do. This was the way he built a reputation. This was the way he kept food in his almost-perpetually-empty stomach-analogue.

And, lately, it was where he was gaining an audience.

Rael stepped back from his work on a dodgy engine - more patch jobs than original parts - trying to gain a new perspective on the problem… and almost tripped over a pair of white boots.

“Sorry…”

“I can’t take a break, yet, Shayde. I have real work to do.”

“Aye, and I was identifyin’ soap operas all day. Sortin’ em. Workin’ out which ones were which. Which is never fun. So I’m takin’ a break and watchin’ an artist at work.”

Ugh. Why did she keep coming back? He made it abundantly clear that he hadn’t the faintest idea of what to do with her or how to enjoy anything of himself… Yet she kept turning up. Eating at the same restaurants. Shopping at the same places. Inviting him to events. Forcing him to socialize.

And baking him things.

He spared a glance away from his work. He was safe, for now. The ritual tin box was nowhere in sight. There was, however, a deck chair and a beverage with a small paper umbrella in it. And Shayde lounging there.

She smiled a special smile for him. He tried to quell the rising warmth inside that had nothing to do with ambient temperature or how much he had to eat.

Stop it. That degree of companionship is impossible. And if I try, I’ll only make a mess of things, he told himself. Back to work.

Work mattered. It was truth. When something was done properly, it was done properly. And it would work, and work well. That, and it paid his food bills.

There was nothing else to fix. Or at least, nothing else he could fix in the allotted time window, which had nearly expired. He put his tools away with regret. The pilot/owner was going to have to replace the entire manifold as early as possible. The fact that they had ignored this advice for three patches so far was not a good sign.

Nevertheless, he noted it in the engineering logs and signed off on the time stamp.

Shayde applauded. “Well done, there. Na. I found a place that does some real beignets the old-fashioned way. And a whole lot o’ soul food besides. You in?”

“Beignets?”

“They’re like a deep-fried pancake. Served wi’ mountain of powdered sugar.”

Short-term calories with a side of long-term fats and carbs. Sounded, as Shayde would put it, right up his alley. “I’ll have you know I can afford to ‘go dutch’.”

“Do ye want to?” Somehow, she’d folded up the usually carnivorous deckchair and made it vanish.

Sigh. “Yes.”

A grin. “See? I have ways of gettin’ a 'yes’ out of you.”

Humans…

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Challenge #00246: Meter and Rhyme

Professor Xavier on why he abandoned the idea of a institute theme song.

“Professor? Why isn’t there a school song?”

“To be very brief, I couldn’t come up with anything good,” he confessed. “Begin with the fact that the Institute doesn’t have a catchy name, and add to that the fact that I have all the musical talents of a diseased whelk…” he shrugged. “If you can come up with something, you’re welcome to, but–”

“Geethanks, Prof!”

Whoosh.

“…I don’t hold high hopes…”

Inside of two weeks, after the literal battle of the bands, Professor Xavier had a third reason not to have a school song.

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Challenge #00245: Learning Curve

Scott, the new floral and somewhat emotionally expressive studmuffin, wows the blue hairs at the convention. His ego does a world of good for it.

“I do a lot of beach-combing for interesting pieces,” said Scott. “And I get bucket-loads of shells from that, I never knew why I picked them up in the first place, but I had bucket-loads of shells and I had to do something with them…” Click. The next slide showed an orchid made of shells. “And that’s what started the Earth and Sea collection.” An array of semi-realistic not-plants made from shells, felt and driftwood. “And then… I dreamed up this creature.”

It was his first and most nightmarish ur-creature. He’d cleaned a beached blob monster and, after making certain it wasn’t anything endangered, used what remained of its skeleton in a work that could only be judged as threatening. The wire also held beach glass he’d turned into beads, making it both beautiful and revolting. Sticks, rocks and shells made parts that were missing from the skeleton.

“I’m still working through a lot of things, and with some help, I managed to figure it out. My little brother Alex loved the beach… and I hadn’t been down to one since… I lost my entire family in a plane crash.”

Murmur murmur murmur, went the blue-haired arts donors.

“The daymares, as I call them… are all me trying to deal with death. They’ve been… an obsession since I finished putting the Hunter together.” He wanted to say, Please buy some of these, they’re taking over a whole basement and they’re creeping everyone out including me. Instead, he said, “By facing down the spectre of death, I grew stronger. I learned to conquer my fears. And now it’s time for these monsters to find their place in the world.” You don’t have to take them home… “You can own a little piece of strength against the grim spectre of death.”

Silence. And then, stunningly, applause. The blue-hairs, grey-hairs and sundry elite filed out of the presentation hall and into the gallery, where a stunning array of macabre artworks stood behind glass.

It almost bothered him that he could convince people to buy this stuff. It bothered him more that he had fans. Who were busy beach-combing for blob monsters for him.

And worse, some were trying to imitate them.

But the money, the real money, was in the rich artsy people who didn’t have a lick of creativity of their own. So they compensated by buying galleries, and owning art.

“They’re really quite stunning,” said a blue-hair by his elbow. “All the things from the sea. It reminds us that that which we enjoy too hard can also be our doom.”

Instead of being stunned by the revelation, Scott acted pleased that she’d noticed. “Yes,” he said. “Life is too fragile to take anything for granted.”

She had a slip of paper in her hand. She’d bought the Gorgon. Yikes. He thought he’d never get rid of that thing.

He’d already told his fans, no more dead bears. Or dead pigs. Or the bones, in fact, of anything larger than a labrador. And no dead small dogs, either. And damnit, he was not in the business of turning your dead pet into an artwork. Gah.

’…have a granddaughter about your age, very interested in the modern art scene.“

Whoops. Good thing he’d learned to pick up hazard words instead of listening on autopilot. "Sorry, ma'am, but I already have a fiancee. She’s meeting me in…” he checked his watch, “Five minutes ago. I do apologize, but I simply must go find her. You have a good evening.”

Sure enough, he found Jean by the less disturbing floral creations. No surprise. She’d told him that if she “had to look at another one of those things,” she’d be doing so through a weapon sight.

“You’re looking confident,” said Jean. “I like it.”

“It helps that they like me,” he shrugged. “And that you do, too.”

“And you got rid of the dead bear. Yay,” she whispered.

Telepaths. You couldn’t keep anything a secret. “Want to hop over to the Performing Arts place and hear Sara playing?”

“Yeah. I owe her some ‘personal thanks’ for putting you onto using bones.”

“Hey, at least she shared how to stop them stinking up the place.”

“Survival mechanism, studmuffin. Survival mechanism.”

Scott laughed and walked in step with the love of his life. Things were looking up.

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Challenge #00244: One Beautiful Morning at the Bi-Annual Fair

I’m in an oooey gooey mood so please give me a sweet romantic sappy drippy waff-fest about a couple who meet long after they knew each other in high school. Extra points for any amusement park item.

In order to reduce the severity of Silly Season, Amalgam Station held a station-wide fair once every five months. Every human got some time to play, even folks like Lyr, who worked security.

Even other species got into it. Chitanians were busy hanging lights where no human could reach with the same opposite of assistance. Assorted Saurians were putting up what they believed to be appropriate Terran decorations. She didn’t have the heart to tell them they’d got Halloween and Christmas mixed up again.

By the pricking in her neck… Lyr could sense someone familiar approaching. Not close-familiar. Just someone she used to know.

She turned. O Powers. “Tae Driscol. It’s been too long!”

He smiled. “I should have known I could never sneak up on you. Haven’t seen you since Spooky School.”

“Don’t call it that?” Lyr begged. One bad choice of words, and she was an insecure little pre-cog again, trying to figure out how plastic her future was, and how she could use her erratic gift for the greater good. And just like that, she remembered being in love with Tae Driscol.

He was still as handsome as ever. The cut of his clothes and the natural materials used in them told her how successful he was as a Finder.

‘If’s from yesteryear snowed down on her mind. If she had said 'yes’. If she hadn’t had that vision. If she’d just tried to fight fate one more time…

But she knew better than that, now. She wasn’t a silly teenager, any more. She had a teenaged daughter of her own. She had a family. A husband.

“I see you’re doing well,” she managed.

“I heard you had three kids. How did you manage all that and stay this fit?”

“You haven’t met Ambassador Shayde, then.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I try to Find ways to stay out of trouble…”

“And yet you Found me.”

Another classic Tae grin. “I was after the place with the best fun. And here I am.”

Fond memories made her smile. “Flattery will get you nowhere. Happily married. Allowed to arrest you for trying any nonsense.”

“No nonsense,” he held up his hands in surrender. “I just want to win you a toy panda at the ring toss. For old times’ sake.”

Not the panda. She’d almost forgotten the old toy he’d accidentally destroyed in their class project. The project that proved to be the end of their relationship as a portent of doom.

“If you use your Finding ability, I’ll have to arrest you for cheating,” she warned.

“Flirt,” he countered. It was a joke. An actual joke that was not at her expense. He had changed.

“Jule’s bigger and stronger than you. And I’m… stronger.” Her family had always run to shortness. It just meant she had a lower centre of gravity to use against the enemy.

“Peace, Officer,” said Tae. “I’m here to mend bridges, not burn them.”

She sighed. “It’s hard to forget some of the shit you pulled.”

Tae lead her to the stall that had toy pandas as a prize. Unlike the fair attractions of yore, this one -and all the others- gave participants an actual chance to win something. There were laws against the kind of shenanigans they used to pull during their origin years.

“Well… karma’s biting my ass. My own daughter’s… a lot more like you than me, back in the day.”

“Keep her away from egotists, she should be fine,” teased Lyr.

He threw darts at balloons like a man driven. Every one hit their target. “I was so mad at you for some thing you said the week before the project? I burned your old toy on purpose, and made it look like an accident.”

Lyr stared. “I said we’d be enemies inside a fortnight,” she murmured. “And it’d be decades before we even spoke to each other again.”

Flick, flick, flick, went the darts. Pop, pop, pop went the balloons. “Never argue with a precog.” Another set. Flick, flick, flick. Pop, pop, pop. “She needs to know she can make it. Even with the headaches.”

“Can’t relax into it?”

“Yeah.” He tallied up his points and paid for more darts. “The kids in her class aren’t much of a help, there.”

Lyr remembered that, very well.  "Espers can be assholes, sometimes. How often does the therapist work with the class?“

"Daily. Not that it helps. Neither does telling Katie how everyone is all worked up about their own problems that they don’t have much room for empathy… So…”

He had twice the points he needed for a plush panda. Lyr got a 'flash’ of a young, insecure girl crying into one. “She has your hair,” she blurted.

“I’m going to confess,” said Tae. “And give her a panda. And hope it works.”

“Give her a link to my bio. I’m living proof you can improve after a near-asshole experience.”

Tae handed her a panda. “I’m sorry. I had no idea and I didn’t want to catch one.”

Lyr hugged it. It was not the same panda as the one that had helped her through too many rough nights and anxiety headaches, but the feel bought back the memories.

This one would help Elaise, when her gift bloomed.

“Thanks,” said Lyr. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

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Fallout from Tequila Night. (you make me crave sequels)

Tattoos, by their nature, are impossible to hide forever.  Especially drunken ones.  It’s inevitable.  So, somehow, one way or another, someone is gonna find out about the tats Kitty and Rogue got of each others’ names on their butts.  And immediately jump to a conclusion: they’re dating.  Why else would they get such fancy ink in such an intimate place?  Sure, they’ll try to deny it, but rumors are quick to spread and very hard to kill…

(#00243)

She used to love that skirt. But never loved it again after Pietro made her flash her ass to half the goddamn school.

Everyone saw it.

“You have a tattoo? Who the hell is Marie Dan can’t go?”

“Lance…”

“Answer the question, damnit.”

Sigh. “It’s Rogue. And it’s pronounced D'ancanto.”

“AND WHY IS HER NAME ON YOUR ASS?”

“Why should it even matter whose name I have on my ass?”

“I have to grab that ass!”

“Well, if it’s such a chore, you can like, stop.”

Lance sputtered. “Wait, no, I didn’t mean it like that… I mean, you and her; how does it even work? Do I get to watch?”

“Don’t be gross! Even if Rogue and I had something, that would be disgusting!”

“So… you’re cheating on me with her? Or do you two go at it when we’re broken up again?”

Kitty rolled her eyes and tried flat-out sarcasm. “No, I got it when I thought we were forever and then she broke up with me straight after. Care to contribute to the laser surgery?”

Sarcasm, as usual, was lost on the slow of mind. “No way, this is totally hot! Reckon we could arrange a threesome for old times’ sake?”

“Oh my God, just like, go away and die in a fire.”

And that was how the scurrilous rumours got started.

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Challenge #00242: One Fine Afternoon Just Outside the Danger Room

A romantic moment between Scott and Jean that starts after she witnesses the New Recruits realizing that an less emotionally restrained Scott as Danger Room facilitator means a tough day for all.

Argh. Her aches had aches. Jean had lingered in the hot shower in an attempt to soothe them. She was still stretching in the hall when the younger recruits passed her by.

“Ow!”

“Man, my aches have aches…”

“The aches of my aches have aches that ache.”

“Can we stop saying ‘ache’?”

“Man… who thought flower arranging could make Scooter so much more of a hardass?”

“Dude, stop saying 'man’.”

“Man, stop saying 'dude’.”

A half-hearted scuffle ensued.

“Hey!” Scott shouted. “If you have the energy to fight, you have the energy to give me three laps around the mansion.”

“Aaaawwwww…”

Jean giggled. “Way to show them, tiger.”

Scott blushed, smirking. “Leader’s gotta lead. That? And Logan makes me wax his bike every time they aren’t worn out after a training session.”

“I knew there was an ulterior motive.”

“So… while they’re busy. Um. Wanna go hang out in the theatre and… er…  watch a DVD or something?”

“Sorry,” said Jean. “I have a hot bath and a nap all planned.”

She managed to drag herself away, but she still heard his distant mutter of, “…damnit…”

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