|Thu, 25 Feb 1999
Chains, Planes and Strange Villains [Sillyfic]
SUMMARY: X-Men, sillyfic. The X-Men are captured by an evil villain who proceeds to torture them.
NOTES: I'd like to think that it can be taken for granted that the label "sillyfic" is a tip-off that this is just for fun, and no offense is meant to anyone. It's just a little something I wrote as I started to recover from the awful cold that's kept me in bed for the past three days.
ARCHIVE: Please. As often as possible and wherever you like.
Chains, Planes and Strange Villains
"All right," Mr. Evil said to his unwilling captives, not that there ever were any other kind, and *of course*, he's named Mr. Evil -- what else do villains call themselves, anyway? Besides 'Sinister' was taken and 'Dog-Breath' didn't have quite the right ring to it.
"Yes, yes, can you get on with the threats, mate? We don't have all bloody day, y'know," said Pete Wisdom, who had been captured on the general grounds that he was too sarcastic to be allowed to run loose on his own. Interpol was said to be ecstatic over the news.
"Oh, yes, you do. You have as much time as I want you to have, now that I have safely imprisoned you in my fantastic Dungeon of Terror that no man has ever escaped from."
"How about women?" Jubilee asked.
Mr. Evil motioned a henchman to club Jubilee into silence. "Ahem-- moving right along to the boasting, I'd like to say that not only are you the weakest lot of mutants I've ever had the distinct non-pleasure of capturing, you also have the worst fashion sense."
Jubilee would have made a comment at this point, as Mr. Evil himself was dressed in something that Austin Powers wouldn't have been caught dead in -- a chartreuse muu-muu with little pink pompoms dangling from the fringe and neon black racing stripes running along the sides (an outfit that curiously resembles something the author once saw on the floor of Alara Rogers' closet) - -- but as she had been clubbed unconscious in the earlier paragraph, there was no one left around who would have noticed.
"Maybe we only let you capture us," Gambit suggested, "so that we could sneak into your base and then destroy it from within?"
Wolverine, Cyclops and Psylocke glared at Gambit, who smiled charmingly as innocence was something he had no hope of pulling off, at least not since the incident wherein three batches of chocolate chip cookie dough, a spatula, and both Bobby and Bishop had somehow been made to disappear, at least until the eight by ten full-color glossies had come back from the photo shop. "What? What did Gambit say?"
Wolverine growled for them all. "Good job giving the plan away, Gumbo."
"But that wasn't the plan."
Another growl. "I'm gonna get you, Cajun."
"Take a number." Gambit smiled. "I be looking forward to it. D'you prefer choc'late or rocky road? 'Cause I always wondered what you'd taste like wit' it spread all over you..."
"Ahem." Mr. Evil cleared his throat again. "Please don't make me gag you. This is not a cheap excuse for erotica, and I will have none of this lewd behavior. Now, let's get down to what I want out of you."
"Yeah," Wolverine rumbled, looking vaguely unsettled, but quite ready for a brawl, "let's."
"I would like a willing volunteer from the audience."
"For what?" Cyclops asked.
"To be my sex slave, of course."
"Of course," Bobby said, the only one able to find words at all, and muttering them anyway, "we should have guessed. Why else would anyone want the X-Men?"
"Don't you mean," Mr. Evil said, smiling sinisterly, "the..."
Screaming came from the clustered mutants, some of whom could already hear the dreaded word coming. Those fortunate souls had their hands over their ears to block out the horror that was to follow (and you probably should too, although I recommend putting them over your eyes).
A shepherd wandering the grassy meadows twenty stories above the buried fortress of evil heard the screams and immediately converted to Catholicism, where they still had screaming, but at least the church was open on Tuesdays.
"Yes, I revel in your horror. Thank you, thank you," Mr. Evil said, accepting the tribute of their screams. "Now who shall it be? And remember, I want a willing victim. Someone who will happily embrace me in the depraved raptures that I have planned."
"You think anyone would *want* to have sex with someone who's seven feet tall, covered with purple fur -- that clashes with your outfit by the way -- no offense, Hank--"
"Of course not," the Beast murmured.
"--and who smells like an outhouse?" Bobby asked.
"Uh -- Bobby, honey?"
"That smell? That isn't Mr. Evil, that's--" she screwed up her nose and pointed at Cyclops.
"Cyke farted?" Jubilee burst out laughing, having woken up just in time to hear the momentous news.
"I did not!" Scott said indignantly. "Right, Jean?"
Jean looked noncommittal, but edged away from him as much as her chains would allow. "Whatever you say, dear."
Scott turned to Wolverine and his superior nose for impartial judgment. "Wolverine, you tell them. You know it wasn't me."
Logan just grinned. "Whatever you say, Cyke."
Mr. Evil raised his hands. "Silence! Enough bickering. Not that I'm tired of your clever repartee and scintillating company, but I must have a volunteer."
Bobby nudged Rogue. "You do it."
"Me?" Rogue asked, taken aback.
"Yeah, you." He wiggled his eyebrows at her.
She looked curiously at him, then exclaimed, "Oh! Yeah. Okay. Suuure, Ah'll volunt--"
"However," Mr. Evil continued, "I have one caveat--"
"What's a caveat?" Bobby asked.
"It's a kind of French perfume," Jubilee answered.
"Oh, good. Rogue likes perfume."
"--while I will have the common decency to remove the volunteer -- I mean, victim -- from this room which coincidentally is the only chamber in my entire fortress shielded against your mutant powers, I do plan to take the precaution of using an inhibiting collar on the selected victim."
"Never mind" Rogue said. "Ah'm not interested anymore."
Betsy held up her hand, "I think I might be willing to volunteer--"
Dr. Evil continued, "I would also like to mention that I have trained extensively in the martial arts, and employ the deadliest henchmen to be found anywhere on the globe -- the dreaded Exphilicus Fannicus, a guild of women sworn to stop at nothing to obtain a pair of David Duchovny's underwear!"
Betsy looked pale. "Never mind."
Gambit looked interested. "Remy might..."
"*And* they're all married and over forty."
"Now," Dr. Evil said. "Are any of you brave enough to take me up on this challenge?"
Collectively, the X-Men refused to meet his eyes, although there were quite a few stares directed at Bobby.
"What?" he protested. "I already told you. I'm not gay!"
"Yeah, but think of all the women," Warren suggested. "All deadly, and all desperate. You'd be sacrificing yourself for the good of the team."
Bobby looked shocked, then irritated. "It hasn't been *that* long since I got laid!"
"Only 'bout t'ree years. Gambit's been counting."
"It's been less than that!"
"As I seem to have no willing volunteers, I suppose I'll just have to take one of you and waste some of my valuable time mind-controlling you into enjoying the experience," Dr. Evil said. "Now, which one?" His eyes lighted over the various women, seeming particularly interested in Jean and Storm.
Mysteriously, Scott's elbow was raised into the air.
"Ah, I see we do have a volunteer. Please, come with me."
"Huh?" Scott looked bewildered as two large female guards dragged him away. "But I--"
Rogue and Jubilee exchanged a high-five behind his back.
"That was... cruel," Storm murmured.
"You'd rather it was you?" Jubilee asked bluntly.
"Of course not. I'd rather that no one got hurt, although I must admit to a sense of relief that nothing unsuitable will occur in the presence of minors."
"She means you, Jube," Logan contributed.
"Oh, yeah," Jubilee said. "I keep forgetting. I'm like, what? Nineteen now?"
"You're a very bratty thirteen," Bobby said definitively.
Her lip quivered. "Why? Why me? Why am I the only one who gets stuck in a permanent time warp?"
Wolverine wrapped his arm around her. "Shush, darlin'. 'Sides, it's not just you. Just you, Cable, Mags, Bobby--"
"Hey!" Bobby protested, "I've never been de-aged!"
"The hirsute gentleman has a point, my dear friend," Hank interjected. "We, the original X-Men go on with life, and you, Bobby, somehow manage to remain simply Bobby."
"It's a tribute to my youthful manly vigor!"
Snickers erupted. "Gambit goin' t'pretend he didn't hear dat."
"Why?" Bobby asked.
"'Cause den he don't have t'tell everybody 'bout de time he caught you in de shower wit' the Teletubbies."
"It was an honest mistake! I thought they were like rubber duckies or something. Y'know -- Tele*tub*bies?"
"Isn't one of those things gay?" Jubilee asked. "Tinky-winky or some name like that?"
Bobby stuck out his lower lip. "None of you understand. None of you want to understand. I'm a fiery sexual inferno, really I am."
"Sure you are. That's why they call you the Iceman."
Wolverine had to protect Jubilee against the reaction to her comment. Chains or no, Bobby wasn't against holding Jubilee down and tickling her.
"Umm, Wolvie?" Jubilee asked after Bobby had been restrained by Hank.
"When did you stop wearing those chains they put us all in?"
"When I cut them off." "You just cut your cuffs off?" Jubilee asked in amazement.
"Sure I did."
"And you could have done that at any time?"
"And why didn't you do this earlier?"
"Because of the plan."
"The plan ta get captured t'get into Mr. Evil's secret base, and then escape and take the place over."
Jubilee nodded. "Oh. That plan."
Ororo and Gambit both displayed unchained wrists at nearly the same time, as the X-Men began to unfasten each other, preparatory to an amazing display of violence and savagery otherwise known as 'Just where did we park that invisible plane of ours?'
Storm took calm control. "It is unfortunate that Cyclops was removed from us, but we must stick to the plan. Wolverine, you and Psylocke must take the task of rescuing him while we others destroy this base and the secrets it holds, the secrets that could doom all mutantkind. Remember, we must make certain that no one ever discovers the Secret of The Spandex!"
The ladies and Gambit all nodded fervently. Cellulite, sagging breasts, misshapen tumors caused by drinking too much bottled water and small penis size were all things covered up by the wonders of superhero spandex. If their enemies ever discovered how to negate that factor, all would be lost. A few candid photographs in the right places, and whammo -- superheroes everywhere would be hanging their heads in shame. Or something at any rate.
"You got it, Storm."
"No... need..." a figure dressed only in his visor gasped.
"Scott!" Jean ran to his side. "What happened?"
"It was terrible. I can't describe how horrible it was."
"Did Mr. Evil make you... do something?"
"No. He fell into the alligator pit next to the stairs."
"Did his bodyguards fight you?"
"They..." Scott's voice shook. "They thought I was David Duchovny!"
"Oh, my poor baby." Jean stroked his shoulder. Gambit was staring with envy at something a bit lower than Scott's shoulder.
"But never mind that. What about the plan?"
"Underway, Cyclops," Storm said calmly. "If you can lead your team?"
"Of course. Let's go."
In a matter of minutes, the underground complex had been dismantled into pieces of kindling useful for starting a fire, using for Pooh-Sticks, or possibly toasting very small marshmallows assuming that one wasn't too picky about whether their fingers got singed.
"A job well done," Scott congratulated them. "Now let's go home."
"Where did we park?" Warren asked.
"Don't ask me, ask Gambit. It was his turn."
"Non, mon ami. It is Bishop's turn."
"It was my turn last week. However, during my security surveillance after the landing, I noted a distinct rock formation which may be helpful in locating the Blackbird, even when it is parked in stealth mode."
"Bishop, this is a mountain. It's covered with rocks."
Jubilee looked doubtful. "Y'know, I don't think Frosty's ever lost a whole plane before. An' I wanna get back to the mansion before eight, or I'll miss 'The Simpsons'."
"Don't worry, darlin'," Wolverine said, putting a comforting arm around her shoulder.
"Why not? Do you know where we parked?"
"Nah -- we got snatched up from the 'bird and flown here, remember? No scent trail."
"That makes me feel a lot better. Not."
He grinned. "Yeah, but look at it this way -- at least some of us can fly."
She looked dubious. "If they can't remember where they left an airplane, do you really expect me to believe that they're going to remember where Westchester is?"
He shrugged. "'Simpsons' is a rerun tonight anyway."