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Curt Wild in Yellow Spandex
[Part One]
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Alright, people. I'm gonna try to write a story. It's not gonna be something great or good or understandable. Fuck, I'm only doing this out of a fucking dare. So, here it goes. And if you fucking laugh, I'm gonna knock your shit over and come after you. Heh… not really. Alright, here we go…
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Curt woke up to the worst fucking hangover of his entire fucking existence.
"Fuck me," he growled in that Curt Wild way.
He looked around the strange room, not recognizing where the hell he was. This was not a new thing. He did this a lot in fact… so often that actually knowing where he was became a foreign thing. The room swirled and the light hurt like a mother fucker. It looked like a lab, "What the fuck?"
All of a sudden, out of fucking nowhere, this huge blue beast walks in followed by a tall, red headed chick wearing a skirt… and then comes rollin' in this bald guy in a wheelchair. He looks like a sickly Charlton Hesston. The huge, blue thing needed to stop smiling. It scared the fuck outta Curt because this beast has giant, mean lookin' teeth.
"Where the fuck am I?" Curt asks, his throat hurting from the show he did the night before. He tried to remember what happened. He came up empty… another familiar thing to him.
"You, my sir, are in a medical facility. And I am your doctor. This is Professor Xavier and Jean Gray. We are here to help you. Do you recall anything that occurred last night?… (and all that flowery kinda shit)"
He growled to the point where everyone went all stiff, an expected reaction to Curt Wild, "No, do you?"
The beast guy adjusted some tiny-ass glasses and answered, "You were attacked in an alleyway. We were there to observe you and we saw you had some abilities out of the human realm…"
"Speak English, asshole," Curt warned. Yes, he had been mugged. He'd been knocked the fuck out, too. After that, it was all a fucking black mess.
"Egh-hem (or some pansy ass thing like that)… we saved you anyhow. We have a team of super humans, mutants if you will, that are assembled to protect mankind. After your performance last night, Jean Gray and myself were to approach you about joining…"
Curt stopped them, his brain clearin' a bit, but all this guy's words did was confuse him even more, "Whoa, wait the fuck up… Mutant? Mutants? That explains the fur suit." Curt thought this was funny, "Don't suppose you'd be called Freak Show, now would ya? Where the fuck are my cigarettes?" Curt asked, looking around for his jacket, "And where the fuck is my fucking jacket?"
The guy in a wheel chair came forward, "Curt, we are the X-Men and…"
"You not hearin' me, gramps? I want my fuckin' jacket… No one keeps Curt Wild from his nicotine and lives to tell the tale. Trust me on that."
"Your drug dependency…" the blue dude began… but Curt would not have it. He jumped up off the roller bed, seeing just how fucking tall this beast guy was for the first time.
"Listen, pal, you may be big and you may be blue, but don't you fucking give me any fucking lectures on what to do and what not to do, because I ain't gonna fuckin' take it, hear me?"
In walked this tough lookin' guy, a cigar wrapped at the corner of his mouth. He was a hairy bastard, "What's goin' on in here…" His eyes locked on Curt Wild.
"I want a fucking cigarette… I want my jacket… Final fucking warning." Curt Wild said to everyone in the room.
Wolverine looked to Charles, "Let the man have what he wants, Chuck. It's not much."
"He has a foul mouth on him, doesn't he…" the baldy commented, nodding for Jean Gray to get the man's ensemble.
Curt Wild finally fuckin' saw he was standing there in a hospital dress and groaned, "Fuckin' great."
Wolverine smirked wolf-like, "As bad as I was, Professor."
"Mmm, yes. I remember."
"Hey, bub. I'm Logan. These people are stiffs, and won't letcha do much of anythin'. I suggest ya get out while ya can."
Curt grabbed at the folded clothes the beauty offered him, "Yeah, well, why've you stayed, Logan? And these fuckin' guys can't be serious… X-Men? Gimme a break."
"What's goin' on in here? Is he awake?" came a southern drawl just as Curt put the cancer stick between his lips.
He looked up and caught sight of an innocent lookin' dish with gloves and brown hair matchin' deer-like eyes. He gave her the once over… and she saw it, blushing fiercely and sticking close to Logan's side.
"Yes, he is," Charles answered.
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I'm fuckin' bored now. Dare or not. Maybe I'll write some more later. Now, fuck off until then.
~ Curt Fuckin' Wild
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Somewhere in another dimension, a universe shudders and a reality is altered… For when some things are done in one universe, there is a direct effect on the universe itself.
When our rocker, Curt Wild, took up this fateful dare to do a story, and unwittingly described these characters, little did he know that the details written were so exact and so accurate that Time and Destiny melted in a molten lump, and Curt's dream that night would not be drug induced… but the result of such an occurrence.
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Charles Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters...
"Professor Xavier? Bobby and Jubilee would like to speak with you about something they thought you should know."
"S'not like he doesn't know everything anyway," Jubilee decided to announce.
"Jubes…" Bobby started with a glare.
"Thank you, Storm," the professor gave a business-like nod and a gentle half-smile, "Please have a seat, you two."
Jubilee jumped right into the conversation headlong, "See, Professor, it's like this: we went to that concert last night like you said we could and when this guy got onstage, we knew you should know that we think he's a mutant."
"And doesn't know it," Bobby added a beat later.
"Are these powers quite obvious?" The Professor was instantly curious.
Both Bobby and Jubilee nodded.
Storm put in, "They told me everything, and I think it is a good suggestion that one of the X-Men see for themselves."
"What sort of power does he possess?" Xavier was looking from one to the other.
Jubilee was intense as ever, face concentrated just below that spiky black mass. She leaned forward and placed her hands on the edge of her caretaker's desk, "It was tense, man. It was insane. Insanity!"
"Jubilee, just answer the Professor's question," came Bobby's nudge.
"Ah, right. Anywho, if Magneto gets his hands on this guy, the X-Men'll have a big problem on their hands, that's for sure…"
-
"This is music?" Hank asked, wrapped in his trench and fedora as he and Jean Gray stood at the back of the auditorium.
"It's not bad," Jean remarked almost distantly, her eyes riveted on the stage lit in blues and violets. She hadn't been to a rock concert in ages. She honestly didn't know what to expect nowadays, but the thought thrilled her inner child. Yes, Jean Gray had an inner child.
Hank looked down at her, an almost shocked expression on his furry, blue face hidden in the shadows, and met her tilted visage, staring back with a small smile, but his retort was cut short by the sudden screams, wails and cheers of the thousand people surrounding them.
Both pairs of eyes shot to the stage as they saw a lone figure join the band already playing. He wasn't of any substantial height, had stringy, blond locks to his naked shoulders with horribly visible, dark roots. Leather pants buckled with a wide band of silver left nothing to the imagination. And instantly, the two had the impression that this man would shock them within a matter of moments. The entire crowd knew it, and loved it.
Jean Gray honestly wasn't the one to admit attractiveness to someone so swiftly, but here she was and one of the strongest thoughts in her head was that this creature singing with a gravel cream voice had a definite magnetism, despite the dirtiness she suspected to lurk on his pale body. He was all fluid motion.
She closed her eyes and began a small thread of energy that wove almost confusedly through the throng that bore lighters and skin, ceasing only when it crept to the stage and there into the mind of Curt Wild.
Tangle, tangle, tangle, pain, pain, fuck, heroin, heroin, bass, drums, guitar, words, danger, danger, something's wrong, something's wrong, get the fuck out!………
And her eyes snapped open to find the subject of her query searching intently, between stanzas, bewilderment seething behind his eyes that were merely neon blue sparkles from this distance.
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Jubilee sighed as she fell against the back of the chair, a shake of the head, "No tellin' what would happen if he was in a room alone with someone, or just a hundred people. He would have a friggin' army or a war going. Chaos, man. Ballet Des Dervish."
"If you send one, send another. That way, there'll be no room for anything going wrong," came Bobby's level-headed suggestion.
The professor looked thoughtful, "When will he be appearing again?"
"Next show is up two cities tonight at The Globe. Wait any longer, he'll just get farther away. [pause] And maybe even closer to Magneto, where ever that slime covered, good for nothing, son of a…"
"Jubilee, that's enough description," Storm reprimanded half heartedly.
"But, I was gonna say son of a …"
"I don't care. That's enough."
"Son of a junkyard," Jubilee mumbled.
"Thank you two for bringing this to our attention. I'll send Hank and Jean tonight."
Jubilee couldn't grin any harder; it lit up the room, but then fell almost conspiratorially, "Just be careful, Profe. A'ight?"
"Alright, Jubilee. Thank you."
-
"It's no wonder he got jumped. He appears a common thug himself, Jean," Hank remarked as he hefted the rocker over his broad shoulder and towards their van.
Jean had no comment, her eyes ever watchful and her mind ever open to any who might disturb their rescue of Curt Wild.
"Jean," came the doctor's cultured voice after he'd set the man into the van, "Come here. Have a look at this."
Jean stepped closer, keys in her hand and peered into the dimly lit vehicle to where Hank's blue claw traced up the singer's arm, dotted in incensed track marks.
Both grimaced.
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"There were only miniscule amounts of the drug in his blood, though I wonder what effect they have on his abilities."
"Or what abilities it hides all together," Charles Xavier said almost under his breath to himself, "You went into his mind."
It wasn't a question, he knew. He peered up at his student as she answered, her own eyes strange to him for a moment, "Yes, Professor. He sensed me fairly quickly. [pause] It was a mess in there. Part of it was the heroin, but that was only a catalyst to the problem. I know that at least."
She leaned back, considering the gathered schematization of this new mutant, "It's a small miracle that he's gotten this far."
There was a moment of stillness between them.
"I just wonder if we're not the only ones who know about this."
A thought occurred to them both at the same time and they perked, peering at each other.
"We didn't search the attackers."
Chuck gave a nod, "It's too much of a chance that it's true. We have to keep him here until we are sure he's safe from Magneto."
"Of course."
-
"Curt Wild is in the building," she finally stated out loud.
Jubilee paced her room, fingers worrying at each other. Her eyes were sharp despite the fact she'd awoken fifteen minutes before to the sound of something… an engine, then a bit of a commotion, the Professor's wheels on the floorboards just outside her door.
"Jubes, please just go back to…" Kitty at length sat up in bed, "Curt who? The name's familiar."
Jubilee nodded vaguely, coming to press her ear to the oaken panels to listen, "Lead singer, song writer of… well… Curt Wild."
Kitty's eyes went to the girl, silhouetted against the wall, "You're not making any sense."
Jubilee simply grinned to herself, rubbing her hands together and tossed a wink to Kitty, "Look at the poster, Kit."
Kitty did so, a protest at her lips dying as she saw a name on a poster under a face she'd only noticed briefly on other occasions, now it clicked who the hell Jubes was talking about. She threw back her covers, "Here?! But, why?!"
Jubilee tore herself away and came to the foot of the immaculate bed, sitting, "He's a mutant! When me and Bobby went to see 'im, we knew! It was so obvious. Only he didn't know. We told the profe and somethin' musta happened, 'cause he's here now!"
Kitty blinked at this, her face went blank and her voice went flat, "Thanks for telling me all this earlier."
Jubes beamed, "No prob," and went back to her pacing and her eavesdropping, cracking the door open when everything went quiet, "They've gone to the basement level. Aw, dude. Curt Wild as an X-Man! Picture that…" -- she froze only an instant before shivering in anticipation -- "…full body black leather."
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Pain crashed into the back of his skull, throbbing like blue balls in his mind, "Fuckin' Jesus Christ. Mary, mother of god. Fuck," he uttered in a string, too intelligible for Jean who stood beside the medlab table in her white coat.
^Professor,^ she called through her mind as she read the instruments that hummed and beeped around the man attached to them, "Mister Wild," she began softly.
He groaned, writhing a bit on the metal surface, "What the fuck…" he growled, a hand going to touch his searing temple, but he felt the sensation of a needle in his veins and opened his eyes instantly.
The lights were forgivingly dimmed and he blinked over and over, his sea foam hued eyes sparkling in an apathetic meets irked way, "Where the fuck am I?" he croaked, "What's in me? What the fuck is this?"
He finally took notice of the willowy red head standing there and watched her steadily for what seemed a suspended eternity. She looked away, her body language telling him she was uncomfortable, to the monitors, "You were jumped in an alley near The Globe after your performance. We were able to stop them and bring you here to treat your wounds.
"Here? Where's here?" he didn't try to sit up, he felt his body quake minutely. He knew the sobriety before he could think of the lucid word for it. He hated it.
"Charles Xavier's School for the Gifted," came a voice just before a balding man arrived in a wheelchair, "Welcome. I'm Charles Xavier. It's good to see you awake. How do you feel?"
Curt stared unabashedly between the two of them, fatigued, answering quietly and slowly, "Like a fucking train hit me."
Pieces of memory began to float through his mind's eye. He had been mugged, yes. Before that, he was on stage.
School for the gifted? What? Then the dare to write this story came to mind, "What is this? Is this a fuckin' joke? Who put you two up to this? Alright, I figured it out. I know. Ha. Ha. Very fuckin' funny. [pause] This pain isn't. You know you're gonna fuckin' pay for that, asshole. Now get me outta here. I need a hit."
Hank McCoy strolled in with his clipboard and glasses just then, making Curt's eyes go wide and his muscles stiffen, "Mother fucker… What the fuck… A guy in a suit? Jesus…"
Hank took pause, "He has excellent verbal skills, doesn't he, Jean?"
Jean sent him a scathing leer.
"Curt, this is Doctor Hank McCoy. He's part of a team I have assembled called the X-Men. It's consisted of people with superhuman powers, powers brought on by a mutation, the next step in human evolution, if you will."
Curt just took the façade as it came, sighing, "Yeah, uh huh. Sure," staring at the realistic gorilla suit the 'doctor' wore.
"The reason why you're here is not only because you were attacked in the alley, but because two of our young students attended your concert and saw that you had abilities much like our own."
This was new. He watched, his assurance that this was a hoax only building. He had a smirk at his lips, "My own powers, huh? What powers do I have? Dontcha think I would already know about them?" Curt then sat up with a few grunts, despite Jean's and Hank's nervous glances.
"Not necessarily. We'll talk of them when you're ready. Right now, your number one goal is to get well and understand we're here only to help."
Curt snorted and shook his head, staring at the needle in his hand, following the tiny, clear tube up to the morphine bag. Someone had gone to great lengths to… or maybe this was a trip… it was!
"Aw, man. This has got to be some great shit," he looked around him now with renewed, vivid interest. He reached out to touch the Jean chick, catching her unawares. She felt so fucking real! A goofy smile came as he felt her arm, "Aw, fuck. That's so great."
Hank stared.
Charles frowned.
Jean shivered.
Curt smiled, "What a great trip. Man, this is the best…" He started to get off the table. Hank stepped forward, but with a look from Charles, he stopped and allowed the rocker to get up.
Curt glanced down at himself, "At least I'm not wearing that pansy ass hospital gown," he critiqued to himself, tugging a bit at the gray sweatpants hanging low around his hips, his feet bare against the sleek surface of the floor, "Damn, this is fucking great."
"I believe he thinks this is a hallucination brought on by drugs, Professor Xavier," Hank pointed out.
Charles' face was of patience, "It would seem that way."
Curt's attention wasn't even paying itself to them as he wandered away, finding restricted movement from the needle. He pulled it out before any of them could move to stop him. Jean sighed in exasperation, "He's almost as bad as Wolverine was."
The rocker turned at that name, "Wolverine… Logan… the gruffy guy with that girl with the brown eyes, covered up in gloves and all. I remember that character. Where is he? I liked him. He made 'wheels' over there give me my cigarettes. Where the fuck are my cigarettes?"
The three gawked at this and shared astonished looks.
"Well?" Curt insisted, glaring at the others, "Where's my shit?"
^Get his belongings, Jean,^ Xavier intoned in Jean's head. She walked out of the medlab for the clothes, words and anxieties held tight to her tongue.
With the projections from this stranger, the professor decided to give him one more piece of the puzzle, "Mister Wild, please understand that you are in a fair amount of danger. The two who attacked you early last night might have been after more than your wallet.
"There's a chance that they, too, discovered your abilities and were out to impolitely solicit your powers to their side. They are out to destroy the human race, while we are out to preserve some semblance of peace between the mutants and the rest of the world."
Curt considered this for a long while, actually looking a bit sober. He had accepted this as a kick ass trip and so went with the plot his brain seemingly laid out, "You want me to help you?"
"We want you to be aware of your powers and of the danger you're in. Other than that, we can only offer a place for you among us."
Jean came back with the stack of clothes, atop which was his wallet, cigarettes and other odds and ends that had been in his pockets. His clothes were washed. He almost didn't recognize them as he took them from the woman.
He grunted a thanks and set the stuff down on the gurney, pulling out a cigarette from the box and placing it between his lips, "This is fucking hysterical. I should write books," he spoke quietly to himself, his eyes aloof and focused inward.
"X-Men, huh?"… his grin was almost as wicked as it was fleeting before he lit up the cancer stick and inhaled the poison.
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