Queue the Cosmetic Constancy: Faithfulness to Form

by Quillon42

Ponders what might have happened had the old-school European Psylocke been conscious, actually, to make the decision as to whether to make the fateful body exchange which happened to her about a quarter century ago. A significant supporting, heroic part is played by the woman who originally owned the Asian figure in question.

(NB: I'm doing my most-of-the-time Afterword on this hopefully within the coming couple of days. No rant this time, I promise. Also, I know that Miss Braddock's first name is technically spelled "Elizabeth," and that historically "Elisabeth" has been considered a mistake in terms of its spelling…I just like the S spelling better than the Z spelling—so sue me:))

QUEUE THE COSMETIC CONSTANCY: FAITHFULNESS TO FORM

By Quillon42

SOMETIME IN 1989

The usual mauve butterfly sprouted over the flawless features of the old-school cloaked, armored adventuress Elisabeth Braddock as she scanned the fortress before her. She may have been beneath the surface of an island near to China—a place to which the lady had never been before—but the architectural schematic here was something not beyond her probing powers. Betsy was a woman of many talents and strengths; among other things, the English adventuress was physically a supermodel, psionically a supermogul, and so much more besides.

And yes, these strengths were very present within Miss Braddock, or Psylocke…even before she made the supposedly requisite transition to a vastly different body, upon the dawning of last millennium's final decade.

Said different body, though, was incidentally and mentally guiding Betsy right now, as the violet-follicled assassin known as Kwannon took the other woman telepathically along the underground hallways before her.

You want to hit the rearmost, leftmost chamber down there, said Kwann as her European psi-sibling stealthed along. This was the tenth direction or so given by the good-hearted Hand assassin in as many minutes. Although the kunoichi did not have mindreading or mindspeaking abilities per se, she readily accepted the psychic rapport that Betsy extended to her so that each of the purply counterparts could mentally reach out to the other, help the other along in a given scrape. They had taken turns at this, one hanging back to provide telepathic technical support to the other and vice versa as they pursued the various portions of their mission.

And were there ever several components to all of this. Taking down an alliance consisting of that mad Emperor of the Rings known as Mandarin, in addition to the blitz-blunder twins Andrea and Andreas Strucker—the latter two known collectively as Fenris—were but two parts of it, and the only known targets to boot. They did not know who else was out there, but Betsy and Kwannon were aware of other, very insidious presences plotting against their wellbeing.

On her way over to the fort, Betsy hid in the back of a carriage, the lady confident that she would not otherwise be detected given her Outback "ghost" status Post-Fall-of-the-Mutants. As Psylocke proceeded, she pondered the events that led up to all of this. In another iteration of this reality, it might have all gone so differently, and the British brainmistress thought to herself that in fact perhaps it should have. About a year ago, she was part of a motley of mutants who was scrapping it out in the Apple to keep demons from alighting upon the sacrifice of so many human infants. Even during that time, in this reality, the team had begun to fall apart.

Colossus, for one, never came back after going to help his sister Magik beat back several interdimensional evils. Oh, he survived and everything—he just viewed beastly bastards like S'ym as demonic tractors bearing down upon his beloved sister, just as the actual industrial articles did upon her back in the day—and Peter knew that he had to be there for her from now on, to bust those tractors up (even though, of course, she could well take care of herself per se).

Longshot had quote-unquote "quit" the team…although he really went through more of a dismemberment than a straight-out standard dismembership, the luck-laden alien being ripped apart limb from limb, then somehow reconstituting himself long enough to tender his involuntary resignation to Ororo.

Upon learning of his Down Under doing-in, Dazzler gave up as well, deciding that team commitment was too heart-wrenching, given the losses she had seen and sustained. Turning on her overly-tanned heel, the starlet with sunned skin almost as purple as Psylocke's hair had gone off, determined to restart her solo singing and superheroing career, maybe even carry the whole motion picture thing into a trilogy. (Whether said endeavor would be a critical smash, a commercial success, or neither of the above would remain to be seen.)

Rogue fulfilled her heroic duties to the letter, here saving the life of Sharon Kelly, Senator Robert's wife, among the lives of many others—but here, as in many other realities including that of the Machine 616, she moments later suffered the slip through the Siege Perilous—upon which the crimson trinket shattered abruptly, instantly thereafter.

Disheartened quite to the quick by all of this, Storm struggled to rally the troops she had remaining, this of course ever so difficult with so many teammates torn from her and Logan sojourning off on his own in addition. For all of her resolve, Ororo was downed before very long, meeting a Maker which was only Orphan and not the Almighty (for those who believe, via whichever faith worldwide)…but it was enough to put her out of action and even drive her through a forced second adolescence, for a while.

Wolverine at the tavern not too far away sensed that something was wrong, and he started back; the crucifying clutches of the Reavers, however, had sidelined him something fierce for a spell. When he emerged from his fever dream, he made the impromptu acquaintance of an errant Jubilee. The per-snikt-y pair then proceeded directly to Genosha, in an effort to meet with other mutants, rather than jaunting over to Japan, as some might have known in other universes.

Lastly, Havok held himself responsible in part for his lover Lorna's lapse into the misery of Malice, and after he and Betsy formed a temporary twosome to take on the Savage Land and the overzealous Zaladane, Alex decided to stay at his lime-tressed lady's side for once, in a desperate attempt to keep a love from corruption (as he failed to do not only with Polaris, but with a certain Miss Pryor as well not long before).

All of this, in this reality, left Betsy ready to return to Australia all on her own after the Savage Land, the thistle traverser wondering what to do when she reached the Outback anew. Given her itinerant expectations, the lady was more than a trifle surprised when Gateway galumphed her not to the destination she imagined in her mind, but rather a place which was more archipelago than aborigine, more kanji than kangaroos, more bushido than boomerangs (the latter two, at least, in an uninformed, stereotypey person's eye). The wild-haired walkabouter probably perpetrated this act out of some remote concern for a member of that crude cadre which kept him some company, even if only for a little while. They all did make Gateway smile interiorly on occasion, with their antics, even though he would never let on about this with his almost perpetually impassive countenance.

The major distinction between Betsy's alighting into the Islands of the Rising Sun in this instance, as opposed to her entry into the country in the universe 616ers know, is that here she emerged fully conscious, as she traipsed in through the bullroarer's portal. As such, she was not put under psychewise as she might have been had she eventually followed Rogue by way of a staggering trip via the Siege.

Specifically the lady stepped out of the shimmering, mystically-interspatial circle to yes, the same dock upon which her hooded, cloaked form was shunted in other realities—but being awake here, Betsy with full faculties engaged in the encounter with the oncoming, interloping Kwannon, each woman mystified by the other's appearance (especially the common color between them) but prepared to overlook this harmony of violaceousness with the horror of violence if necessary.

Unlike more toughy testonerony heroes who might shoot first—or in this case "psi" first—and then ask questions later, though…each of these two decided at the last second to take a step back and assess the plum-huedly peculiar encounter before her. After talking it out for a few minutes, Elisabeth and Kwannon worked out that they were both on the same side and the same page as far as their morals and scruples were concerned, such that any bloodshed between one another was not necessary.

I like you, Betsy, said the kunoichi through her mind, a couple hours of talking and familiarizing later, as the latter led the former to her home and her place of business—which just so happened to be the hideout of the Hand. Even though you know that I'm aligned with a faction which has posed various threats to people on your side of the planet, you're sensitive enough to know a potential ally when you meet one.

Well, we telepaths need to be somewhat…open-minded, in so many more ways than one, Betsy returned. She doffed her costume's hood to run lithe fingers through her hair as she and her new compatriot stopped a second to rest. Besides…we fuchsia folk, we got to stick together, you know?

Elisabeth flashed a sly smile at this before continuing.

Really too, I've been bounced here and there among so many traumas with thirty-one flavors of psychopaths…I'm not the most codependent person ever, but some close companionship in light of all of that would be nice.

The Western adventuress looked to the Eastern assassin, who nodded warmly.

Betsy reflected again about her chance encounter with Kwannon as she neared the destination her platonic psychic partner set for her. The agreement between the two was that Elisabeth would lend assistance in taking down the Man(darin) and his allies…then Kwannon would help Betsy get back to British shores, where Psy would then hopefully join back up with her brother Brian and that "Excalibur" outfit he had been heading up. In any case, as of now too it was certainly helpful to have someone at Elisabeth's side, whether physically or in her mind's eye, in light of the daunting difficulties she'd had before. Suffering through untold misery upon the timely death of Tom Lennox, who was perhaps her first great love. Enduring the agonizing nightmare of blindness in the most graphic way possible, as a psychopath by the name of Slaymaster scratched away the lady's God-given ocular orbs on an ill-fated misadventure long ago.

Getting by on psychic insight for a time upon her entry into the United States, but then having a new, artificial outsight foisted upon her by an infinitely balder and more bloated bastard than the present penner behind the All New X-Men. When Mojo bestowed those new, artificial eyes upon Betsy, and endowed her with the new name Psylocke, she reacted to it all in a somewhat mixed manner. On one hand, the lady appreciated the originality of the moniker, as it was certainly more standout and inspired than the names of many with whom she or her brother Brian had run-ins, such as "Vixen" or "The Fury."

On the other, over the last few years, the heroine's latent handle made Betsy think from time to time of Shylock from Shakespeare, and how much of an outsider he was in his own story. Indeed, the woman herself felt on the outside on many an occasion, wondering whether she truly fit in, for example, with the New Mutants or the Outback Xers over the years. And the bionic eyes fitted into her…while she was glad that she had a pair of peepers added on, rather than the proverbial Merchant of Venice pound of flesh removed, Elisabeth always copped an eerie vibe from these new eyes…as if it wasn't just the woman herself who was seeing her world through them.

At this point it had been about twenty minutes since Betsy had received any sort of call from Kwannon over the psi-phone of their mental rapport. This basement level was vast, and the lady's overcaution in slinking along as she did, despite her talents of psionic detection, did not make the manner go any more fluidly. The heroine just had this premonition, beyond her psychic abilities, that there was something tremendously awful at the end of this corridor along which she was undulating.

And in truth, it was when Elisabeth reached the destined chamber in question at last—a room where a psionically-coerced foot soldier had informed the purple pair that one of their targets had been holed up—Betsy pressed through the door and at that moment espied Kwannon in all six arms of an old snowy-haired nemesis—with a sword at the end of each of the half-dozen limbs, all aimed menacingly towards some vital part of the Hand maiden's body—that Lady Shylock knew that she and her fandango-follicled counterpart were about to become embroiled in quite a scrape.

"Ahh, you're just in time, my prim, prudish lady," hissed the evil known as Spiral as she tightened her grip(s) on Kwannon. "Just in time for your transition—for your unforgettable, irreversible…transformation."

"Transformation?" Betsy raised her hands in the fighting stance which Kwannon taught her back at the latter's home, the lady ready as she would ever be for a scrap with Mojo's premiere horror. She knew, though, that all the training she could sustain under so many Hand warriors could not prepare her for the host of her enemy's own several hands. As such, Miss Braddock held off on any kind of attack, waiting for the other lady to continue her harangue.

"Yesss…a transmogrification of minds and bodies…which will propel you, Lady Elisabeth, to a level, to a stratum which you would never have dreamed you could have ever before reached.

"By way of what Mojo and I have planned for you—in addition to the iniquitous input of the Mandarin himself, as well—we are going to provide you with a new mutation…a new makeover which will etch the sketch of Psylocke into the A-List mosaic of the Machine for all time.

"We're fixing to switch you, dearest Little Sister Braddock, and Tokyo Violet here…after the swap, it'll be you behind this fine, fiiiiinnne figure I've got right in my arms. Won't that be nice?"

"Hhhhhh," half-sighed Elisabeth. She paused, thinking of how wise it would be to antagonize someone who was holding hostage someone who grew to become so dear to her…and in such a short amount of time.

Then she decided, eff it. "You know…you and Mojo and everyone in your terrible tellyverse. Why do you always have to foist things on people? Shunting that smile…and these eyes…on my person. Don't I ever get a say in what happens to me bodily?"

"Oh, but you'd be so much better off as a fitter chick." Spiral backed up a second, with Kwannon in tow. Betsy noted that even though it seemed that the interdimensional dancer had the upper hand, she also appeared to be a bit scared at Elisabeth's resistance. It wasn't supposed to go this way. Psylocke should have been made to be so much more…passive in the course of this whole process, just as with the bionic eyes procedure and everything.

"I mean, you'll appeal so much more to the Western markets, with this body," Spiral went on, indicating Kwannon with the hilt of the sword closest to the kunoichi's face, "and eventually, when your people sell out and go totally global, having X-Endorsements with everything from Hanes to Pizza Hut…it'll be your face, your body as the lovely X-Lady to lust after. Even the maroon multiplicity of Jean and all her clonage won't be able to keep up with the brazen, byzantium-maned bombshell you're bound to become.

"Think about it, Betsy! All this time, at least all your time in the States thus far…you've just been, like, the bobo—the bobette in the background, with the Outbackers. I know you must look at Ali, with her in-your-face flirtation with Longshot (that bastard)…as I totally would…and you want to be there in her place. Or you glare at Rogue, living up her life, flying up to the clouds in nothing but a frayed t-shirt and underwear and kissing the window of Reagan's Air Force One…and you want to be that. But you see, you can be that. You can be…alluring rather than boring, exotic rather than everyday, thongy ass-flossing leotards rather than poofy PJs and such. However, it can't effing happen in…in that dump-fuck of a figure."

Elisabeth gritted her teeth at this. Honestly, though, she wanted Spiral to keep it coming; it was all just fueling her anger and her energy to summon up the weapons she would need…as well as buy her compatriot time to ready herself as well.

"You cooperate with me, and with Mojo, and the Mandarin—when the Nineties hit, and you all cash in on the X-Craze…there'll be nowhere to go to get away from you. You won't be too prominent in the terrible TAS show…but you'll make a killing on the action figures in time, and you'll fucking dominate the arcades. As Major Domo can compile and show you, Capsule Communications will come around to throwing you in like six or seven fighting titles. You'll be the definitive Marvel-Arts chick of the Nineties."

Spiral then whirled back in her mind a second. Of course, then Elektra will take over the fight-queen-queue in the Oughts, with Ultimate Alliance and Nemesis Imperfects…and then the Teens in the new millennium will belong to X-23 with the Third Capcom Versus game…but Bets doesn't need to know that right now.

"But yeah, Betsykins…you let us make you…do you a new you…do the whole body switch thing of so many Eighties films, but permanent on this go…your new moment of Asian Sensation will be utterly irresistible." The threatening traipser drew a sword very close to the ninja lady's neck. "Speaking of movies in fact…with this bitch's body and your mind…'Kwannon Elisabeth' will make an even greater splash than Shannon Fuckin' Elizabeth."

Of course, in the course of her ranting, Spiral completely shunned the fact that the present time of this story was still a decade out from the American Pie starlet's stake-claiming in the human race's libidos…but the free-associational nomenclatural contrast was too tempting to ignore.

Braddock Elisabeth, at any rate, looked away from the hostage situation a second, honestly considered the lurid lady's offer for a moment. A bit more exposure, in more ways than one, would be right proper, something along the lines of the attention she used to get when she ruled the runways of yesteryear.

She turned again to address Spiral.

"You know that…what's that song…that one that Dionne Warwick did, back early on in her career…and then it was covered, the single released a few months back…"

"Betsy," chided the devilish dancer, deciding that Psylocke wouldn't go along with this scheme after all, and that it was just time to cut the losses now.

"It's very, very dangerous to waste my time…and a shame you have to concern yourself with trifling matters, rather than the transformation we had planned for you. So sorry, but we're out of time for today.

"Tune in next time, though…"

And then Spiral shunted in with all her swords, puncturing the figure in her arms every which way.

The extraterrestrial assassin held Elisabeth's gaze for a couple of seconds, waiting for the other to register extreme pain in her features at the vivisection of her violet love…

…when the impassiveness of Psylocke's countenance caused the other woman to look down…

…and note that it was not a ninja that she negated with her weapons, but rather another no-good nincompoop from her own dimension. As a result of that interpersonal-displacement mind trick that Eighties Betsy did in like, every Uncanny issue ever back in the day, Spiral soon found that her victim was not the person she expected. She gazed down at the remnants of the man before her, at

the lavish, flamboyant clothing, as well as the receding grayish mullet told the tale regarding who it really was who was in her arms the whole time.

"Maj…

"Major…

"…Domo…No…I didn't mean to…"

Suddenly the seductress whom Spiral thought she skewered emerged from the shadows. A second too soon, though, by Betsy's calculations.

But Kwannon could not hold back the terror of the trauma she perceived had happened before her…something worse than anything that could ever have happened to, say, her sworn love Matsu'o.

"You…you killed Domo?!" nearly shrieked the kunoichi, unable to see past Spiral's sensuous figure and note the identity of the crumpled mass on the floor. For all Kwannon knew, the treacherous teleporter had slaughtered that toothy but lovable anthropomorphic fecal brownie mascot of Japanese television company NHK.

(Who wouldn't be created till the turn of Y2K—about ten years from the time of this story—but fuck it.)

As the Asian assassin rushed forward: "I'll have your poseur-samurai-helmeted head for this, you flour-follicled FUCKERESS!"

"Kwannon, NO!"

But Betsy's shout came too late as the other purple perpetrator lashed out with a psychic knife on each wrist. Kwannon thrust out furiously at Spiral, and managed to parry the enemy's six swords pretty well…but then the Mojo maiden leaned away, then splashed out into a backspin (as this was that decade, again), her windmilling legs catching the ninja in the stomach and sending the lady across the room.

As she completed the seated spin, Spiral then did the obligatory placing of her head on one forearm, reclining in slamdance satisfaction as the full maneuver required. This, of course, bought Elisabeth time to manifest more than just a butterfly from her body.

"I remember now," the British heroine said, generating a glowing fuchsia sword and shield of the Western world as she prepared to take on her odious opponent. "I heard it on international radio, while kicking it Down Under…we would get this American station, Q102, that played all these dance hits. The artist from earlier this year, whom I heard on the Q…she goes by Sybil."

Spiral only had time to gather up four of her swords as Psylocke approached, chanting the chart-topping song almost as a rallying cry.

"Don't make me over…" as a swing from a Spiral sword crashed against Euro Psy's mind shield.

"Now that I know, that I can ignore…you…"

Betsy swung out with her own crusader's weapon, a sword she hoped would be as powerful as the one which her brother Brian had rejected in favor of the Amulet of Might. Her weapon was blocked by another of Spiral's blades…but she felt more and more encouraged with each successive maneuver.

She thrust again to meet her enemy's attack.

"Don't make me over…"

"Now that I'm sure, that I so abhor…you…"

In the ensuing seconds, Spiral was flustered to find that each of her sword tips was caught in some kind of miniature portcullis, which Psylocke had merged her sword and shield in an instant to become. A second later, the Mojo mistress was chagrined to find two pairs of her weapons snatched up and tossed aside by the psychic construct.

Instinctively Spiral set down onto her stomach, thrashing out with her fists as she undulated into the Worm dance—just like the lowly creature that she herself was. Elisabeth moonwalked a retreat from this, taking care not to trip over her cape as she proceeded retrogressively.

"Don't make me over…now that I know, I can't make it without…me…" Elisabeth continued the ballad in her own freestyling fashion as she kept backstepping, her inflection almost sirenic as she proceeded physically in reverse.

The latter made sure not to look over Spiral's shoulder so that her amethyst ally could have the drop for once.

So it was that, once Spiral reached her feet again, she spun around in precaution a moment too late to see Kwannon come across with a pair of psychic nunchakus, Kwann wrapping the intermediary chain (a slightly longer one than conventional) up and around the back of the other lady's neck, then dashing in with a knee to give her enemy back the body blow she herself received.

Kwannon then manifested a psychic kama in each hand, intending fully to wreak real damage with this attack…

…but she was met with the bizarre right-angley blocks of six hands as Spiral settled into a confident robot dance stance, and executed the kata for that accordingly, beating back Kwannon's aggressive assault.

She culminated said form with a robotic, helmeted headbutt that put the kunoichi out for the count. Satisfied, Spiral started to whirl one more time, ready to do the chain-wave dance with all six arms to put Elisabeth out of her misery…

…when…

"…ACCEPT ME FOR WHO I AM!"

Psylocke's psychic flail struck sharply across Spiral's face as Betsy reached the punchline of the Sybil cover song.

"…ACCEPT ME FOR THE LOOK I CHOOOOOSE!"

The enemy couldn't even stand upright, much less break down any more patented b-girl dances, as Elisabeth mentally extended her weapon so that the flail flared out a few feet more. Spiral soon found herself completely encircled and ensnared as Psylocke stepped up to her grimacing grill.

"…ACCEPT ME FOR WHO I AM!" she shouted one more time, sonorously into Spiral's features at close range. Then, manifesting the butterfly one more time, Betsy punched in a mental command that started her opponent toward unconsciousness.

Spiral's eyes fluttered open and shut as she addressed Psylocke once more…

"What're you…the Lavender…Effing…Lantern…with those weapons…"

"I'm years ahead of that…way before Geoff bloody Johns," Betsy shot back, as she started to walk over to Kwannon. "That wanker's still tossing about, trying to catch Richard Donner on a corded phone to jumpstart his miserable-ass career."

"Yeah, well…Pussylocke…now you'll never leave your mark.

"But I'll…leave…mine…"

And then, just a second before she blinked out teleportationally, Spiral waved a few of her hands, Betsy and Kwannon each simultaneously feeling something tapping all across her skin.

"…Guess, Miss Shylock…I ended up with my own…pounding of your flesh…"

In the next few moments, after Spiral completely checked out consciousnesswise, each of the heroic ladies checked her epidermis in earnest (of course, this took Psylocke a few more minutes, as she was nearly entirely decked out in armor). Elisabeth, the natural blonde she was, had been scandalized to find that any beige beauty marks on her were replaced with purple ones, and Kwannon similarly discovered to her shock that black moles upon her body were supplanted by violet ones.

Each of the two was still in her own respective body, that was for certain…it was just that…

"She made us…even purpler…than we were before…"

Kwannon looked to Betsy as the latter said this, and the former nodded. "I'd like to check my roots, when we survive this and get back," she said, running a wearied hand through her scalp. "Both up top…and down…well, you know."

Psylocke could only stare at her psychic soulmate, pontificating on all the physical implications of this. Although Elisabeth was not here engaging in the corporeally traumatic metamorphosis that she would have in so many other realities, the days of blonde beauteousness were behind her nonetheless.

When she would take down Andrea Strucker of Fenris in another hour, and realize that blondes didn't always "have more fun" or really rule the day anyway, though…she felt a lot better about the change.

And when Elisabeth would witness a certain falsie blonde pseudoBrit by the name of Frost, endeavoring all she could to perpetrate a Western ideal of fair hair and an English accent…she became all the more glad to be dissociated from such a trite, overdone image.

She was unique, Betsy was—as was Kwannon, who would also stand out naturally, with not only her kunoichiness, her gorgeousness, and her violetness amidst a sea of taupe-haired Tokyoans—each was truly one of a kind in her own respective hemisphere. And Psylocke…Elisabeth Braddock, that is…after reaching England once again and suiting up alongside Excalibur for the duration here, she would honor Kwannon's training her in bodily arts and other Eastern ways by adventuring on occasion in the old-school pink pajamas she wore during the Mutant Massacre and the Fall, the apparel making it easier for her to use body arts in addition to psychic sais and shurikens…

…though, so as not to infringe on Kwannon's turf too much with feudal budo weaponry, but rather to play the psychic-panoply counterpart on her own side of the planet, Betsy on two out of three occasions maintained the hood, cape, and lavender armor, manifesting Western blades and other arms.

Above all, though, Betsy maintained as the greatest weapon in her arsenal the woman's own mind, which itself decided consciously never to change, but rather embrace—into the Nineties and beyond—the splendid, sumptuous beauty she had possessed all along.

AFTERWORD

As I have reflected in some of my stories, such as "Revanches and Reversions" as well as my "Somnambulance Sovereignty" stories, I have a soft place in my heart for the original European Psylocke. I think she was a beautiful and powerful enough character back in the day, and that as such she never needed any physical transformation in order to sustain her character. This story's thesis forwards that idea, and questions the presumptuous belief that Betsy had to have some bodily "makeover" in order for her character to thrive, or even survive, in the Nineties and thereafter.

NOW, of course, I really dig Kwannon as well, and I would be a hypocrite to say that I've never, erm...appreciated her own beauty, in many ways-physically (Penultimate Polka, anyone?!) and otherwise. It's just that I don't see why it had to be the case that Betsy, in particular, absolutely needed herself to "change into" Kwannon, so to speak (like someone changing clothes), in order for her persona to survive. I respect both the bodies and the psyches of both ladies, as my "Revanches" story shows-which frankly is more than one could say for friggin' Marvel itself, which had no qualms in eradicating Kwannon's psyche long ago, and completely slaughtering Betsy's original body as effers like Fraction (in UXM) and Yost (in the Psylocke miniseries) did in their narratives.

Speaking of the Machine, I kind of see Psylocke's character generally as being sort of a microcosm for Marvel itself. Specifically, Marvel too was beautiful as it was in the late 1980s, in 1987/1988/1989 especially IMO, as back then the issues were snazzy enough in their presentation to look really cool, but not overly fluffy/garish as they were in the Nineties at least, if not beyond. When the X-Men hit the mainstream in 1992 or so with TAS, it was just like Betsy's transformation-the entity went from "just fine, no need to change it" to obnoxiously "in your face/up your ass" and as I say in this story here, "nowhere to go to get away from it," or in Psylocke's case, nowhere to go to get away from her. A lot of people have said, on various forums online, that the original Psylocke was great, and that she became overexposed/slutty even through her transformation, and her character suffered for it.

*Again,* of course, I readily affirm that I have, um...enjoyed and appreciated the presentation of Kwannon...AND I submit that there are a lot of great East Asian characters whom I can in a way even more appreciate because they never had to display themselves like that. To be honest, Jubilee has always annoyed the living shit out of me...but I like other characters like Surge, Armor, and Karma. This is to say nothing about Asian females who I like from other areas of Asia, such as Dust, and then of course there are awesome Asian males like Sunfire. (I think Neal Shaara's kind of a douche, though...I have noted people not really liking his past relationship with the Asianified Betsy (I think he also flirted somewhat with Jean when he first met her, right after Scott was supposedly killed...that's just uberdouche behavior as far as I'm concerned). To be thorough, though, I hate the idea of Betsy with Fantomex, and I went into a short-term vomit-coma when I read that one short story in To Serve and To Protect regarding Betsy's supposed intimate night with Hercules.)

But yeah, my favorite Psylocke time was 1987/1988/1989; call me a troll, a pain in the ass whatever...I don't care. Interestingly, January 1987's UXM issue was Betsy's joining the team at the end of the Mutant Massacre (UXM213) and Late December 1989 (UXM256) was the issue of her Asian transformation, so things happening with her totally circumscribed that ideal period. Of course, Marvel (as Psylocke's macrocosm counterpart) probably had to become all overexposed and such in culture in order to survive, as I believe it was going bankrupt by the early Nineties...but at the risk of sounding douchy, I would rather, honestly, that Marvel died out than become the Machine that it's been. I can respect and enjoy the finite entity that Malibu Comics was, for example (I just did a Mantra story and posted it here a few days ago)-I honestly would rather that Marvel died of natural causes back then, than have made the sickening oversaturations of franchises that absolutely nobody can keep up with, with the exception of the independently wealthy who are the only ones who have the time and money to do so as of today. I don't know; that's just my take, and I needed to speak from the heart on that.

Lastly, I did this story for the original Betsy out of nostalgia; it might come off as feminist incidentally, and/or kind of like a Christina Aguilera "You Are Beautiful" kind of thing, regarding a love for Psylocke's original body and how it never needed to change. Of course, artsy things like stories are open to interpretation, and you can totally take this story as an Aguilera Beautiful thing, and/or a feminist thing. I call things like I see them in my stories, and I do not go for feminism or antifeminism; while "Honeymars" and "Settlements" in my repertoire incidentally prop up Adult Jean and Madelyne, respectfully..."End of Hopes" and "Bendy Boundaries" take pretty vicious shots at Hope and Teen Jean, in turn, because I adore the former pair and I abhor the latter two. I guess I just write from the heart, again, and the support or criticism of certain female characters are just like the cliched chips that fall where they may.