BASE CONJURY AND BATHETIC CLIMAXES
By Quillon42
SOMETIME IN 2010 ON THE ISLAND OF GENOSHA/NECROSHA
All around the lovely, lusty lamia known over the millennia as Selene, clusters of once-chilled carcasses were now chasing capes crazedly on the several-occasions-conquered shore of Genosha. The obsidian sorceress cast her gaze across the strand and smiled widely with her piercing teeth.
For so many centuries, the lady of the raven locks had cajoled…seduced…absorbed the reserves of hordes who would end up giving their lives and souls in exchange for a tryst of any kind with her. There was a hypnotic pull to the woman, with her aquiline features and her ever-appealing figure that would make any man moor himself to her side, then eventually to her feet, then irretrievably to any tracks and traces which she left over the following hundreds of years. Eliphas could certainly attest to this, as Selene subjected him to her wiles during Ancient Roman times, and upon absconding from him, left the man slavering for her for decades upon decades to come, Eli himself succumbing to the victimization of vampirism before long.
Mere morsels such as these had now faintly played on the memory of the ravishing regent who dared to dub herself the "one and only Black Queen." Such boasting would only tempt Fate, as the temptress herself would soon find out. In the meantime, Selene derived much satisfaction at witnessing the horrific haunting happening all around her. She found that she could not keep down a malicious laugh as she watched all the roustabouts she resurrected in her endeavor to harvest energies sufficient to sling her up into goddess status. It was all so whimsical, so amusing to her.
Little Jimmy Proudstar was being visited most viciously by the decayed dupe of a person known as his older brother John. Scotty Summers, that callous 'Clops, he was having a hand most unceremoniously clamped down upon by the lovely lizard lady known as Scaleface. And best of all, that Ivory Idiot, that Floury Floozy whom she could only barely bear to call Frost was receiving her own curt comeuppance from, of all people, the very Hellions whom she guided most graciously in previous years—and who all met a most fierce, unfortunate fate in the end. Selene sighed in abject delight as she watched Jetstream flying ferociously at his former miserable schoolmarm, caught sight of Roulette ringing out with her discs the hues of blood and darkness…the Black Queen's two favorite colors.
But what was this…in the distance, in the midst of the melee…a green likeness of lusciousness, a jade shape of sumptuousness. She stood about twenty meters from Selene, this treat who just seemed to traipse in out of the ether, a veritable viridian victual with hair mainly the hue of a magnificent magnolia tree—with a streak running through as white as some of said arbor's blossoms. As Selene took a step forward, she noticed the girl turn…and was almost blinded by the brilliance of the bounty that beckoned from the emerald enchantress's neck and chest.
It was all so…exposed. The Queen had never quite encountered anything so audacious. The haughty hussy, she was so bold in what she bared out to the world. A pulsatingly predominant portion of her breasts breathed out brazenly in the open, the lascivious vision able to boggle the brain and subvert the soul into submission for sure. A trifle of a scarf circled the lady's throat, as if to tease a succubus such as Selene, that neck-nibbler who erected Necrosha entirely through her own evil.
This woman was certainly more than a match for Black Queen, and in seconds the vicious vampire found herself drawn inexorably in the pull of this poppet, dragged inescapably towards the vacuum-vortex of this verdant vavavoom.
And it would be then, instants later, as Selene believed herself to be sneaking up, to be looming unseen over the other lady's shoulder, her grasping hand reaching for the jugular of the minty minx…
…she was shunted away by a slap to the face which registered with such a greater magnitude than that to which she was accustomed. For once in the witch's eons-seeming, existence, it was as if she were the one being siphoned, being drained down by the dame whom she had so wanted to do in.
Selene could hear the snark emanate from the other woman as the former reeled at the latter's feet…
"Ah'm the one what's doin' the vixen vampin' 'round here, shugah."
And then, all at once around the once-dimly-illuminated island…
…a new kind of darkness, entirely alien to Selene, had reigned.
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" screamed the heedless Hellions, not unlike terrified banshees, or teeny boppers at a young starlet's concert, said showgoers literally disconcerted at a sudden blackout a few weeks prior to this story's printing.
"What the FUCK," cried Selene in the midst of said screaming, the Queen flinging out the F-Bomb in fluster and frustration, not unlike the same, almost-identically-named starlet's cuss upon the darkening of her own stage—again only a few weeks back from this publication.
It was enough to waylay all wayward haunting activity on the island for more than an instant. Johnny stopped wailing with his Thunderbirdy tomahawks on Jimmy. Scales ceased chomping aggressively on Cyke's ass for a second, halting the literal act of what she meant to do to him metaphorically for getting her killed so long ago, in her enraged desire to have the mutant leader's past catch up with him.
Amongst all the rustling and ruckus, amidst all the clamoring and confusion, there was one previous pupil of the Floozy Frost who was neither banshee nor bopper in this moment. And just as Selene assayed to stand on her feral feet in all the madness—she was dumped back down again, directly on her delicious derriere, as a darkly-hued disc was deposited not far at all from her now-frothing features.
"You know," began the girl who had flung the fateful frisbee the Queen's way-she who by virtue of sheer luck was not as under the ancient minx's control as much as was thought-"I think it was Wesley Snipes in Passenger 57 who said, 'Always bet on black.' (And goodness knows, my beauteous blonde ass is dating myself by inserting that reference in…but hey, the film came out back around the time I died, so it's fair…)"
Selene snarfed out Necroshan soot as the girl once known as Jennifer Stavros—much more widely known as Roulette—went on. "Me…I've always gone all-in on RED…
"And I've got the entire House in with me on it."
The ancient ebon-haired lady who believed herself the one and only Black Queen now shifted back in abject shock as she watched another warring woman weave her way—literally, climb her own chassis out of the chest of the aforesaid chomped-upon Clops. Scaleface released her toothy tenure upon Summers' seat as another, crimson disc careened out from Jenny Roulette's hands and landed a foot away from the X-Teams overseer. Close by, and accordance with Slim's elaborate scheme, the nefarious Neena known to most as Domino clicked her tongue, enacting a simple proactive movement which activated the completely unlikely result—courtesy of Miss Thurman's fortuitous interference pooled with Roulette's own lucky streaks—of the very essence of the Alien Phoenix emanating literally from the lanky form of Scott Summers.
See, about a third of a century ago, when a just-close-enough clone of Jean Grey blasted herself off her seemingly-immortal coil on the Blue Area of the Moon, she told her lover Summers that a "part of [her] would always be with [him]."
Well, in this reality at least, the lady wasn't just whistlin' Dixie. With ordinary magicks alone, it might not have been possible to summon the Lady of Life and Fire Incarnate.
But here…on Necrosha…where luck seemed to lurk at every corner, between Domino on the side of right and Roulette across the way in the wreckage of wrong…anything could happen.
Especially when, as was the case with the wavering wheel that was Roulette after all, Selene was not exactly as much in control of her cadaverous charges as she thought she was.
And so, consistently with the improbable nature of incredible luck alone, the actual Alien Clone Phoenix reemerged, stood now as a force of ruby rectitude to oppose the onyx evil that was Selene.
"Have mercy," murmured Miss Stavros at the sight of ACP's alighting—just as a similarly-surnamed heartthrob would mutter fervently and FullHousily, about twenty years ago on television. (Again, this happened on TV around the time Jennifer Stavros died, so the reader should "have mercy" in turn, on the Hellion's sense of trendiness).
Moreover, it was not only the return of the original gangsta mutant Phoenix…
…but also, as Scott and the others noted, as the lady's costume went from scarlet spandex to crow-colored corset, the homecoming of an original other identity as well.
"You say you're the one and only…Black Queen…" the Alien Clone hissed ethereally, holding Selene in stasis with but a gesture of the hand. "As if, for all of your tens of thousands of years of existence, you were the first, or at least the best, to wear the mantle."
Before the sable seductress could begin to formulate a response, "The Phoenix…shall drastically disabuse you…of that notion…my fair, frail Selene."
Said Selene could not get so much as a hand out in front of her before the other former Hellfire hoyden hurled a hailstorm of hell's halitosis her way. The ancient evil was bathed in a blazing light for several moments, illuminating the entire island once again, but now in a tremendous tear of cosmic energy that canceled out the cancerous lust and hate that fueled all the efforts of the undead…replacing it entirely (and unbearably) with love and forgiveness, as per Phoenix Host Jean Grey's cloying capacity for candied climaxes (as one could see, for example, at the close of a particular Ending Song, composed about ten years prior to this story, in which the Fiery Force was suppressed by the sending of love into the lady's form by everyone—including even an unlikely Emma Frost, for Christ's sake).
Yes, just as with that Ending Song, here too everyone now was joining in, was somehow managing to stomach the collective saccharine act of sending his or her love into the entire scene at large actually, repelling the wrongness here and replacing it with rectitude as the fury of the undead faded. In the ensuing seconds, the tension everyone felt on the isle had relaxed considerably, as the mood changed from terrifying, fearsome genocide to touchy, feely grabass.
In the course of this overly-schmaltzy outcome, everyone in the immediate vicinity made peace with one another, whether undead or not-yet-dead. John literally buried the hatchet with James, and so the Proudstars put all that across-the-abyss-of-death angst behind them forever. Berzerker and Scaleface settled accounts with Cyclops, with the latter even giving some of his own lifeforce so that the two Tunnelers could live again (as, after all, Senior Xer Summers was responsible, so many issues ago, for the death of at least the Scaly one, if not the other underground dweller as well). Before Scott knew it, too, the Alien Clone from within had receded back again, apparently returning to her companion "The" Jean Grey (yes, the one who was Xed out by Xorneto about a decade back) and continuing those ponderous plot-device-relegating duties known only as "Phoenix Work."
No tears were shed from the awesome oculi of Cyclops, though—as, after all, for the moment his attention was allocated to another magnificent mutant mistress.
And it actually wasn't Emma, who was now kumbayahing with her Hellion darlings, with Beef as the baritone, Tarot as a female tenor, and Catseye as contralto. But more on this later.
In the now, amidst all this amicableness…a rumbling soon resonated from underneath the feet of all present. A moment later, all mutants attendant were scandalized to see a scowling face etched from earth, emerging from that very ground upon which they once stood.
Really the face was beautiful—not unlike that of a sculpted Aphrodite, but cast in soil rather than stone. The disgruntled look upon this continental countenance, however, compromised the allure of the features.
To the shock of even these mutants, who had essentially seen everything in their lives (or at least thought they did), the island then spoke.
Well, kvetched is more like it.
"God," it began, "Are you all done now?! I was hoping this latest…occupation would have been over a few hours ago.
"I've really had it with all these takeovers, to be honest; I mean, like, with Hodge and his Agenda…and then that masturbator in magenta with his Eve of Destruction…"
"Watch it," said Magneto, hovering by, who knew that the island of Genosh…er, Necrosha was talking about him.
The isle wasn't impressed. "I'm aligned much more with Nature, baby, than the synthetic metals you command…even if I do have iron oxides in my grounds, I'll still chew you up and throw you up before you can pull one of your 'Magnetic Chocolate's."
(This author knew that in experiences such as MVC3, Magento really said "Magnetic Shockwave"—but upon playing it with his nephew, the latter thought Magnus said "Magnetic Chocolate"—and this author is constrained to agree that it sounds like, and sounds better like that).
"Anyways…at least the witch who wound me around her finger, this time around, she wasn't all into the BS politics of Magistrates and Genejokes and what not…going on and on about all that's just so much logorrhea, to a landform like myself.
"When will I have peace, though?" the island moaned—and its invaders noted at that moment that spouts of soil were bursting up all around them, in Genosha/Necrosha's apparent rage. "And give me my old name back—'Necrosha' sounds like I'm trying to get fucked by a friggin' wasteland…"
Just then, amidst all the natural eruptions, and upon this last lament by the island itself, a brilliant (if bawdy) idea visited Roulette. She approached Domino, and the two put their heads together as they ran to the edge of the landform.
Everyone from the Kumbayahing Hellions to the Pattycaking Cyclops and Berzerker now watched as Miss Stavros chucked one of her red discs high into the air, like a clay pigeon—and Domino shot it down. Then another, and another, and another, it all going off like some doom-and-gloom Duck Hunt (the portion of the game without the annoying pooch).
Then…just as the erosive explosions started spreading soil to make one…soil himself or herself in turn…
[WHHHHHSSSSSPLASSSSSHHHHH]
Abruptly the island occupants all had to cover their faces to block against the gigantic incoming landmass splashing down. Scott especially wanted to whisk off his visor, partly in self-defense and also somewhat just in disbelief. First Alien Clone Phoenix, and now this other blast from the past…
Said blast reared its humongous head around to face Genosha. Then:
"Hey, baby."
The face of the necromanced landform could only send a look back which registered a mixture of shock…and salacity. "Well…hello."
The intervening island across the way continued, in a husky baritone voice. "I've heard from a couple of…lucky ladies that you might be a bit…frustrated. Lonely, even.
"Why don't you let old Kra-Kra…scratch your itch, a bit?"
In reply, the face of Genosha/Necrosha could only grin, very lustily. Upon her grounds, the dastardly douche known as Deadpool slapped a hand to his forehead.
"We're really going to be watching islands fuUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHH!"
And it was then, just as the Pool pondered the imminent intimate activity of friggin' islands, that Genosha/Necrosha flexed, then flipped, depositing all its inhabitants into the ocean. Everyone treaded water as they watched Selene's latest sanctum sanctorum—and the original KRAKOA, the one from the advent of the All-New, All-Different—start to come together in a most unlikely sexual annex.
Their plains crushed against each other in a passionate caress, her magnificent mountains pressing against his mossy meadows. Each island's isthmuses wrapped around the other in a heartful embrace as they commenced to fjording most fiercely. Krakoa's most solidified peninsula pushed softly against Genosha's valley, then guided itself cogently towards the delicious depths of her watery atoll. Tsunamis issued forth from all the thrusting of the original Living Island. As Genosha began to plateau (in more ways than one), her partner pushed with his Yucky Yucatan all the harder.
"Oh, Genny," crooned the splashing-down old-schooler.
"Oh, Kra-Kra," cooed his partner, once only promiscuous in terms of mutant politics but now imbued with the same vice in a much more visceral way.
In the ensuing minutes, the mutants in the mare incognitum were surprised, then intensely relieved for all their water-treading to witness entire archipelagoes emanating from the ends of both isles, a seeming spontaneous generation that actually arose from a literal version of what a lewd Shakespeare would refer to in Hamlet as "Country Matters."
Graciously the Xers and all the others straggled over most swimmingly to the fresh new islets that were surfacing. It was veritably a unique and sublime sight indeed; even the Merc with a Mouth was stymied and impressed. He still managed to put his two cents in, though, as always.
"See, this is what needed to happen with Waterworld…everything would have been resolved so much more quickly and peacefully."
After the course of about another hour, all the living mutants and the nonliving moribunds made their peace with one another, and the former and the latter went their separate ways.
BAD ALTERNATE ENDING
Well, everyone went his or her separate way...
...For the most part.
"Sc…Slim, are you kidding me?!"
The ordinarily-even-tempered Emma Frost was more than scandalized to see her man—or now, as it were, her former man—linked arm-in-arm with another particular Queen, for the first time. No, this brand of Majesty was not the Original Gangsta Black of the Alien Clone Phoenix…nor was it, for once in this author's fanny-fabricating existence, the Goblin Regent known also as Madelyne Pryor (although you can believe that she will certainly resurface in at least one more fan story in this account, in the future). No, as with an early Xer adventure way, way back in the day (back even before the Eighties exploits about which this author constantly pines and whines), in which a blond Angel was opposed by a Red Raven…here the bountifully blonde and once-White Queen found herself similarly beset. Earlier in time with Scott, she had to contend with the memory of Reds of all of Jean Grey's iterations, and barely emerged unscathed.
...Now, though, on the Raven side of it…she was not going to prevail.
In plain English: "How could you leave me for Selene, Scott?!"
The bossy bastard only sighed for a second in response. Then, just after the leaf-turned-over 'Lene threw herself into the leader's arms and suffocated his yap with a smothering smooch: "What can I say? She complements me perfectly, Em—better than any other woman I've encountered before. Although I'm not as 'always sunny' as, say, Shiro Yamada or Roberto DaCosta, in their power signatures…my abilities still arrive courtesy of solar energy. And the Best of the Black Queens here, she's the Moon to my Sun."
Selene's insidious incisors joined the rest of her chilling choppers in the most manure-masticating of grins as she held her new man closer, much to Miss Frost's malcontent chagrin. And just as Scott finished this last statement, it came up in the back of his mind about how he was slighting not only Emma here, but Jean once again (or at least a particular Alien rendition of her) through his "Best of the Black Queens" comment. But Cyke was becoming an old pro, this side of the millennium, at flipping off the fair lady who helped edify him and make him the virtuous hero he was, once upon a time. Surely, what the hell did he ever owe her now?!
Meanwhile, as Scott was slogging through such thoughts in his mind, his new squeeze took it upon herself to punctuate her moony essence to Emma by showing off her mostly-undressed, sexily sallow seat to the halcyon-haired telepath most assiduously. Frost was aproposly left cold as the couple trudged off most torridly.
Really it was an ideal pairing. After all…by this juncture in the X-Mythos, Scott Summers had engaged in and emerged from perfectly fine relationships, the other partner in ruins and ruefulness, more times than Selene had—even for all of her seventeen thousand years on this Earth. Heck, the man was even at this very instant considering challenging himself all the more by starting to bring the hurt to the women he "loved" not consecutively, but concurrently.
That Scaleface, she really owes me for my giving over some of my life essence, thought the supercilious Summers as he continued walking in a semi-embrace with the Hellfire Moon Queen. Perhaps I can talk my new girl in getting ourselves involved in a little…Scalene Triangle down the way.
This would have been a pretty good plan for Scott, in all honesty...had not each of his intended interests-in-tryst fancied him for a certain kind of conquest in turn.
The joke had certainly come upon the Summers when he found that the other two corners of the "Scalene Triangle" indeed was interested...but only in swallowing him whole, and not in any desirably intimate way.
What ended up going down in the end was all-out eats: Scaleface devoured Scott's body while Selene consumed Cyke's soul.
GOOD ACTUAL ENDING
Scott thought honestly about allowing his libidinal impulses to get the better of him...then he stayed his hand (and other extremities as well).
He knew that he had hurt too many ladies in the past, and with this in mind the man became, remained determined to stay true to the woman of his world right now-the one in White.
(Who of course completely returned the favor, and never involved herself more than cordially with Namor, Tony Stark, or any of a hundred thousand other heroes with whom she parleyed.)