Two things I neglected to mention in the previous part.
First, I live on feedback. E-Mail me, write a review, whatever.
Second, if you want to archive this – E-Mail me. I love being archived. It makes me feel fulfilled.
Girl 1.
I fell asleep in one of the nicest cars I've ever been in. I wake up in one of the nicest bedrooms I've ever been in. Judging by the décor, I don't think it belongs to Grey Guy, either. It's furnished primarily in white, with shades of cream and pale grey on the soft furnishings. It'd be kind of stark, if it wasn't for the fact that the contents of a very brightly-coloured wardrobe – and, looking closer, laundry basket – appear to have exploded across the floor.
I'm alone in here, my clothes are still intact, and it looks like I was just laid on the bed to sleep it off. My boots are on the floor nearby, and I pick them up and carry them as I head for the door.
On the other side of it I can hear grey guy talking.
'No way. There is no chance in hell . . .'
'C'mon, Ange. What are the chances of you running across her in the first place?' It's a girls voice, familiar. I can't quite place it. 'What have we got so far, then?'
'Okay. First on the list. Skrull. Wouldn't they need to sample you or something first?'
'They already did, on the Shi'ar throneworld, back when I was . . . y'know. But can we not dwell on that, 'cause it involved a naked Professor Xavier, which I really don't want to remember.'
'So that's a possibility.' He pauses. 'Clone. Who'd make one?'
'Sinister.'
'Why?'
''Kay. Probably not a clone, then.
'Next. Alternate reality version of you, possibly nonmutant. I like that one.'
'I don't. I mean, did you see her arms, Ange? She's, like, Ewan Macgregor in Trainspotting, and I mean that in a bad way. No way would I end up like that.'
Me. They're talking about me. Obviously I look a lot like the girl – and, God, she sounds kind of like I do, too, which is why her voice sounds familiar – and they're trying to work out who I am. While being certifiably insane, or at least delusional. The grey guy – Ange – is still talking.
'Long-lost close relative, possibly identical twin, but that's even less likely than the clone possibility. And that's all our possibilities.'
'Yeah. So – waitaminuit! It's Mystique! She's made herself look like that to play with Wolvie's mind.'
'So why did she come with me, then?'
I don't know what to think of these people, but somehow I don't think they're gonna be too happy about my leaving. Still carrying my boots, I head over to the window. Which reveals that we're something like thirty floors up and the fire escape is nowhere near. So I turn back to the door just in time to see it opening, to reveal Ange – who really is grey, and his skin looks kinda flaky – standing next to this little girl who looks . . .
She's got blue eyes. I concentrate on that. She's got blue eyes, and far more flesh on her bones – though it looks like lean muscle more than anything else, this little girl obviously never had to stop going to the gym – and she's wearing this horrifically loud yellow trenchcoat when I never wear anything that isn't black or earth tones, and fuck, but she looks young, she looks about as young as I really am.
If it wasn't for all that, I'd think I was looking in a mirror.
Girl 2.
When I was with the X-Men, we saw this kind of thing every day. Well, every week at least. The world is full of evil shapeshifters, sinister masters of illusion, and insane geneticists, all with a mad-on for the number one mutant crew.
So I'm sitting with Ange, listing the possibilities, when I hear movement from my room, which is where he stashed her (without so much as a by-your-leave). Ange hears it too, so we both get up and head over to the door. On the other side of it – there she stands, in all her skanky glory, staring at me like – well, like I stared at her earlier.
'Who the hell are you?' She asks – not recovered from the shock of seeing me, yet, but trying to cover, which suggests either Angelo is right and she really isn't some kind of supervillain, or she's a really, really good actor. While I'm thinking this, Ange is answering for both of us.
'Angelo Espinoza. This is my friend, Jubilation Lee. Jubilee, meet Jubilee.' That shocks her all over again. She stares at me.
'Heya.' I say, trying to be flip and almost managing. 'Any idea how you ended up in the wrong reality?'
'What the fuck you talking about?' She demands; she's afraid, and trying to hide it by aggression; where have I seen that before? She does a pretty good job, too; she just doesn't quite have the self-confidence. People can say what they want about my dress sense, but one thing it does do is make me more noticeable.
'What does the word, 'Mutant', mean to you, J?' I ask her conversationally.
Girl 1.
The other me and grey guy Angelo keep on interrupting and talking over each other, but they both agree on the gist of what they're telling me. As best they can make out, I'm from some kind of weird, sci-fi, alternate reality, and in this world they have this subspecies of humanity called 'mutants and . . . well, a brief history of their world and its problems. The other me is loud and cheerful and keeps shouting her friend down and arguing points with him, and she can make fireworks just by thinking about it, and apparently this automatically qualifies her for an all-bills-paid lifestyle fighting prejudice and injustice across America.
It's enough to make me feel sick.
Even with their evidence – even with a superhero press conference being shown live on CNN – I have trouble believing them, so they offer to let me use their 'phone. I don't like that, so then they both walk me down to the nearest payphone.
Harvey's number is cut off. I try a couple of the girls, and don't get anything familiar. Either they're telling me the truth or there's been a massive conspiracy while I was unconscious.
I'm really not sure which option I prefer.
Then the other me starts offering me a change of clothes, and arguing with Angelo about where I should sleep, and comments that she's gonna have to take me shopping, soonest, and it occurs to me – they've picked me up off the street, and now they're going to keep me. Like a pet.
First, I live on feedback. E-Mail me, write a review, whatever.
Second, if you want to archive this – E-Mail me. I love being archived. It makes me feel fulfilled.
Girl 1.
I fell asleep in one of the nicest cars I've ever been in. I wake up in one of the nicest bedrooms I've ever been in. Judging by the décor, I don't think it belongs to Grey Guy, either. It's furnished primarily in white, with shades of cream and pale grey on the soft furnishings. It'd be kind of stark, if it wasn't for the fact that the contents of a very brightly-coloured wardrobe – and, looking closer, laundry basket – appear to have exploded across the floor.
I'm alone in here, my clothes are still intact, and it looks like I was just laid on the bed to sleep it off. My boots are on the floor nearby, and I pick them up and carry them as I head for the door.
On the other side of it I can hear grey guy talking.
'No way. There is no chance in hell . . .'
'C'mon, Ange. What are the chances of you running across her in the first place?' It's a girls voice, familiar. I can't quite place it. 'What have we got so far, then?'
'Okay. First on the list. Skrull. Wouldn't they need to sample you or something first?'
'They already did, on the Shi'ar throneworld, back when I was . . . y'know. But can we not dwell on that, 'cause it involved a naked Professor Xavier, which I really don't want to remember.'
'So that's a possibility.' He pauses. 'Clone. Who'd make one?'
'Sinister.'
'Why?'
''Kay. Probably not a clone, then.
'Next. Alternate reality version of you, possibly nonmutant. I like that one.'
'I don't. I mean, did you see her arms, Ange? She's, like, Ewan Macgregor in Trainspotting, and I mean that in a bad way. No way would I end up like that.'
Me. They're talking about me. Obviously I look a lot like the girl – and, God, she sounds kind of like I do, too, which is why her voice sounds familiar – and they're trying to work out who I am. While being certifiably insane, or at least delusional. The grey guy – Ange – is still talking.
'Long-lost close relative, possibly identical twin, but that's even less likely than the clone possibility. And that's all our possibilities.'
'Yeah. So – waitaminuit! It's Mystique! She's made herself look like that to play with Wolvie's mind.'
'So why did she come with me, then?'
I don't know what to think of these people, but somehow I don't think they're gonna be too happy about my leaving. Still carrying my boots, I head over to the window. Which reveals that we're something like thirty floors up and the fire escape is nowhere near. So I turn back to the door just in time to see it opening, to reveal Ange – who really is grey, and his skin looks kinda flaky – standing next to this little girl who looks . . .
She's got blue eyes. I concentrate on that. She's got blue eyes, and far more flesh on her bones – though it looks like lean muscle more than anything else, this little girl obviously never had to stop going to the gym – and she's wearing this horrifically loud yellow trenchcoat when I never wear anything that isn't black or earth tones, and fuck, but she looks young, she looks about as young as I really am.
If it wasn't for all that, I'd think I was looking in a mirror.
Girl 2.
When I was with the X-Men, we saw this kind of thing every day. Well, every week at least. The world is full of evil shapeshifters, sinister masters of illusion, and insane geneticists, all with a mad-on for the number one mutant crew.
So I'm sitting with Ange, listing the possibilities, when I hear movement from my room, which is where he stashed her (without so much as a by-your-leave). Ange hears it too, so we both get up and head over to the door. On the other side of it – there she stands, in all her skanky glory, staring at me like – well, like I stared at her earlier.
'Who the hell are you?' She asks – not recovered from the shock of seeing me, yet, but trying to cover, which suggests either Angelo is right and she really isn't some kind of supervillain, or she's a really, really good actor. While I'm thinking this, Ange is answering for both of us.
'Angelo Espinoza. This is my friend, Jubilation Lee. Jubilee, meet Jubilee.' That shocks her all over again. She stares at me.
'Heya.' I say, trying to be flip and almost managing. 'Any idea how you ended up in the wrong reality?'
'What the fuck you talking about?' She demands; she's afraid, and trying to hide it by aggression; where have I seen that before? She does a pretty good job, too; she just doesn't quite have the self-confidence. People can say what they want about my dress sense, but one thing it does do is make me more noticeable.
'What does the word, 'Mutant', mean to you, J?' I ask her conversationally.
Girl 1.
The other me and grey guy Angelo keep on interrupting and talking over each other, but they both agree on the gist of what they're telling me. As best they can make out, I'm from some kind of weird, sci-fi, alternate reality, and in this world they have this subspecies of humanity called 'mutants and . . . well, a brief history of their world and its problems. The other me is loud and cheerful and keeps shouting her friend down and arguing points with him, and she can make fireworks just by thinking about it, and apparently this automatically qualifies her for an all-bills-paid lifestyle fighting prejudice and injustice across America.
It's enough to make me feel sick.
Even with their evidence – even with a superhero press conference being shown live on CNN – I have trouble believing them, so they offer to let me use their 'phone. I don't like that, so then they both walk me down to the nearest payphone.
Harvey's number is cut off. I try a couple of the girls, and don't get anything familiar. Either they're telling me the truth or there's been a massive conspiracy while I was unconscious.
I'm really not sure which option I prefer.
Then the other me starts offering me a change of clothes, and arguing with Angelo about where I should sleep, and comments that she's gonna have to take me shopping, soonest, and it occurs to me – they've picked me up off the street, and now they're going to keep me. Like a pet.