Jeremy and I celebrated the one-year anniversary of my departure from
the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants over a cigarette and a bottle of gin. It
would have been perfect if it hadn't been raining so hard; the cigarette
refused to stay lit and the gin was getting watered-down faster than we
could drink it (scratch that - faster than he could drink it, I have a weak
liver). But all in all, it was still a good night. It was cool and clear,
despite the rain, and we were alone for the most part. The rest of the
gang had gone into Manchester in search of dryness, warmth, alcohol, and
women. Emphasis on the women - they were all hanging out in seedy bars or
strip clubs, shoving crumpled bills into some hussy's g-string, thinking
that Jer and I were queers.
That can only be said about Jer, though; I'm just not interested in hookers. I gave up on the idea of casual sex when things between Jenny and myself got serious. Unfortunately, right as that was happening, the Brotherhood sent me on a kamikaze mission and, after being revived by a certain blue tramp I used to work with, I was sent back to England to lay low for a while.
Though one could hardly consider my current activities 'laying low.' Shortly after arriving in London, I was attacked by a group of mutant bikers called the Fire Gang (don't worry, one of them was sober enough to be able to tell that I wasn't a human, and, after I told them my story, they let me join). The Fire Gang and I tore through England, striking fear in the hearts of normal humans and causing trouble. I joined for companionship; I didn't want to be alone. Or, rather, I didn't want to be separated from Jenny; I wanted to bring her with me. But that didn't quite pan out - the aforementioned blue tart decided that the Brotherhood needed for Jenny to be in America and for me to be in Europe. It sounded like a load of bull to me at the time, but I had no say in the matter.
Anyhow, it had been a year since the mission that had nearly killed me (and landed Magneto in prison and put Sabertooth in a coma and left the blue tart in charge) and Jeremy and I were passing a soggy cigarette back and forth. Not a bad way to spend the evening; not a good way either. I missed Jenny, and was considering riding into Manchester in search of a payphone, but another bike appeared on the road.
Jer and I stood up, tossing the cigarette aside. The bike came to a stop, though, as if the rider knew that we were there and wanted to talk to us. Jer and I approached slowly; Jer was swinging a chain and I had my switchblade ready. The rider dismounted, and, to my shock, it was someone I knew - the blue tart.
"Mystique?" I had to be sure it was her, but how could it not be? The blue skin, yellow eyes, red hair . . . it just added up to Mystique.
"Mortimer Toynbee, so good to see you." Her voice was cold as ice and she was leaning on her bike. It was a sleek machine, jet black with chrome wheels. "And who's tall dark and handsome, here?" she was eyeing Jer, which made both of us laugh because he's 'queer as a three-dollar- bill' (a little saying he says he picked up back when he lived in San Francisco).
"Jeremy," he said at length, "Jeremy Jones. And you would be . . . ?"
"Mystique. I work with the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants."
"And what brings you out to England?"
"Mortimer is needed," she said coldly, glancing at me.
"Why am I needed?"
"Eric's busted out of prison, Sabe's woken up, we have some new recruits, and our latest scheme failed," she said. "That and we've sent Jenny on a mission, which she's failing."
She'd said the magic word - Jenny. I missed her so much; it's indescribable, really. I'd always sort of taken her for granted, I suppose, and I'd treated her like trash at times. I'd hit her a few times, usually after I'd been drinking. We'd had our share of arguments; she'd called me a 'sadistic fuck' and threatened to leave me on more than one occasion. But she never did. I think that was what tipped me off, made me realize that maybe I'd found 'the one.' The ever-elusive 'one' - that person who loves you no matter what and won't leave you for anyone or anything. We'd made a breakthrough, or so I'd felt; I'd agreed not to hit her or treat her bad and she'd . . . well, agreed to stay, and things were going to be happy. And then I'd been sent on that stupid mission that had failed so miserably. I hadn't seen her since. Did she still want to be with me? Was she seeing someone else? Damn, it had a been a year, a full year.
"How is she?"
"She's going soft," said Mystique, spitting the words out like acid. "We sent her in to kill the X-Men and she's on the verge of joining them."
"What?"
It wasn't making sense; you didn't just send someone in to kill the X- Men. In fact, you didn't just go after the X-Men, they weren't the real enemy. Humanity was the enemy. You killed humanity; the X-Men were our brothers-in-denial, thinking that we could all get along peacefully, never knowing what it's really like to be shunned by human society. Sure, they were sided with the enemy, in fact, they were protecting the enemy, but they were not the enemy. They were mutants, and therefore on our side. And even if the Brotherhood wanted to send someone in to destroy them, it wouldn't be Jenny.
Jenny wasn't a trained fighter. Sure, she was wild and feral and could be violent if she wanted to be, but she wasn't able to take on the X- Men. Unlike the common man's conception of mutants, Jenny did not have "powers." She just looked like a freak; a beautiful freak. She looked a bit like a were-cat, if such a thing existed. A humanoid body with certain feline characteristics, like fur, fangs, claws, a tail, and ears. She looked a bit like a small, less-hairy female version of Sabertooth, but I never really viewed her that way. She was Jenny; her code name suited her well, as it fit her physical appearance and the way she sometimes acted in bed - Wildcat. Or sometimes if was Hellcat, whichever one she was in the mood for.
"We sent her to kill an X-Man," said Mystique, strangely calm. That was one of her more annoying characteristics; she was always so damn calm. "It shouldn't be hard to do, they've taken her in, but she's just not killing."
"Wait, you sent Jenny in to kill an X-Man?"
"Wasn't hard to convince her. She thinks you're dead," continued Mystique, examining her nails. "Damn! I broke a nail."
"What?"
Jenny thought I was dead? No one had told her that I was alive? No, no, this wasn't right. It wasn't right at all! I could feel my body shaking, and Jer put his hand on my shoulder to keep me from tipping over. Had someone failed to tell Jenny that I was alive, or were they deceiving her? Did someone tell her that I was dead?
"We said you were dead and she immediately set off to avenge your death."
Oh God, I thought, this can't be happening. Mystique had intentionally sent Jenny out to kill Storm - Storm of all X-Men! Storm, who had nearly killed me, who'd been so close to sending me to a watery grave, who was almost as all-powerful as God Himself. Storm would fry Jenny if she hadn't already done so. Oh God, I prayed, please don't let her kill Jenny.
"Jenny's still alive," said Mystique, as if reading my thoughts, "she's just being a pussy." She laughed at her double entendre - or maybe it was a triple entendre: she'd made a crack about Jenny's cowardice while referring to her as a part of the female anatomy, a word which was also English slang for 'cat', which Jenny strongly resembled.
"Why does she think I'm dead?" I asked.
"Because I told her you were."
"Jesus Christ, why the bloody fuck did you tell her I was dead?"
"God, Mort, are you stupid or something? If she knew you were alive, she'd never knock Storm off. It's not like she's moved on or anything; she wears your clothes and talks about you like you were a god."
I was slightly comforted by the fact that Jenny hadn't found herself a new man. Slightly. I was angry as hell at Mystique for being such a lying tramp. That bitch. She really didn't care about other people's lives, did she? I suddenly wondered what her reaction would be if Eric suddenly died, or she thought he suddenly died. Would she cry? Would she swear to avenge him? Would she cuddle up with a new man? Would she forget?
"Jesus, that was a trashy thing to do," said Jer.
"That's besides the point," said Mystique. "Mortimer is needed in America."
I wanted so badly to rebel against her and refuse to go, just to spite her. Unfortunately, my desire to see Jenny was stronger than my desire to make Mystique's carefully laid plans fail, so I agreed to go. I said goodbye to Jeremy, hugging him tight, and left. Mystique shook her head, probably calling me a queer under her breath, as we got on her bike and tore off into the rainy darkness, heading for London.
Sometimes I think I might be kind of queer.
I won't lie about it; I experimented with Jeremy a few months after joining the Fire Gang. The gang had set up camp on a rural back road a few miles north of Kent, and had decided to go into town to fulfill certain heterosexual testosterone-driven urges. Jer never went on these excursions, and I was feeling particularly homesick and was missing Jenny. Jer and I fell to talking (and I'm not going to lie here either, we were completely sober); well, it was really mostly me talking about how much I missed Jenny and him listening. At some point we both mentioned being horny, and then we kind of stared at each other. I won't go into detail, but I'm sure the rest of the Fire Gang would be more than disgusted if they knew what we did.
Much later, I sat in a seat by a window next to Mystique. She was reading a magazine and had disguised herself as a pretty blonde. I was thinking about Jenny, wondering if she'd recognize me, how she'd react when she saw me. I wondered if I should tell her about Jeremy. I knew that I had to; before my "death" we'd promised that we wouldn't keep secrets from each other, but I was afraid of how she'd take it. Yes, it had been an infidelity on my part, and yes, I was sorry about it to a certain extent. I didn't really regret doing it, which I found strangely discomforting. I was still wondering what I should do when the plane landed in New York City. Mystique and I emerged from the plane, and it took us a while to get a cab.
"I don't normally drive muties around," said the cabbie who finally pulled over and let us in. He was looking at me cautiously, as if I'd pull a knife on him. And, to tell the truth, if I hadn't left my knives back in England with Jeremy, I would've been tempted to. Mystique glared at him, giving him directions to the Brotherhood's nearest headquarters.
He didn't seem to register that Mystique was a mutant too; no, she was far too pretty to be a 'mutie' (you knew you were in America when they called you a 'mutie'). It was me, the green-skinned frog-boy, he felt he had to worry about. I didn't care; I wanted to see Jenny and then get back to England. The jet-lag was catching up with me, though, and I fell asleep in the back of the cab. When I woke up, it was four in the morning and Mystique was ramming her elbow into my ribcage. I stumbled out of the cab, thanking the driver, and into the harsh stone building that Magneto and the rest of the Brotherhood occupied.
"I've arranged for Jenny to come here tonight," said Mystique. "You should get some sleep."
I made my way down the darkened corridors to where my old room had been. I didn't bother with the light-switch; I could find my bed in the dark, and even if I couldn't, I didn't mind sleeping on the floor. I hadn't slept or been in a bed in a year; the Fire Gang spent its nights curled up or passed out on the ground on England's back-roads. Luckily, though, I managed to locate it, and collapsed, falling back into dreamland the minute my head hit the pillow.
I dreamed. The dreams were hazy and nebulous, and all that really mattered about them was that they featured both Jenny and Jeremy. They were anxious dreams, dreams of uncertainty and fear and something intangible. It was after three when I woke up.
The building was nearly deserted; on stepping into the hall I was introduced to the Brotherhood's newest member - a little pyromaniac named John - and was reunited briefly with Sabertooth and Magneto. I showered, changed, shaved, and sat around in my room, asking myself an endless string of questions about Jenny.
Was she different? Did she change? Did she have a new man? Even if she didn't, would she still want me? How would she react when I told her about Jeremy? Should I tell her about Jeremy? Would she break up with me? Would she want to return to England with me?
I tried to shake the questions off by pacing back and forth. I found that my things hadn't been touched, and was oddly disturbed. It was like the Brotherhood had anticipated and planned for my return. Everything was there, covered in an inch or so of dust - knives, spikes, chains, a set of handcuffs, a gun (you have to understand that these were not kinky bedroom toys - well, maybe the handcuffs were - but things I used as weapons when embarking on missions). Most of my clothing was missing, which bothered me slightly until I remembered that Mystique had said something about Jenny wearing them. I was able to find a clean shirt, though, and a black vest.
That can only be said about Jer, though; I'm just not interested in hookers. I gave up on the idea of casual sex when things between Jenny and myself got serious. Unfortunately, right as that was happening, the Brotherhood sent me on a kamikaze mission and, after being revived by a certain blue tramp I used to work with, I was sent back to England to lay low for a while.
Though one could hardly consider my current activities 'laying low.' Shortly after arriving in London, I was attacked by a group of mutant bikers called the Fire Gang (don't worry, one of them was sober enough to be able to tell that I wasn't a human, and, after I told them my story, they let me join). The Fire Gang and I tore through England, striking fear in the hearts of normal humans and causing trouble. I joined for companionship; I didn't want to be alone. Or, rather, I didn't want to be separated from Jenny; I wanted to bring her with me. But that didn't quite pan out - the aforementioned blue tart decided that the Brotherhood needed for Jenny to be in America and for me to be in Europe. It sounded like a load of bull to me at the time, but I had no say in the matter.
Anyhow, it had been a year since the mission that had nearly killed me (and landed Magneto in prison and put Sabertooth in a coma and left the blue tart in charge) and Jeremy and I were passing a soggy cigarette back and forth. Not a bad way to spend the evening; not a good way either. I missed Jenny, and was considering riding into Manchester in search of a payphone, but another bike appeared on the road.
Jer and I stood up, tossing the cigarette aside. The bike came to a stop, though, as if the rider knew that we were there and wanted to talk to us. Jer and I approached slowly; Jer was swinging a chain and I had my switchblade ready. The rider dismounted, and, to my shock, it was someone I knew - the blue tart.
"Mystique?" I had to be sure it was her, but how could it not be? The blue skin, yellow eyes, red hair . . . it just added up to Mystique.
"Mortimer Toynbee, so good to see you." Her voice was cold as ice and she was leaning on her bike. It was a sleek machine, jet black with chrome wheels. "And who's tall dark and handsome, here?" she was eyeing Jer, which made both of us laugh because he's 'queer as a three-dollar- bill' (a little saying he says he picked up back when he lived in San Francisco).
"Jeremy," he said at length, "Jeremy Jones. And you would be . . . ?"
"Mystique. I work with the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants."
"And what brings you out to England?"
"Mortimer is needed," she said coldly, glancing at me.
"Why am I needed?"
"Eric's busted out of prison, Sabe's woken up, we have some new recruits, and our latest scheme failed," she said. "That and we've sent Jenny on a mission, which she's failing."
She'd said the magic word - Jenny. I missed her so much; it's indescribable, really. I'd always sort of taken her for granted, I suppose, and I'd treated her like trash at times. I'd hit her a few times, usually after I'd been drinking. We'd had our share of arguments; she'd called me a 'sadistic fuck' and threatened to leave me on more than one occasion. But she never did. I think that was what tipped me off, made me realize that maybe I'd found 'the one.' The ever-elusive 'one' - that person who loves you no matter what and won't leave you for anyone or anything. We'd made a breakthrough, or so I'd felt; I'd agreed not to hit her or treat her bad and she'd . . . well, agreed to stay, and things were going to be happy. And then I'd been sent on that stupid mission that had failed so miserably. I hadn't seen her since. Did she still want to be with me? Was she seeing someone else? Damn, it had a been a year, a full year.
"How is she?"
"She's going soft," said Mystique, spitting the words out like acid. "We sent her in to kill the X-Men and she's on the verge of joining them."
"What?"
It wasn't making sense; you didn't just send someone in to kill the X- Men. In fact, you didn't just go after the X-Men, they weren't the real enemy. Humanity was the enemy. You killed humanity; the X-Men were our brothers-in-denial, thinking that we could all get along peacefully, never knowing what it's really like to be shunned by human society. Sure, they were sided with the enemy, in fact, they were protecting the enemy, but they were not the enemy. They were mutants, and therefore on our side. And even if the Brotherhood wanted to send someone in to destroy them, it wouldn't be Jenny.
Jenny wasn't a trained fighter. Sure, she was wild and feral and could be violent if she wanted to be, but she wasn't able to take on the X- Men. Unlike the common man's conception of mutants, Jenny did not have "powers." She just looked like a freak; a beautiful freak. She looked a bit like a were-cat, if such a thing existed. A humanoid body with certain feline characteristics, like fur, fangs, claws, a tail, and ears. She looked a bit like a small, less-hairy female version of Sabertooth, but I never really viewed her that way. She was Jenny; her code name suited her well, as it fit her physical appearance and the way she sometimes acted in bed - Wildcat. Or sometimes if was Hellcat, whichever one she was in the mood for.
"We sent her to kill an X-Man," said Mystique, strangely calm. That was one of her more annoying characteristics; she was always so damn calm. "It shouldn't be hard to do, they've taken her in, but she's just not killing."
"Wait, you sent Jenny in to kill an X-Man?"
"Wasn't hard to convince her. She thinks you're dead," continued Mystique, examining her nails. "Damn! I broke a nail."
"What?"
Jenny thought I was dead? No one had told her that I was alive? No, no, this wasn't right. It wasn't right at all! I could feel my body shaking, and Jer put his hand on my shoulder to keep me from tipping over. Had someone failed to tell Jenny that I was alive, or were they deceiving her? Did someone tell her that I was dead?
"We said you were dead and she immediately set off to avenge your death."
Oh God, I thought, this can't be happening. Mystique had intentionally sent Jenny out to kill Storm - Storm of all X-Men! Storm, who had nearly killed me, who'd been so close to sending me to a watery grave, who was almost as all-powerful as God Himself. Storm would fry Jenny if she hadn't already done so. Oh God, I prayed, please don't let her kill Jenny.
"Jenny's still alive," said Mystique, as if reading my thoughts, "she's just being a pussy." She laughed at her double entendre - or maybe it was a triple entendre: she'd made a crack about Jenny's cowardice while referring to her as a part of the female anatomy, a word which was also English slang for 'cat', which Jenny strongly resembled.
"Why does she think I'm dead?" I asked.
"Because I told her you were."
"Jesus Christ, why the bloody fuck did you tell her I was dead?"
"God, Mort, are you stupid or something? If she knew you were alive, she'd never knock Storm off. It's not like she's moved on or anything; she wears your clothes and talks about you like you were a god."
I was slightly comforted by the fact that Jenny hadn't found herself a new man. Slightly. I was angry as hell at Mystique for being such a lying tramp. That bitch. She really didn't care about other people's lives, did she? I suddenly wondered what her reaction would be if Eric suddenly died, or she thought he suddenly died. Would she cry? Would she swear to avenge him? Would she cuddle up with a new man? Would she forget?
"Jesus, that was a trashy thing to do," said Jer.
"That's besides the point," said Mystique. "Mortimer is needed in America."
I wanted so badly to rebel against her and refuse to go, just to spite her. Unfortunately, my desire to see Jenny was stronger than my desire to make Mystique's carefully laid plans fail, so I agreed to go. I said goodbye to Jeremy, hugging him tight, and left. Mystique shook her head, probably calling me a queer under her breath, as we got on her bike and tore off into the rainy darkness, heading for London.
Sometimes I think I might be kind of queer.
I won't lie about it; I experimented with Jeremy a few months after joining the Fire Gang. The gang had set up camp on a rural back road a few miles north of Kent, and had decided to go into town to fulfill certain heterosexual testosterone-driven urges. Jer never went on these excursions, and I was feeling particularly homesick and was missing Jenny. Jer and I fell to talking (and I'm not going to lie here either, we were completely sober); well, it was really mostly me talking about how much I missed Jenny and him listening. At some point we both mentioned being horny, and then we kind of stared at each other. I won't go into detail, but I'm sure the rest of the Fire Gang would be more than disgusted if they knew what we did.
Much later, I sat in a seat by a window next to Mystique. She was reading a magazine and had disguised herself as a pretty blonde. I was thinking about Jenny, wondering if she'd recognize me, how she'd react when she saw me. I wondered if I should tell her about Jeremy. I knew that I had to; before my "death" we'd promised that we wouldn't keep secrets from each other, but I was afraid of how she'd take it. Yes, it had been an infidelity on my part, and yes, I was sorry about it to a certain extent. I didn't really regret doing it, which I found strangely discomforting. I was still wondering what I should do when the plane landed in New York City. Mystique and I emerged from the plane, and it took us a while to get a cab.
"I don't normally drive muties around," said the cabbie who finally pulled over and let us in. He was looking at me cautiously, as if I'd pull a knife on him. And, to tell the truth, if I hadn't left my knives back in England with Jeremy, I would've been tempted to. Mystique glared at him, giving him directions to the Brotherhood's nearest headquarters.
He didn't seem to register that Mystique was a mutant too; no, she was far too pretty to be a 'mutie' (you knew you were in America when they called you a 'mutie'). It was me, the green-skinned frog-boy, he felt he had to worry about. I didn't care; I wanted to see Jenny and then get back to England. The jet-lag was catching up with me, though, and I fell asleep in the back of the cab. When I woke up, it was four in the morning and Mystique was ramming her elbow into my ribcage. I stumbled out of the cab, thanking the driver, and into the harsh stone building that Magneto and the rest of the Brotherhood occupied.
"I've arranged for Jenny to come here tonight," said Mystique. "You should get some sleep."
I made my way down the darkened corridors to where my old room had been. I didn't bother with the light-switch; I could find my bed in the dark, and even if I couldn't, I didn't mind sleeping on the floor. I hadn't slept or been in a bed in a year; the Fire Gang spent its nights curled up or passed out on the ground on England's back-roads. Luckily, though, I managed to locate it, and collapsed, falling back into dreamland the minute my head hit the pillow.
I dreamed. The dreams were hazy and nebulous, and all that really mattered about them was that they featured both Jenny and Jeremy. They were anxious dreams, dreams of uncertainty and fear and something intangible. It was after three when I woke up.
The building was nearly deserted; on stepping into the hall I was introduced to the Brotherhood's newest member - a little pyromaniac named John - and was reunited briefly with Sabertooth and Magneto. I showered, changed, shaved, and sat around in my room, asking myself an endless string of questions about Jenny.
Was she different? Did she change? Did she have a new man? Even if she didn't, would she still want me? How would she react when I told her about Jeremy? Should I tell her about Jeremy? Would she break up with me? Would she want to return to England with me?
I tried to shake the questions off by pacing back and forth. I found that my things hadn't been touched, and was oddly disturbed. It was like the Brotherhood had anticipated and planned for my return. Everything was there, covered in an inch or so of dust - knives, spikes, chains, a set of handcuffs, a gun (you have to understand that these were not kinky bedroom toys - well, maybe the handcuffs were - but things I used as weapons when embarking on missions). Most of my clothing was missing, which bothered me slightly until I remembered that Mystique had said something about Jenny wearing them. I was able to find a clean shirt, though, and a black vest.
