# # Everyone come see the greatest show! # #
# # Invite everybody that you know! # #
# # Come and be down with the clownz! # #
# # Give it to me! # #
# # The magical thug carnival's in town! # #
"The Great Show" by Insane Clown Posse
(The possibility occurred to Bobby Drake about fifty miles ago that if that strange bald guy, and that beautiful redhead - her name was Jean, right? - might have been able to stop him and Scott if they'd really want to. After all, they were telepaths, right? That seemed pretty obvious. And telepaths could control minds. . . right? If they wanted to stop Scott and Bobby, they'd have done when Bobby and Scott tried to escape. Besides, they'd all battled together against that . . . robotic Apocalypse, or whatever it was. Maybe they should turn back.
(Bobby brought that up about twenty five miles ago. Scott reminded Bobby that they basically came across as trying to steal from a major corporation, and they still had to regroup and figure what they were doing. Scott admitted they probably should have stayed, but right now, it was best to stick by their decisions.
(Bobby reluctantly agreed, which was partly why they were still zipping down the highway.)
Bobby: Alright, can we slow down now? I'm sure we've more than lost them.
(No response at first. Scott looked towards the rear view mirror, obviously trying to scan behind them.)
Bobby: Seriously, we do not wanna be getting pulled over, do we?
Scott: Yeah, good point.
(As Scott finally started to slow the Porsche, Bobby noticed something a billboard fast approaching. He quickly pointed it out to Scott. . .)
Bobby: What we need is a little diversion, a chance to enjoy ourselves. (Bobby flashed a very suspicious smile) Kick back, watch a few circus babes.
(Scott's smile was a little more innocent, somehow, and definitely less heartfelt at the moment.)
Scott: I do like a good circus babe.
Bobby: I know you do!
Scott: I don't know, though, maybe we better put that on the back burner until we get out of state.
Bobby: We're already in Pennsylvania, ya know? Were you thinking Indiana, or were you planning to hang out til Detroit or Illinois?
Scott: Penn. . . right. I'm not so sure about stopping. I'm nervous enough without having to constantly worry they'll catch up with us.
Bobby: All the more reason for us to go, my man.
(Bobby smiled. He knew he had this one won.)
Scott: How so?
Bobby: Stress, Scotty. Stress. I mean, no offense, but if you're honestly worried they'd be following us this long, just waiting for us to pull over into a public hotspot . . .
(Scott almost smiled again. Almost. Bobby had a point.)
Bobby: Sides, it said there's an amusement park there, too. (Bobby nudged Scott playfully with his elbow) Win a stuffed puppy for one of those circus babes.
Scott: Ok, ok, I get the point, hotshot.
Bobby: Well, all right! Circus, here we come!
(Indeed, here they come. The question is are they ready for what they'll find? Because, you just know something is probably going to happen. Certainly a feeling Warren Worthington, III echoed, several hundreds of miles elsewhere. McCoy couldn't help but reflect on what had happened, to bring Xavier back into his life, and the especially odd circumstances surrounding the memorable moment. Circumstances he now felt obliged to explain to Warren.
(Not that the words were coming easy for the normally outspoken scientist. Right now, he and Warren sat across from one another at a table in a fairly typical quiet little diner. The professor and that young redhead would be there soon, Hank figured, so now might be a good time to catch his friend up.
(Still, they sat there, nothing said, waiting. That is, until Warren decided to break the ice.
(Ok, bad choice of words.)
Warren: I just thought of something. The way we took off from the scene, I hope we don't get the blame for this by the cops.
Hank: (Shaking his head) A valid concern. (he shakes the worry off, nevertheless) Still, I'm sure once you give them a call and work your golden toothed magic, the formalities will straighten themselves out in no time.
Warren: Yeah, I hope. . . In the meantime, what's up with this Xavier fellow?
(Hank rubbed his temple with an oversized hand.)
Warren: Long story?
Hank: Complex story, at any rate.
Warren: Then give me the express version. I'm sure our guests'll be showing up any minute.
Hank: (unconsciously shifting his eyes around the room) It was right before the end of high school. Remember me mentioning the incident of a group named Onslaught?
Warren: Your father's group?
Hank: (expectedly bitter) That would be them. Yes.
Warren: I remember them, but it's been over a decade since they've been together, you said. Any reason their name comes up now?
Hank: Remember a telepaths named Cerebro?
Warren: Yeah, why?
(It only takes a second for Warren to put two and two together.)
Warren: Wait, so he's related to this, right? Was it that redhead's father or something? No? It wasn't the old man, was it?
(Hank nodded, almost solemnly.)
Hank: T'was a while ago, wasn't it? I don't know if they're related, though I'm assuming they're not.
(Warren looks towards the window, where he sees the two pulling into the parking lot.)
Warren: They don't look it.
Hank: Anyway, to summarize, this was the individual that helped a much wilder Henry McCoy than the charming physiological specimen you see before you.
Warren: "A much wilder" Henry McCoy? There's a scary thought.
Hank: More than you know. He was a huge help when I was younger. .. . when I had to find myself, so to speak. (Hank pauses to reflect) He even helped me get into a respectable college.
Warren: Really? This IS getting interesting.
(Warren looks up to see Xavier and Jean enter.)
Hank: Looks like it's about to get even more interesting, too.
Warren: Right. Guess the rest of the story will have to wait.
(We'll leave that story, and turn our attention to another part of our story . .
(Fred J. Dukes wasn't particularly enjoying the afternoon per say. After all, the same problems that were here every night were here tonight, and pretty much en mass. For one he was sharing a dressing room again, and once again it wasn't with any of the chicks, and two, it was probably gonna rain out, and three, he hadn't gone out, but he was sure the people were gonna be especially assmoronic tonight. Four, it was . . . . Ah, he had something he wanted to fume over, but he couldn't remember it. Stupid racket outside.
(Still, he was pretty sure that was problem number five or six, not four. Fred shook his head - this was getting to be a headache. Maybe hitting the boys up for some more taffy apples would cheer him up, even if they were being way too stingy with the freebies, Dukes thought as he wondered off.
(The other occupant of the dresser room just barely looked up in response to him randomly storming off. The unmistakable features of Crusher Hogan. Hardly the life the until - recently successful wrestler was used to. He'd told himself to put the past out of the picture, but what had he come to?
(Wrestling with a couple of scrawny nobodies, against some oversized kid. Please. They could take all three of them, and anyone else they could find, and Crusher'd take them all apart. Just like he woulda taken that punk Spider kid apart without any problem two months ago. Ohe month ago? However long it was. This wasn't a chance to redeem himself, or recapture the so recently lost spotlight. At least it was a few bucks, and a chance to keep from dying of boredom.
(Not that the prospect of beating up some over rated fat kid seemed very entertaining. Suddenly, Crusher threw his beer can, only half empty, to the floor. The more he thought about it . . . the more he was looking forward to making the most out of some raw bodies.
(Maybe I'll beat those two kids to a pulp too, just for a treat for all these drunks, he thought to himself. "Yeah, That sounds like a lot more fun."
(There was no denying, this particular circus/ carnival felt sleazy and amateurish. Still, they seemed to be making the most of what they had. Scott and Bobby found a row of tables to sit down at, not long after paying their entrance fee. The food smelled a lot better than Bobby expected. It also smelled greasy. Very greasy.
Bobby: See? Don't you feel better already?
Scott: Honestly? No.
(Awkward silence. Scott breaks it.)
Scott: Although it's been a while since I've had a pizza burger. Come to think if it, I'm not sure I ever have had a pizza burger.
(Bobby smiles. Maybe it's a bit of a fake smile, but his intentions at least are noble. Scott responds, not by smiling, but at least by easing up on that dejected, depressed, ultra serious look that had been on his face since . . . let's see, how long had Bobby known him now?
(Maybe that was a tad of an exaggeration, but not much.)
"Hey, guys, mind if I join you?"
(Bobby looked up to see a fairly powerful figure. Kid looked stronger than Scott, or Warren for that matter. More than that, he looked in shape.
(Probably Bobby's age.)
Bobby: Sure, why not? Don't mind Prince Charming here. (Bobby puts his hand over his mouth) Girl problems. Ya know how they are.
(The newcomer sat down. Most of his hair was blond - with a dark brown streak up each side. He had on jeans, and a hooded sweatshirt.)
"Thanks. Oh, I'm Stevie Sherman. I just signed to wrestle here, but to be honest. . . . (Stevie glances over at the fairly large circus tent) Too many idiots back there for my taste."
Bobby: There's gonna be wrestling tonight? Wow . . . This place might actually be worth the cover price.
Scott: We'll see . . .
(Stevie smiles.)
Stevie: So you're gonna check it out, right?
Bobby: Damned right! Pardon my language.
Scott: (half heartedly) Can't hurt, I guess.
Stevie: You gotta check it out! Crusher Hogan's gonna be in the match!
Bobby: No way! I thought he killed himself after losing to some teenager.
Stevie: I heard the kid was some kinda freak, anyway. But I guess he's alive. Of course, I didn't wanna get close enough to him to find out the hard way.
(Stevie shook his head, not enjoying the memory of his almost- meeting with the fallen superstar.)
Bobby: Big star syndrome? Fame, always goes to their head.
Stevie: More like dejected star syndrome. Didn't you hear? After he got his butt handed to him by that rookie freak, he ended up being tossed out of the federation. Not even a week later. Of course, HE thinks it's because of the loss, and his attitude had nothing to do with it. (Stevie shakes his head) I feel sorry for that Blob kid. Good as he is, this one's gonna get ugly. I'm just glad I'm on his side.
Bobby: Why are you on his side, anyway? If anything, I'd figure they'd match Crusher against the three small timers. (Bobby pauses) Er, no offense intended.
(Stevie laughs.)
Stevie: None taken, and to be honest, I don't know. I guess cause Blob's so . . . big. Strong as an ox, too.
Bobby: I'm sure you'll take him.
Stevie: I hope so.
"I know so."
(Scott didn't even seem to notice the new voice. Bobby and Stevie, however, looked up to see the newcomer. He looked rather short, standing maybe five foot six, but he looked a fair deal stronger than Stefan, too. Long stringy black hair hung unkempt over a confident face. The inexperienced showed, sure, but it didn't seem like something that'd affect him. He had on a cheap looking shirt that said, "Mickey D.")
Stevie: Oh, Mike. Guys, this's my partner tonight, Mike.
(The two quickly grasp hands.)
Stevie: What's up, Mike?
Mike: Not much, partnah. Just thinking about how we're gonna tear the place up tonight. I think I know what we need to do.
Stevie: Yeah? Good to hear. Oh, this's Bobby and Scott. They're passing through town, thought they'd give our match a looksee.
Mike: Hiya, guys, and I think you'll like what you see! Me and you, Stevie, I've been thinking. I think we tear this Blub a new hole before that drunken nobody has a chance to get to the ring! You down with that?
(Stevie sits back down, a worried look on his face.)
Stevie: I don't know. This Blob's a tough kid. I don't think we could take him alone.
Mike: Sure we can. He's just a fat kid.
(Stevie turns to Bobby.)
Stevie: Actually, this kid picked up a car off the ground last week.
Bobby: Wow. . .
Scott: Yeah, well, that sounds a whole lot like special effects to me.
Mike: Exactly! I can't prove it, but something's not on the up and up.
Stevie: Maybe he's one of those freaks, like I was telling you about.
Bobby: Uh . . . freaks?
Stevie: Yeah. Geez, don't you guys get out anymore? They're all over the state. (Stevie turns, his hands getting a bit expressive) I mean, just a month ago, there's this huge story about this one freak that's spitting fire out of his hands, using it to rob a bank. Kinda reminds me of those stories my dad told me about a Human Torch in one of the World Wars.
Bobby: Yeah, well, did anything see anything?
(Stevie shrugs.)
Mike: A lot of people sure seemed to think they saw it. And what about all those sasaquatch sightings up in Canada?
(Bobby laughs, albeit a bit nervously.)
Bobby: Yeah, like all those UFO sightings.
(Scott finally got into the conversation.)
Scott: You know what they say. Don't believe half of what you see, and anything you read.
(The four laugh, more or less. Mike pats Stevie on the back.)
Mike: Hey, we better go check with the promoter. I'm sure we're gonna have to get down to business soon.
Stevie: Yeah. You know something? I think we can take this guy, Mikey.
(Mike seemed pumped.)
Mike: Yeah! Let's go do this!
Bobby: Good luck, guys! (Bobby's eyes go a little wide; he's suddenly looking past them now)
Scott: Yeah, I have a feeling you're gonna need it.
Stevie: Why's that?
(Scott casually pointed behind them, even as a shadow fell over the two. Mike and Stevie spun around, to see Fred J. Dukes's mammoth frame standing over them.)
Bobby: Damn, that is one big boy, Scott.
(Fred snorted.)
Fred: Same to you, pal!
Bobby: Wha . . .?
Fred: Er, SHUT UP!
(Fred snarled, rather loudly.)
Scott: Sorry.
Fred: (Seeming to be getting even more angry) You two punks think you can take me?!
Stevie: Relax, man, we were just . . .
(Fred grabbed him around the neck, lifting Stevie off his feet.)
Fred: Just WHAT?! Callin' me a freak huh?!
Stevie: Hey, put me down, jerk!
(Mike D got up in his face, obviously not about to back down.)
Mike: You might wanna do like my partner asks, before I get upset.
Fred: Hey, man, I didn't come here lookin' for trouble. Lucky for you.
(With that, Blob somewhat casually tossed Stevie onto Mike, sending the two toppling backwards. Fred obviously found this uproariously funny, as he breaks out laughing. There's a hint of cruelty in the laughter, and very little innocence. Whatever it was, it came to a quick halt when he realized Scott was in his face a split second later. It didn't take long for Bobby and Mike to take either side, behind him. Blob quickly backed off.)
Fred: Alright, alright, geez. I didn't come here lookin' for trouble! I'll see you guys in the ring! Losers!
(Fred turned to leave. He didn't know what hit him. For the record, though, it was a rather large oil drum that bounced off his head! He staggered back, throwing a meaty forearm into the table. Scott and Bobby's half eaten greesefeast dinners went soaring through the air. Bobby didn't even see that monstrous form of Crusher Hogan appear. He immediately attacked the dazed Blob, nailing him with rights and lefts for several seconds, as the other four scrambled back.)
Crusher: You piece of trash!
(Crusher finally pulled himself away from Dukes, who was covering himself up, far more shocked than hurt from the blows.
(Although they hurt like hell.)
Crusher: Don't worry about those two teenager losers, fatty!
(Crusher turns to the nearest person, Stevie, and drops him with what could only be called a monster of a clothesline.)
Crusher: Worry about me. ONLY me! Got it?! I'm the star!! ME!!
(With that, he turns and stalks away, as Mike, Bobby and Scott rush to help the fallen Stevie. Mike turned to him as Fred slinked off into the distance.)
Stevie: Thanks, guys. What the hell is wrong with that guy? I mean, we're supposed to be his partners for cryin' out loud!
Bobby: I have no idea.
(Seeing Bobby was apparently just shaken, Mike turned to in the direction Crusher had staggered off to.)
Mike: I don't know, but he's about to have a huge problem if he keeps that up. Come on, Stevie, let's go get ready to kick some butt. . . or butts.
Stevie: Yeah. See ya guys in the audience.
(The two young would be wrestlers walked off, as Bobby shrugged.)
"Scott, Bobby."
Scott: What?
(They turned, trying to find the source of the voice.)
Bobby: What what? Er, which what?
Scott: Didn't you hear that? I thought some one called us. Sounded like . . . (Scott shook his head) Nevermind. Must just be my imagination. Let's go enjoy the park, while we still can.
(Elsewhere . .)
"I think I've pinpointed them."
(Jean opened her eyes, and removed an object from her head, gently laying it in her lap. It bore a slight resemblance to headsets, and was hooked up to the miniature gadget she and the Professor had earlier referred to as "Cerebro."
(Jean was seated in the side of the candy apple red 1991 Mercury Cougar XR7. Her professor, and the mutants they'd met only hours earlier, Warren Worthington III, and Professor Henry McCoy, were gathered around the car, their meal and introductions just over with.)
Jean: There's more, sir. Another mutant. He seems. . . malicious. Like he's about to explode. A confrontation between him and Scott . . . and Bobby .. . . Professor, I think I need to . . . . we need to be there.
Warren: Then I guess it's settled. Mr. Xavier, you've made a good point for respecting their wishes, but I don't think it would hurt to, you know, go take a look see.
(Xavier nodded, solemnly.)
Xavier: I would concur. Nevertheless, I feel we're going to need some teamwork.
Warren: And, of course, every team needs a leader, which would be you, right?
(Xavier nods, taking the good humored nature in stride.)
Xavier: I've outlined my battle experience. I'm sure Professor McCoy can verify this. If you have no objections, I believe this would be the best course of action.
(Warren nodded. There was no seriously questioning the man's qualifications for this job. Warren extended his hand. Xavier shook it.)
Warren: Then let's do this thing! I got a feeling, it's about to hit the fan.
Jean: Not if we can help it.
(She extended her hand, placing it on top of Xavier's and Warren's. Hank did the same. We'll see next issue just exactly what their team work reaps next issue.)
Copyright information The XMen (individual and team) are copyright Marvel, Comics, used here without permission and not for profit.- Connundrum Comics
Certain individuals (Stevie Sherman, Mike D) are original characters used with expressed permission of their handlers [owners])
http://pub73.ezboard.com/bnewattitudeentertainment
# # Invite everybody that you know! # #
# # Come and be down with the clownz! # #
# # Give it to me! # #
# # The magical thug carnival's in town! # #
"The Great Show" by Insane Clown Posse
(The possibility occurred to Bobby Drake about fifty miles ago that if that strange bald guy, and that beautiful redhead - her name was Jean, right? - might have been able to stop him and Scott if they'd really want to. After all, they were telepaths, right? That seemed pretty obvious. And telepaths could control minds. . . right? If they wanted to stop Scott and Bobby, they'd have done when Bobby and Scott tried to escape. Besides, they'd all battled together against that . . . robotic Apocalypse, or whatever it was. Maybe they should turn back.
(Bobby brought that up about twenty five miles ago. Scott reminded Bobby that they basically came across as trying to steal from a major corporation, and they still had to regroup and figure what they were doing. Scott admitted they probably should have stayed, but right now, it was best to stick by their decisions.
(Bobby reluctantly agreed, which was partly why they were still zipping down the highway.)
Bobby: Alright, can we slow down now? I'm sure we've more than lost them.
(No response at first. Scott looked towards the rear view mirror, obviously trying to scan behind them.)
Bobby: Seriously, we do not wanna be getting pulled over, do we?
Scott: Yeah, good point.
(As Scott finally started to slow the Porsche, Bobby noticed something a billboard fast approaching. He quickly pointed it out to Scott. . .)
Bobby: What we need is a little diversion, a chance to enjoy ourselves. (Bobby flashed a very suspicious smile) Kick back, watch a few circus babes.
(Scott's smile was a little more innocent, somehow, and definitely less heartfelt at the moment.)
Scott: I do like a good circus babe.
Bobby: I know you do!
Scott: I don't know, though, maybe we better put that on the back burner until we get out of state.
Bobby: We're already in Pennsylvania, ya know? Were you thinking Indiana, or were you planning to hang out til Detroit or Illinois?
Scott: Penn. . . right. I'm not so sure about stopping. I'm nervous enough without having to constantly worry they'll catch up with us.
Bobby: All the more reason for us to go, my man.
(Bobby smiled. He knew he had this one won.)
Scott: How so?
Bobby: Stress, Scotty. Stress. I mean, no offense, but if you're honestly worried they'd be following us this long, just waiting for us to pull over into a public hotspot . . .
(Scott almost smiled again. Almost. Bobby had a point.)
Bobby: Sides, it said there's an amusement park there, too. (Bobby nudged Scott playfully with his elbow) Win a stuffed puppy for one of those circus babes.
Scott: Ok, ok, I get the point, hotshot.
Bobby: Well, all right! Circus, here we come!
(Indeed, here they come. The question is are they ready for what they'll find? Because, you just know something is probably going to happen. Certainly a feeling Warren Worthington, III echoed, several hundreds of miles elsewhere. McCoy couldn't help but reflect on what had happened, to bring Xavier back into his life, and the especially odd circumstances surrounding the memorable moment. Circumstances he now felt obliged to explain to Warren.
(Not that the words were coming easy for the normally outspoken scientist. Right now, he and Warren sat across from one another at a table in a fairly typical quiet little diner. The professor and that young redhead would be there soon, Hank figured, so now might be a good time to catch his friend up.
(Still, they sat there, nothing said, waiting. That is, until Warren decided to break the ice.
(Ok, bad choice of words.)
Warren: I just thought of something. The way we took off from the scene, I hope we don't get the blame for this by the cops.
Hank: (Shaking his head) A valid concern. (he shakes the worry off, nevertheless) Still, I'm sure once you give them a call and work your golden toothed magic, the formalities will straighten themselves out in no time.
Warren: Yeah, I hope. . . In the meantime, what's up with this Xavier fellow?
(Hank rubbed his temple with an oversized hand.)
Warren: Long story?
Hank: Complex story, at any rate.
Warren: Then give me the express version. I'm sure our guests'll be showing up any minute.
Hank: (unconsciously shifting his eyes around the room) It was right before the end of high school. Remember me mentioning the incident of a group named Onslaught?
Warren: Your father's group?
Hank: (expectedly bitter) That would be them. Yes.
Warren: I remember them, but it's been over a decade since they've been together, you said. Any reason their name comes up now?
Hank: Remember a telepaths named Cerebro?
Warren: Yeah, why?
(It only takes a second for Warren to put two and two together.)
Warren: Wait, so he's related to this, right? Was it that redhead's father or something? No? It wasn't the old man, was it?
(Hank nodded, almost solemnly.)
Hank: T'was a while ago, wasn't it? I don't know if they're related, though I'm assuming they're not.
(Warren looks towards the window, where he sees the two pulling into the parking lot.)
Warren: They don't look it.
Hank: Anyway, to summarize, this was the individual that helped a much wilder Henry McCoy than the charming physiological specimen you see before you.
Warren: "A much wilder" Henry McCoy? There's a scary thought.
Hank: More than you know. He was a huge help when I was younger. .. . when I had to find myself, so to speak. (Hank pauses to reflect) He even helped me get into a respectable college.
Warren: Really? This IS getting interesting.
(Warren looks up to see Xavier and Jean enter.)
Hank: Looks like it's about to get even more interesting, too.
Warren: Right. Guess the rest of the story will have to wait.
(We'll leave that story, and turn our attention to another part of our story . .
(Fred J. Dukes wasn't particularly enjoying the afternoon per say. After all, the same problems that were here every night were here tonight, and pretty much en mass. For one he was sharing a dressing room again, and once again it wasn't with any of the chicks, and two, it was probably gonna rain out, and three, he hadn't gone out, but he was sure the people were gonna be especially assmoronic tonight. Four, it was . . . . Ah, he had something he wanted to fume over, but he couldn't remember it. Stupid racket outside.
(Still, he was pretty sure that was problem number five or six, not four. Fred shook his head - this was getting to be a headache. Maybe hitting the boys up for some more taffy apples would cheer him up, even if they were being way too stingy with the freebies, Dukes thought as he wondered off.
(The other occupant of the dresser room just barely looked up in response to him randomly storming off. The unmistakable features of Crusher Hogan. Hardly the life the until - recently successful wrestler was used to. He'd told himself to put the past out of the picture, but what had he come to?
(Wrestling with a couple of scrawny nobodies, against some oversized kid. Please. They could take all three of them, and anyone else they could find, and Crusher'd take them all apart. Just like he woulda taken that punk Spider kid apart without any problem two months ago. Ohe month ago? However long it was. This wasn't a chance to redeem himself, or recapture the so recently lost spotlight. At least it was a few bucks, and a chance to keep from dying of boredom.
(Not that the prospect of beating up some over rated fat kid seemed very entertaining. Suddenly, Crusher threw his beer can, only half empty, to the floor. The more he thought about it . . . the more he was looking forward to making the most out of some raw bodies.
(Maybe I'll beat those two kids to a pulp too, just for a treat for all these drunks, he thought to himself. "Yeah, That sounds like a lot more fun."
(There was no denying, this particular circus/ carnival felt sleazy and amateurish. Still, they seemed to be making the most of what they had. Scott and Bobby found a row of tables to sit down at, not long after paying their entrance fee. The food smelled a lot better than Bobby expected. It also smelled greasy. Very greasy.
Bobby: See? Don't you feel better already?
Scott: Honestly? No.
(Awkward silence. Scott breaks it.)
Scott: Although it's been a while since I've had a pizza burger. Come to think if it, I'm not sure I ever have had a pizza burger.
(Bobby smiles. Maybe it's a bit of a fake smile, but his intentions at least are noble. Scott responds, not by smiling, but at least by easing up on that dejected, depressed, ultra serious look that had been on his face since . . . let's see, how long had Bobby known him now?
(Maybe that was a tad of an exaggeration, but not much.)
"Hey, guys, mind if I join you?"
(Bobby looked up to see a fairly powerful figure. Kid looked stronger than Scott, or Warren for that matter. More than that, he looked in shape.
(Probably Bobby's age.)
Bobby: Sure, why not? Don't mind Prince Charming here. (Bobby puts his hand over his mouth) Girl problems. Ya know how they are.
(The newcomer sat down. Most of his hair was blond - with a dark brown streak up each side. He had on jeans, and a hooded sweatshirt.)
"Thanks. Oh, I'm Stevie Sherman. I just signed to wrestle here, but to be honest. . . . (Stevie glances over at the fairly large circus tent) Too many idiots back there for my taste."
Bobby: There's gonna be wrestling tonight? Wow . . . This place might actually be worth the cover price.
Scott: We'll see . . .
(Stevie smiles.)
Stevie: So you're gonna check it out, right?
Bobby: Damned right! Pardon my language.
Scott: (half heartedly) Can't hurt, I guess.
Stevie: You gotta check it out! Crusher Hogan's gonna be in the match!
Bobby: No way! I thought he killed himself after losing to some teenager.
Stevie: I heard the kid was some kinda freak, anyway. But I guess he's alive. Of course, I didn't wanna get close enough to him to find out the hard way.
(Stevie shook his head, not enjoying the memory of his almost- meeting with the fallen superstar.)
Bobby: Big star syndrome? Fame, always goes to their head.
Stevie: More like dejected star syndrome. Didn't you hear? After he got his butt handed to him by that rookie freak, he ended up being tossed out of the federation. Not even a week later. Of course, HE thinks it's because of the loss, and his attitude had nothing to do with it. (Stevie shakes his head) I feel sorry for that Blob kid. Good as he is, this one's gonna get ugly. I'm just glad I'm on his side.
Bobby: Why are you on his side, anyway? If anything, I'd figure they'd match Crusher against the three small timers. (Bobby pauses) Er, no offense intended.
(Stevie laughs.)
Stevie: None taken, and to be honest, I don't know. I guess cause Blob's so . . . big. Strong as an ox, too.
Bobby: I'm sure you'll take him.
Stevie: I hope so.
"I know so."
(Scott didn't even seem to notice the new voice. Bobby and Stevie, however, looked up to see the newcomer. He looked rather short, standing maybe five foot six, but he looked a fair deal stronger than Stefan, too. Long stringy black hair hung unkempt over a confident face. The inexperienced showed, sure, but it didn't seem like something that'd affect him. He had on a cheap looking shirt that said, "Mickey D.")
Stevie: Oh, Mike. Guys, this's my partner tonight, Mike.
(The two quickly grasp hands.)
Stevie: What's up, Mike?
Mike: Not much, partnah. Just thinking about how we're gonna tear the place up tonight. I think I know what we need to do.
Stevie: Yeah? Good to hear. Oh, this's Bobby and Scott. They're passing through town, thought they'd give our match a looksee.
Mike: Hiya, guys, and I think you'll like what you see! Me and you, Stevie, I've been thinking. I think we tear this Blub a new hole before that drunken nobody has a chance to get to the ring! You down with that?
(Stevie sits back down, a worried look on his face.)
Stevie: I don't know. This Blob's a tough kid. I don't think we could take him alone.
Mike: Sure we can. He's just a fat kid.
(Stevie turns to Bobby.)
Stevie: Actually, this kid picked up a car off the ground last week.
Bobby: Wow. . .
Scott: Yeah, well, that sounds a whole lot like special effects to me.
Mike: Exactly! I can't prove it, but something's not on the up and up.
Stevie: Maybe he's one of those freaks, like I was telling you about.
Bobby: Uh . . . freaks?
Stevie: Yeah. Geez, don't you guys get out anymore? They're all over the state. (Stevie turns, his hands getting a bit expressive) I mean, just a month ago, there's this huge story about this one freak that's spitting fire out of his hands, using it to rob a bank. Kinda reminds me of those stories my dad told me about a Human Torch in one of the World Wars.
Bobby: Yeah, well, did anything see anything?
(Stevie shrugs.)
Mike: A lot of people sure seemed to think they saw it. And what about all those sasaquatch sightings up in Canada?
(Bobby laughs, albeit a bit nervously.)
Bobby: Yeah, like all those UFO sightings.
(Scott finally got into the conversation.)
Scott: You know what they say. Don't believe half of what you see, and anything you read.
(The four laugh, more or less. Mike pats Stevie on the back.)
Mike: Hey, we better go check with the promoter. I'm sure we're gonna have to get down to business soon.
Stevie: Yeah. You know something? I think we can take this guy, Mikey.
(Mike seemed pumped.)
Mike: Yeah! Let's go do this!
Bobby: Good luck, guys! (Bobby's eyes go a little wide; he's suddenly looking past them now)
Scott: Yeah, I have a feeling you're gonna need it.
Stevie: Why's that?
(Scott casually pointed behind them, even as a shadow fell over the two. Mike and Stevie spun around, to see Fred J. Dukes's mammoth frame standing over them.)
Bobby: Damn, that is one big boy, Scott.
(Fred snorted.)
Fred: Same to you, pal!
Bobby: Wha . . .?
Fred: Er, SHUT UP!
(Fred snarled, rather loudly.)
Scott: Sorry.
Fred: (Seeming to be getting even more angry) You two punks think you can take me?!
Stevie: Relax, man, we were just . . .
(Fred grabbed him around the neck, lifting Stevie off his feet.)
Fred: Just WHAT?! Callin' me a freak huh?!
Stevie: Hey, put me down, jerk!
(Mike D got up in his face, obviously not about to back down.)
Mike: You might wanna do like my partner asks, before I get upset.
Fred: Hey, man, I didn't come here lookin' for trouble. Lucky for you.
(With that, Blob somewhat casually tossed Stevie onto Mike, sending the two toppling backwards. Fred obviously found this uproariously funny, as he breaks out laughing. There's a hint of cruelty in the laughter, and very little innocence. Whatever it was, it came to a quick halt when he realized Scott was in his face a split second later. It didn't take long for Bobby and Mike to take either side, behind him. Blob quickly backed off.)
Fred: Alright, alright, geez. I didn't come here lookin' for trouble! I'll see you guys in the ring! Losers!
(Fred turned to leave. He didn't know what hit him. For the record, though, it was a rather large oil drum that bounced off his head! He staggered back, throwing a meaty forearm into the table. Scott and Bobby's half eaten greesefeast dinners went soaring through the air. Bobby didn't even see that monstrous form of Crusher Hogan appear. He immediately attacked the dazed Blob, nailing him with rights and lefts for several seconds, as the other four scrambled back.)
Crusher: You piece of trash!
(Crusher finally pulled himself away from Dukes, who was covering himself up, far more shocked than hurt from the blows.
(Although they hurt like hell.)
Crusher: Don't worry about those two teenager losers, fatty!
(Crusher turns to the nearest person, Stevie, and drops him with what could only be called a monster of a clothesline.)
Crusher: Worry about me. ONLY me! Got it?! I'm the star!! ME!!
(With that, he turns and stalks away, as Mike, Bobby and Scott rush to help the fallen Stevie. Mike turned to him as Fred slinked off into the distance.)
Stevie: Thanks, guys. What the hell is wrong with that guy? I mean, we're supposed to be his partners for cryin' out loud!
Bobby: I have no idea.
(Seeing Bobby was apparently just shaken, Mike turned to in the direction Crusher had staggered off to.)
Mike: I don't know, but he's about to have a huge problem if he keeps that up. Come on, Stevie, let's go get ready to kick some butt. . . or butts.
Stevie: Yeah. See ya guys in the audience.
(The two young would be wrestlers walked off, as Bobby shrugged.)
"Scott, Bobby."
Scott: What?
(They turned, trying to find the source of the voice.)
Bobby: What what? Er, which what?
Scott: Didn't you hear that? I thought some one called us. Sounded like . . . (Scott shook his head) Nevermind. Must just be my imagination. Let's go enjoy the park, while we still can.
(Elsewhere . .)
"I think I've pinpointed them."
(Jean opened her eyes, and removed an object from her head, gently laying it in her lap. It bore a slight resemblance to headsets, and was hooked up to the miniature gadget she and the Professor had earlier referred to as "Cerebro."
(Jean was seated in the side of the candy apple red 1991 Mercury Cougar XR7. Her professor, and the mutants they'd met only hours earlier, Warren Worthington III, and Professor Henry McCoy, were gathered around the car, their meal and introductions just over with.)
Jean: There's more, sir. Another mutant. He seems. . . malicious. Like he's about to explode. A confrontation between him and Scott . . . and Bobby .. . . Professor, I think I need to . . . . we need to be there.
Warren: Then I guess it's settled. Mr. Xavier, you've made a good point for respecting their wishes, but I don't think it would hurt to, you know, go take a look see.
(Xavier nodded, solemnly.)
Xavier: I would concur. Nevertheless, I feel we're going to need some teamwork.
Warren: And, of course, every team needs a leader, which would be you, right?
(Xavier nods, taking the good humored nature in stride.)
Xavier: I've outlined my battle experience. I'm sure Professor McCoy can verify this. If you have no objections, I believe this would be the best course of action.
(Warren nodded. There was no seriously questioning the man's qualifications for this job. Warren extended his hand. Xavier shook it.)
Warren: Then let's do this thing! I got a feeling, it's about to hit the fan.
Jean: Not if we can help it.
(She extended her hand, placing it on top of Xavier's and Warren's. Hank did the same. We'll see next issue just exactly what their team work reaps next issue.)
Copyright information The XMen (individual and team) are copyright Marvel, Comics, used here without permission and not for profit.- Connundrum Comics
Certain individuals (Stevie Sherman, Mike D) are original characters used with expressed permission of their handlers [owners])
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