Author's Note: Um...my friends are the only ones who have reviewed this story so far...many thanks to them, they know who they are...hope that more people start reading though!

Disclaimer: M&M's are yellow, red, green and blue, I don't own X-Men, and neither do you.

Random Quote: "Anything which does not kill me had better do enough damage to keep me from firing back."

We find ourselves again at this most desolate of hangouts, the Polar Bar. The janitor is nowhere to be seen. However, the show has begun rather late and it is highly possible that he had something better to do than wait around and watch this sorry excuse for entertainment. Without further ado, the audience lights go down and the stage spotlight comes up on the teenage girl from last episode sitting on a four-legged stool in the middle of the stage. She is dressed in an all black outfit, with an odd little hat perched on her head. It looks a bit like one of those boats you make out of the newspaper, but I digress, and I'm sure you want to read the fic. The girl grabs the microphone and announces:

"This was a collaboration between the authoress and I, so I do take partial responsibility for it. However, I would like it known that all fluff is her fault. Thank you."

She turns, yanks down the projector screen and scuttles off the stage with her stool.

Most of the population of the teenage mutant group known as the X-Men was seated in a circle around a crackling campfire. All the normal earmarks of camping were scattered about, with pine trees, tents, a full moon and a lake. The kids conversed and laughed, grateful to be momentarily free of their responsibilities as super-heroes, not to mention the tyrannical rule of their resident quasi-drill sergeant, Wolverine. (lightning flashes and organ music sounds from off in the distance)

Tonight though, and for the rest of the week, they don't have to worry about Logan, for they are on vacation, with no adults. As the conversations wind down, a certain red haired bit- I mean, uh, wench...pipes up with an idea.

"Hey, let's, like, start making the s'mores!"

Everyone made various sounds of agreement and started rummaging in the grocery bags that were piled to one corner of the camp along with coolers of unmarked drinks. Marshmallows, graham crackers, and toasting forks were quickly produced. However one key ingredient was missing...that's right...the Hershey bars! (cough product placement!) AAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (runs in circles for a few minutes, screaming, then abruptly smacks into a brick wall that heretofore did not exist. But that's the way of such things, I suppose....)

The interrogation began immediately...presided over by the redheaded wench from before, who shall now be known as Jean. A pony-tailed girl named Kitty was appointed prosecution, for the two were cohorts in the scheme to pin the theft of the chocolate on the boys. Except for Jamie...he's cute.... Not in that way...dirty pervs.

This plot was assisted by the fact that all the boys were seated to one side of the campfire. Except for Scott...cause he's a whipped mama's boy. But he quickly scooted over to sit with his fellow phallic bearers...except for Jamie... he's toasting leaves...dirty pervs.

Kitty spoke first:

"Now, we know that at least one of you stole the chocolate that was meant for the s'mores. What we don't know is who it was. However, Jean is perfectly capable of finding out...so you may as well confess now."

Sheepishly Sam, Bobby and Scott raised their hands under the disapproving glares of the girls...and Jamie. Scott proceeded to elbow Remy, who was sitting beside him. Remy slowly looked at his assailant out of the corner of his eye (so unsettling shudder). Scott tensed.

"Oh, sorry... my arm, uh, slipped. Please don't hurt me?"

Rogue snorted softly. "He's not that scary."

Remy made a face at her. She laughed and threw a marshmallow at him, which he neatly caught in his mouth. Judging by his grin, this game would have gone on longer, but Jean just had to intervene.

"As much as I love the thought of the two of you flirting, we need to focus here. Scott Summers, Robert Drake and Samuel Guthrie are all convicted of chocolate theft. Remy LeBeau is convicted of conspiracy in the theft of chocolate. They are sentenced to the walk back into town and buy more Hershey bars. Rogue will escort them and make sure the guys don't get into too much trouble."

"Excuse me!?"

"You heard me...c'mon, it won't be that difficult."

"Says you."

"Please, Rogue?"

"Fine...if I get to keep the change."

Jean nodded, satisfied. Then Kitty leaned over to speak in her ear. They conversed quietly for a minute or so, and then both girls broke down laughing. Finally managing to get a hold of herself, Kitty stood and addressed the convicts.

"We have decided that, in addition to having to make the chocolate run, all participants shall be in costume."

"Uh..."

10 minutes later...

"Jean, I'm truly sorry I stole the chocolate, only please, please don't make me wear this into town." Scott was literally on his knees, begging for mercy from Jean. He was attired in a neon blue muumuu with a bright pink floral design. Jean was busily shaping his hair into pigtails attached with yellow, fuzzy barrettes.

Bobby and Sam were not much better off. Jubilee, Amara, John, Jamie and Rahne had been given the task of their transformation. Sam's hair was spiked with glue and spray-painted purple. His sensible jeans and flannel shirt had been traded for a green baby-T top and funky felt bellbottoms. He was also wearing black and white flip-flops.

Iceman had been forced into a padded yellow bra, with a matching set of underwear adorning his head. His face was fully made up, and there was a smiley-face sticker attached to his stomach.

Remy was the only one who wasn't completely humiliated. All they could talk him into wearing was a tinfoil tiara, fashioned by Kitty.

Finally, the costumers turned to Rogue, who backed away with her hands raised, saying:

"I'll dress myself, thank you very much."

She disappeared into the tent she shared with Kitty for about ten minutes, while the others heard various sounds associated with un-dressing and dressing, including the very clear snap of a bra-strap and a muffled oath.

Rogue stepped out from the tent in what was honestly the sexiest outfit any of them had ever seen her in. A form-fitting, maroon wool dress hugged the curves of her body, ending at mid-thigh. Zip-up black leather boots reached to her knees and long black opera gloves ended at her shoulders, emphasizing the fact that the dress was strapless. Blushing just a little bit, she executed a little twirl showing off the back of her outfit. Rogue stopped suddenly and grinned self concisely.

"Well, how'd I do?"

Her answer was five whistles, three catcalls, and a rolled-up twenty-dollar bill. The latter being from Jean (pause for dramatic effect and bad mental images) as it was the money for the Hershey bars.

Rogue shrugged off the overtures, grabbed a nearby Coleman lantern, and gestured to her walking companions.

"C'mon, time's wasting."

As one man, the guys motioned for her to go ahead. Sighing, she flicked on the lantern and started up the trail. Remy followed immediately, tailed by Sam, Bobby, and Scott.

The males of the expeditionary team were beginning to get a tad worried about their lone female companion. She had gotten ahead of the rest of them, tripped, and fallen off the trail. Her screams had resounded through the woods, startling them into running after her (Scott hiking up his muumuu to his knees and Sam sliding in ill-fitting flip flops). When they'd arrived screeching to a halt at the spot where it was clear Rogue had crashed into the underbrush, instead of screams they heard...giggling?

It was in fact, everyone's favorite Southern girl laughing, cursing and screaming all at the same time. Pretty much it went:

"(laughs) Okay...quit now, that tickles...Holy shit! What the hell?...Oh, no...(gasp)...wow, that was interes-(screech)...this is getting ridiculous...get off of me!"

And so on and so forth. To those listening who were versed in such matters, it sounded a little bit like Rogue had some 'company' in the bush with her. Sam (who wasn't) blushed crimson and said:

"I-I'm just gonna go back to camp real quick, I gotta use the bathroom..."

His blush got even worse when he realized what he'd just said, while the rest of them stared at him. Trying to fix it, he blurted out:

"Uh, I didn't mean it like that, or, I mean, not how it came out, not that I think about that or anything...oh, hell..."

Finally Sam gave up and ran for it, but since he is kind of one of those bumbling guys, he ran into a tree and knocked himself unconscious. In the meantime, the noise from behind Rogue's stand of shrubbery had quieted to silence. No one ventured a single word until she spoke.

"Remy, I need to borrow your coat."

Bobby and Scott looked surprised by the request, but Gambit obligingly took off his long jacket and handed it around a tree to Rogue. A minute later, she stepped from behind the screening plants, wrapped in the over large (on her) trench coat. It was buttoned to the neck and reached all the way to her lower calf. Noticing all the inquiring looks, she muttered:

"I got attacked by moths, okay? Just don't ask."

Without another word, she stalked off up the trail to where Sam lay under an immense pine tree. The other guys walked after her, Scott looking confused, Bobby slightly disappointed, and Remy completely neutral. After Sam was roused and set back on his feet, the five resumed walking with Rogue in the lead.

Scott noticed shortly afterward that Remy had begun grinning as he watched Rogue ahead of them (Not that the Cajun hadn't been doing that all night, but still.). The leader of the X-Men leaned in towards his companion and whispered:

"What's up?"

Remy looked over at the slightly stick-in-the-mud guy beside him and his grin grew wider. He replied:

"She's naked...in my coat."

The lights come up and the girl runs back out onto the stage (setting down her drink first). She pulls up the screen, then faces the (nonexistent) crowd.

"Thanks for coming out everyone. I have a party to get to and so if you'd all please just leave a review in the pretty box over there," she gestures at the tip receptacle, "and file on out of here, that'd be great!"

She runs off stage and out the door (stopping first to grab her drink) where the sound of a car revving and then speeding away floats back into the bar. A lone cricket chirps till the lights go dark.

Right...so, like, dislike? As aforementioned, please leave a review.