[Translations (more or less) Deutsch = English

Mein Gott = My God

danke = Thank you

nicht wahr = Isn't that right?

und = and

ja = yes

gut = good

ach = all-purpose interjection similar to "oh" or "tch"

auf Wiedersehen = goodbye (for now)

Frau = Mrs.

bitte = please ]

[Also: a vardo is a gypsy wagon; "en pointe" and "jeté" are ballet terms. As my Daddy used to tell me, "Look 'em up in the dictionary."]

Kurt stood on tiptoe, gritted his teeth – which wasn't such a bright idea considering the bruise from which a few drops of blood still dripped – and head-butted a hanging basket of rosemary, the force slamming it into one of the windows. After a few quick thrusts of his sinewy arms, the jagged glass left in the frame sawed through his plastic manacles. [footnote 2] The three hooligans vacillated between guarding their neural disruptor and recapturing him. They were weaponless, having tossed their odd guns aside in the surprise of his pitching the huge pot. He tumbled between two of the enemy, his large-knuckled fists shooting out to catch each of them in a sensitive area: the nose for one, and under the chin for the other. They reeled backwards, leaving barely enough room for the acrobat to sprint past them and bounce to a perch on the remnant of the overturned pot, which lay in a semi-circle like a clay cave.

His prehensile feet lapped around the smooth terracotta edge, but his eyes were not as sharp as usual and he was forced to scrabble around inside the broken vessel to grope for anything unusual. He felt something hard and solid amongst the tiny pieces of pottery scraping at his fingers, and extracted an object, obviously the source blocking his mutant abilities. The box, about three inches tall and five inches wide, had several small buttons and connected to some kind of funnel. By this time all three intruders had regained their weaponry and were advancing toward him.

He silently counseled himself, Think quickly! Throw them off their guard.

"Mein Gott!" he cried in a voice that almost made the glass door shake. Holding the purloined object aloft, he raised his head toward the heavens, visible through the hothouse ceiling. "Thank You, Mighty One, for helping this poor deformed soul to find the scourge which these evildoers would unleash on your defenseless servant." Exaggerated, yes, but his time as an illusionist had taught him that theatricality was most imperative when performing sleight of hand. The three thugs were within firing range, should they choose to air-condition his hide by way of several holes, but their attention was focused on his broad movements. He made a swooping Sign Of the Cross, certain they focused on his movements as their faces traced the path of his prayer. He slapped the closest combatant with his tail, which caught the weapon as it was dropped, then leveled it at the leader's brain.

"Now, would you be so kind as to slide the other guns very carefully across the floor to me? ... Danke. ... I wonder how many blasts of this weapon it would require to permanently disable your fine instrument?" He enjoyed hearing their gulps of dismay, as the Adam's apples did a dance of despair and sweat sprang out on their foreheads.

One of them clutched at thin air as if seeking a stable surface; his eyes rolled back as he dropped to the floor like a large sack of dog chow.

Kurt recalled many enjoyable hours spent building various scientific devices in the solitude of his foster mother's vardo while her children freely roamed the towns in which the circus played. He pushed a button - his eyes blurred as an inaudible vibration shook him to the roots of his teeth. His hand spasmed, toggling a small silver switch, and the pain receded. Must remember never to touch the green button again! He started to unscrew the funnel, assuming it was a type of broadcaster.

"Don't do that," the long-nosed leader yelled. "It'll blow us all up!"

The captive-turned-captor decided that, if the fellow had been in earnest, the two remaining goons would have hit the floor, rolled under a table, or at least covered their heads with their arms. Ignoring the bluff, he continued to detach the conical amplifier and was rewarded with a decreased buzzing in the back of his brain.

Who could be so clever as to create such a thing, yet be so clumsy testing it out? Aaaah - the unfashionably-dressed men were sent by someone who considered them expendable. Perhaps their stupidity could be put to good use.

A vague motion by one of his prisoners caused the tail to wave its weapon about. "Patience, my friends. I can point and shoot without even looking up. Ah, the joys of being a 'genejoke'." In his heart, he asked forgiveness for the small exaggeration. Weakened by the previous fight, possible concussion, and the object in his hand, he needed every advantage possible, including playing on the gullibility and bias of the mind washed men before him.

Elise reviewed the dwindling options for safety: elevator would be a dumb move, so would grand staircase or even the emergency stairs at the far end of each corridor. Secret Passage, then. A quick poke of the head outside the door from Nightcrawler's body-strewn living room revealed no intruders. This lull wouldn't last forever. The young woman sprinted to the third door on the right, dashed into Sweetie-Petey's room, counted out the paces measuring the distance to the hidden doorway and -

"Oh, Rasputin, you igmo!" she cried aloud in her frustration. A solid ebony chest of drawers blocked her way.

"Typical," she muttered to herself. "Just 'cause he can bust a hole in the wall, thinks it's okay to cover up the emergency escape route. When this is all over, I'll put the diamond-tip blade on my grinder and carve 'I Will Not Block Secret Exits' on his shiny silver hide! If I survive."

It was much too far to drop to the ground outside the window, even if there were time to make a bed sheet rope as they did in the movies. Wandering around the hallways would attract attention before reaching any safe place. She was cornered. At least she had some weapons, but what good would they do in the hands of one person if those jerks ended up swarming into the room?

Time to rig some defenses, plan a couple of offensive strategies, and then hope to remain unnoticed until the X-people got their freaking act together.

Thank goodness none of the bad boys knew where she was hiding.

Contrary to her assumptions, not all of the enemies' armaments were assault-oriented. One of the weapons she'd picked up on her journey over the fallen intruders transmitted location and a visual output of its surroundings.

In the stairwell at the end of the hall, a young man in hot pink sateen britches and a flowing rusty-orange paisley shirt allowed himself a secret smile of satisfaction before reporting to his leader.

Kurt spoke in the soft voice used in his mercenary days, the tone he'd perfected which told people that although he was a nice guy, that could change as fast as the snap of a neck if they got out of line.

"My jolly good fellows," he began, the British words sounding incongruous due to his German accent which spiked soft consonants and turned a sharp "s" sibilant, "nobody wants to get hurt, nicht wahr?" One nodded with the vigor of a spineless goofball, while the leader narrowed his eyes and looked puzzled at this turn of events. "So do us all a favor und pick up your comrade. March very slowly, - ja, ja, gut - over to the corner. Lay him down gently under that table of ferns. Now put your hands against the wall." Upon seeing the position they took, he sighed and added more specific instructions. "Nein, turn your backs to me and put your palms above your heads ... that's right." Gun still trained on them, he picked up a roll of Elise's ubiquitous duct tape and squatted to bind the wrists and ankles of the unconscious foe. For good measure should he awaken, the mouth received a swatch of tape.

A slight rustle behind him betrayed the advance of the leader, who had sneaked close enough to grab the gun from his tail. Nightcrawler whipped around, then jumped high in the air and landed out of reach.

But not out of range. The young man waved the weapon and growled, "Odds are even now, mutie freak."

Kurt pretended to pick the nails of his free hand with his thumb, grip still firm on the prize, and replied, "Ach, your grasp of mathematics is a bit shaky." All of a sudden, he hopped on the nearest workbench and grabbed a small pot of soil, tossed it at the henchman, then threw another at the remaining man. The leader ducked but managed to keep hold of his gun, while the second guy got beaned in the temple. He clutched his eye, whimpering, and cowered against the wall.

Since they insisted on being uncooperative, more persuasive methods would be needed, Nightcrawler decided.

The leader wiped dirt from his eyes and wiggled his shoulders to dislodge more. He blinked and blinked – a good thing, because he couldn't focus well enough to take a useful shot.

Kurt's gaze flitted about the area, landing on a possible solution. If his plan worked, the gunman's vision would grow worse in a matter of moments.

The cook, a confirmed spinster, was wondering why she kept ending up in men's bedrooms today. At least she hadn't been forced to take refuge in Logan's – oh, the thought of being stuck in that smelly den of dishevelment!

What could be useful here? A portrait of Kitty Pryde stood half-finished ... less than half ... an odd use of empty space ... ah! Rasputin had left room to paint himself in next to the spunky brunette. Elise would never understand the need most people felt for romance, sex, or both. Life was too full of other things without having to drag another person along. Although at the moment, another person – preferably one with superhuman powers – might be a good thing. She pulled the portrait into the small shaft of light from the hallway, then lugged a full-length mirror near the corner of the bed, hidden in the canvas's shadow. At this stage of the game, anything could be used in self-defense. Thinking of ways to use the unique tools would be the challenge.

But this little woman loved challenges.

As the greenhouse standoff continued, Kurt pondered a strange coincidence: a few nights ago, while the cook brought enchiladas into the dining room, one of the X-men had teased her about the potency of her home-grown peppers. Another thought it wonderful that she used them as an organic pest spray.

These silk and satin fellows were certainly pests. And the spray bottle he spied a couple of tables away showed a hand drawn label which featured skull and crossbones shaped like hot peppers. To hide his true intention, he armed himself with a trowel hooked in his tail and another mini-pot in his hand.

"Yeah, that's really gonna scare me, you scruffy blue monster!" the leader hissed. His eyes squinted due to the dirt still trickling off his matted hair.

Kurt leaped to the bottle, caught it in one prehensile foot, and jetéd toward the hoodlums, landing en pointe as he spritzed their eyes. Some people considered his feet misshapen, but at times like this, they were quite useful, graceful even.

With yelps of pain and surprise, both invaders crumbled to the floor, rubbing their eyes, the gun forgotten. The Incredible Nightcrawler divested himself of his impromptu weapons and took up the duct tape, easily wrestling them until each had joined the fellow conspirator in helpless immobilization.

It required a few extra moments to disentangle himself from the bits and pieces of silvery tape clinging to various parts of his anatomy. In a conversational tone, he said, "Ach, people whose bodies are covered in fur do not fare well attempting to duct tape others who lack that kind of skin." He found a water tap and some clean cloth, then squatted on the floor to cleanse the eyes of his two moaning prisoners. They squirmed and blinked, but at last lay still.

"I shall send someone to transport you to a place of more comfort when able. For now, my associates must be informed that I am free." He picked up the anti-mutant apparatus, smiled and waved, acting insouciant despite the raw wrists and bruised lip. "Auf Wiedersehen." BAMF!

Although he would have loved to smash the offending device, he 'ported straight to the room where he and Dr. Hank McCoy had fought, knowing the genius would want to disassemble a working model, not re-assemble a broken jumble. Scott was there as well, so Kurt filled them both in on events which had occurred after he had been dispatched to guard Elise. He placed the two portions of the mechanism on a writing desk in front of McCoy, saying, "If I may offer advice, avoid the green button."

Hank nodded, then twisted the horn-shaped piece a bit, apparently fascinated to the point of ignoring the man who had brought it.

"I shall return to the rescuing of the cook," Kurt announced, shuffling toward the double doors to the parlor. Jaunting here, even with that infernal device partly disabled, had taken a lot out of him; climbing walls would surely not be as much of a strain, and give him a chance to scope out any ruffians still creeping around.

Cyclops leaned over the gadget which Beast had already taken apart using a letter opener, a few paper clips, and a plastic ruler. "Not so fast, Nightcrawler." He tilted his head and addressed the scientist. "This contraption interfered with his powers when he was in the greenhouse, but not ours. Now he's back to teleporting, but we haven't heard a peep from Jean."

"Nor have we received communication by our esteemed Professor," Beast added, scratching his chin. "It could have been synchronized with brainwaves specific to certain types of aptitude; however, I do find it perplexing that neither one has contacted us telepathically for quite some measure of time. We must deduce that an alternate means of subjugating their ability is in place."

"Then we look for them the old-fashioned way. I'll do the east wing downstairs and contact Rogue to take the second floor since she can fly. Kitty can phase through the third floor rooms quickly enough." Cyclops pointed to the newest X-man. "You search this section."

"I would prefer Rogue's assignment, since I left our—"

The chief stared through his ruby quartz lenses, put his hands on his hips, and frowned. "You've spent quite a bit of time in this area since you arrived. Rogue is familiar with the rooms on her floor. Take orders and we'll dissect the plan at debriefing, okay?" He clapped the athletic fellow on the back, following up with a mild push toward the door.

Kurt half-turned to salute over his shoulder, then left to explore the myriad rooms. Either luck was with him, or St. Anthony – the patron saint of lost objects – heeded his quick prayer, for in the Professor's study he found the two missing persons. Jean, lovely in her uniform with a pattern of swirled "X"s in shades of lavender, pale green, and peach, lay slumped, tied up in a wingback chair. Kurt ran his fingers through a lock of the irresistibly luscious red hair, then patted her cheek. "Frau Summers? Mindbender? Can you hear me?" He propped himself on the maroon leather chair arm, feeling woozy.

There was a pungent odor hanging about. He hurried to open some windows, then untied the lady and turned to the Professor, whose head was tossed back over the rear of the custom electric wheelchair to which his hands were strapped, slight snores escaping from his slack mouth.

They showed no sign of rousing. He patted every pocket of his uniform, but found no X-comm. He was loathe to shout to Scott in case there were still enemies lurking close by. Nor could he leave them alone, for the same reason. St. Jude must have been on duty this time, for the hopeless case was resolved as the lovely Ororo, known also as Storm, flew in through a large window.

"Bitte, Storm, would you be so kind as to watch these two? They must have breathed in some poisonous gas und are, how do you say it, out cold."

"I'll notify Cyclops," she said, pulling an X-comm from the belt at her slender waist.

"You are as kind and helpful as you are beautiful!"

Storm's thick lips curved into an attractive smile. "I hear you have some medical knowledge; will you help me wake them up?"

Kurt's eyes glowed, his discomfort obvious. "If you will forgive me, my lovely new friend, there is one thing I must do before all else."

[to be continued ...]

[footnote 2] Thanks to my brilliant hubby, who figured out how Kurt could get the handcuffs off. Nothing like practice, I always say. Just Kidding!