Monday, April 14, 2008
As Zartan and his Dreadnoks lay scattered about the pavement, groaning in pain, I rolled closer to Mystique. Wolverine kept popping his claws in and out.
"Tell me, Mystique, who hired you to set up Jon, the Intergalactic Gladiator?" I asked her.
"Suck my balls!" she screamed at me.
I must say, I was a little taken aback by her vulgarity. "First of all, Mystique, that kind of imagery and language is completely inappropriate here in a public setting where children might happen by. This isn't a Max comic, you know. Second, in case you haven't noticed, I don't think you have the right equipment to allow for that kind of activity."
With a sharp laugh that sounded more like a snarl, Mystique's body transformed into . . Fabio.
"I'm still not quite convinced that would satisfy the anatomically necessities to permit your directive," I told her. "I mean he is a male model."
Fabio scowled and slowly changed back to Mystique. "Get bent, Xavier. I'm not telling you anything!"
I couldn't help the smirk that crossed my lips. Rolling close to her, I reached behind her ear and pulled off the psi-blocker. Inspecting it, I saw that it had Magneto's mark on it. I crushed it between my fingers. The look of panic on her face gave me a warm, tingling feeling inside.
Telepathically I reached into her mind. She tried desperately to surpress the indetity of the person who hired her. What she didn't realize, and to be fair, most people don't, is that such action merely draws attention to what a person wants hidden. It makes mind reading much easier.
"Henchman hired you?" I said in surprise. "Of Local 432? The one who's always trying to negotiate for dental coverage? The one who stole Magdelina from me? Hmm, that could explain things. Maybe it's time to pay the Beekeeper a little visit."