The Tarot Saga: Sex and Candy

Cellophane.
Someone was crackling cellophane. He rolled onto his back, pulling his pillow
ohis his face, trying to drown out the horrific ter oer of rustling plastic. He
sank back into sleep, and back into the dream. The Monkees handed him rolls of
paper towels and told him where to find the burrow owl that had stolen his
llama. Someone shook his shoulders. Regis Philbin was in cahoots with the
burrow owl and the Amish, he had known it! Now if only he could find a clean
bathroom that had actual toilets in it and not small statues of Iron Man made
from olive l Han Hands pulled at his, he slapped them away and clutched tighter
to the pillow protecting his face. Someone was talking. It was very annoying.
He wished they would stop. The pillow was wrenched cruelly away. His draped his
arms over his eyes. Regis let him know that the Amish had stolen his pants
along with his llama. Damnable Amish and their nefarious pant-stealing ways.
His comforter left without warning. He became aware of a sudden weight descending
on him. Someone was straddling him, pressing against his hips. The sound of
cellophane mixed with the smell of cotton candy lured him away from Regis and
the Amish Menace into wakefulness. His bladder protested against the pressure
of whoever was sitting on him. Other parts of him were perfectly all right with
the situation. He managed to resist the temptation to rock up against that
delicious sensation because somewhere in his sleep addled brain, he knew who it
was.

“C’mon,
get up.” An exasperated voice from above jerked him the rest of the way into
consciousness. He felt a hand snake up his chest, weaving a light trail in his short
fur. He opened his eyes right as Kitty pinched down on his nipple with her
thumb and forefinger. She grinned down at him from her perch on his lower
belly. She had a cellophane bag of cotton candy in her hand. Her lips and
fingers were dyed blue. She twisted his nipple slightly.

“Ow!”
Kurt hissed.

“Get.
Up.” Kitty ordered, bouncing slightly and releasing his abused flesh. “Renn
Faire.”

“I’m
getting up. I’m getting up. I’m…going to pee myself if you don’t stop bouncing
on my crotch.” Kurt sat up, dumping Kitty from his lap. He shuffled towards his
bathroom. Kitty hopped off the bed and kicked her way through piles of
discarded laundry to his closet. Nothing hung from the rod within. His tricorn
rested on the shelf above. Its bright blue plumage was only a little bit bent.
She took it down and carefully straightened the feathers.style="mso-spacerun: yes"> Kurt’s shower started running. She could
hear him belt out “The Scotsman”. She helped herself to another giant mouthful
of cotton candy and tossed his hat on the bed. She picked up several CD’s he
had sitting on his nightstand. Minstrels of Mayhem, Mediaeval Baebes,
Blackmore’s Night, Dead Can Dance, The King’s Singers, and assorted burned
CD’s. Kurt had set out his “going to the Renn Faire” collection of medieval-ish
music greatness. Kurt wandered out, a towel slung low around his hips.

“I
think you should go just like that.” Kitty sucked blue sugar from her
fingers.

“Naked?”
Kurt’s tail yanked a laundry basket full of his clean but (as always) unfolded
clothes out from under his computer desk. He reached down and fished out his
linen pirate shiris bis black leather pants were already hanging off the back
of his chair. He gathered them up and headed back to the bathroom.

“You
could wear a kilt.” Kitty called. “I’m logging on your computer, I wanna see if
there’s a new Strongbad email.” She dumped the pile of clothes and amazon.com
boxes out of Kurt’s computer chair and settled down.

“No…and
fine.” He poked his head out, hairdryer in hand. “Oh, I cantay tay at the Faire
all day. I’ve got a mission coming up with Logan and Sage. I’m supposed to meet
with them tonight. Gambit might tag along.”

“Remy’s
gonna tag along to the Renn Faire?”

“No,”
Kurt laughed, the image of Remy insisting on wearing his trench coat over rented
garb during the early fall’s still lingering heat coming to mind. “He might
come on the mission. It’s turning into a Black Team thing.”

“Can
I go?” Kitty brought up Homestaunneunner. “Cool, new SB email.”

“I’ll
ask Scott and Sage, this is Sage’s pet mission. The one she was on when we
found her in Canada.” Kurt raised his voice over the dull roar of his hair
dryer. His hair was close cropped in back but hung long in his eyes. “We’re
going to Madripoor.”

Kitty
giggled her way through a Strongbad email while Kurt got ready. She was already
ready, in a shorts and a tee shirt, with plans to buy “garb”, as Kurt called
it, at the Faire. She glanced at the
clock display on the computer. Kurt was pushing 20 minutes on getting
ready.

“Gawdamn
it, Kurt. Hurry your Fuzzy-Butt up. You big girl.” She barked and logged
off the computer. “You’ve been in there 30 minutes!” She got up and pushed her
way into the bathroom where Kurt was styling his hair, clad in his leather
pants. She reached past him and picked up a tube of styling product with a
French name and a huge price tag and possibly containing otter placentas. She
gawked at it. “Seventy dollars. This shit cost seventy dollars. Confess
your girl-ness.”

“I am the very
model of a manly individual.” He ran his hands through his bangs, arranging
them how he liked. “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.”

“Such a girl.”
Kitty poked him in the side with the seventy dollar hair stuff. “And by the
way, you aren’t keeping with our deal. You promised you’d use a certain phrase
more often after we watched the Hansel and Gretel episode of Bugs Bunny.”

“Ach…in Himmel!”
Kurt cried, as unnecessarily German as possible.

“It’s
not funny out of context.” Kitty pointed out. “If you ditch us at the Faire
today just so you can slut-puppy it up with some wench, I swear I will kill
you.”

“I
will not ditch you so I can slut-puppy it up.” He stepped up behind her. He
reached out and took up the seventy dollar hair product. “Here. Hold still.” He
gently took her wild mane out of its pony tail and let it fall around her
shoulders. His tail punched the “play” button of the CD player on his bathroom
counter. The Mediaeval Baebes’ “Gaudete” began as Kurt smoothed the expensive
hair cream through Kitty’s still damp hair. Her frizzy mass eased into long
ringlets under Kurt’s careful ministrations. He rolled up the front sides of
her hair and fastened them with the rather ornate brass barrette he pulled from
one of the bathroom drawers. He arranged long face framing tendrils of loose hair
and set his chin on her shoulder as he admired his handiwork in the mirror.
“Beautiful.” He smiled. “Ach…in Himmel.” He whispered, his voice throaty and
very German. He smelled good. Very good. She’d never noticed how good he
smelled before. She couldn’t pin down exactly what it was.

“Heh.”
Kitty chuckled weakly. “Thanks.” She smiled at her reflection but was more aware
of Kurt’s body behind hers. His breath was hot on her neck as he played with
her hair. Ooooh, no you don’t, Kitty
Pryde, she chastised herself, don’t
even go there. He’s your buddy and you know about his “No X-Men” rule...

Bang!
Kitty slid past Kurt to answer his door. She phased her head through it see who
was knocking. Bobby Drake aborted his second swing of his hobbit-headed pimp
cane. Behind him lurked Dani, clad in standard cleavage enhancing wench-wear,
and Hank in a doublet, breeches, and a flat cap. Bobby himself was wearing a
jester’s hat, a tee-shirt with a picture of “Mad MacAdder”, and a bright orange
kilt. Be-tassled golf shoes graced his feet, complete with ankle socks with
little pom-poms on them. His Crown Royal dice bag hung from his belt.

“Ready
for turkey legs and wenches?” Bobby asked Kitty’s insubstantial head and
torso.

“Yup.”
Kitty quipped cheerily and withdrew back through the door. She opened it the
old fashion substantial way and stepped aside.

“Wilkommen,
Bienvenue, welcome, come on in.” Kurt intoned from within the bathroom. The
three filed in.

“How
Blazing Saddles of you, I approve.” Bobby plopped onto Kurt’s bed,
resting his chin on his cane bearing the likeness of Bilbo Baggins.

“Or
Cabaret. Interesting.” Hank observed, his blue eyes casting around
Kurt’s unkempt room. “I thought Ro had aided in your uncluttering.”

“I
got a little behind.” Kurt explained, walking out of the bathroom. He had his pirate
shirt on though open, a blue sash around his hips, skin tight leather pants,
and his tricorn perched on his head. His swords were slung from his hips in
their scabbards, firmly peace-knotted.

“If
only you had a faux-parrot to affix to your shoulder, your Slutty Pirate-Spice
look would be complete.” Dani kicked herself a path to Kurt’s couch.

“It’s
just clothes.” Kitty defended him. “It’s not like it’s dirty, just cluttered.”

“Just
very messy.” Hank found himself a clear place to sit next to Dani.

“I
like to think of it as “creatively organized”.” Kurt picked up his CDs.

Kurt!
You awake? Jean mentally sent a greeting complete with Muppet Treasure
Island background music. Mork calling Orsen, come in, Orsen...<>

I’m
awake and almost ready. Kitty and the others are here already, he sent
back. I got our CDs together.

Did
you get Veggietales?

Of
course, I’m ready to rock out with Larry the Cucumber. The others will cry for
our deaths. Kurt sniggered slightly. But, there is no greater song then “The
Pirates Who Don’t Do Anything.”

I’m
gonna go get our coupons from Scott. Be there in two shakes.

“Excuse
me, Nightcrawler?” Kurt looked over at his open door. Sage stood there. She
peered at him through her red tinted sunglasses, clad head to toe in black
leather. Kurt crossed the room, handing his CDs to Bobby.

“Ja?”
He looked down at Sage, his tail wrapping lazily around one of his legs. He
took her hand and pressed his lips to it, getting into the spirit of Renn
Faire. “Milady, how may I be of service?” Sage looked up at him impassively. He
released her hand.

“I
wanted to discuss with you Black Team’s involvement with the upcoming mission.”
She blinked and with a touch of her fingers to the air in front of her, several
holoscreens appeared. The populace of the X-Men was divided into two teams, as
far as Missions and household duties were concerned; Blue and Gold. Black Team
was a third team, though the members were also on Gold and Blue. Nicknamed
“Sneaky Team”, Black Team was led by Nightcrawler and had on its roster:
Shadowcat, Gambit, the newly arrived Wolverine, and now Sage.

“I
wanted to ask you something anyway,” Kurt said as he picked up his black
Captain’s frock coat. “Kitty wants to go.”

“You
are the Black Team Leader, it’s up to your discretion.” Sage touched one of her
holoscreens. “We planned on leaving tomorrow at 0800.”

“Fine
with me.” He paused, “Would you like to come with us to the Renaissance Faire,
Tessa?” He pulled on his coat and arranged his ruffled cuffs.

“Sage.”
She practically spat, her infamous “cool” quaked a little. “Not
“Tessa”.”

“Sedge.”
His accent mangled her name. “Would you care to attend Faire with us?” Kurt
smiled and touched his visual inducer, rendering him a fair skinned, blue-black
haired, blue-eyed version of himself. Sage almost started to say, “No” but
something about the rakish way Kurt was observing her stopped her. Though she
had little use for Nightcrawler personally, his foppish personality grated, she
was in debt to him. He had saved her life and managed to get that
strange magical power inhibiting collar off of her. She needed to speak with
him about ipooipoor, and he seemed determined to avoid her. He hadn’t spoken
more then a handful of words to her since they arrived back from Toronto. She
was surprised by his invitation, then she understood. He had already come to the
conclusion that she would decline.

“Very
well.” Sage smiled tightly, “Give me a few moments and I’ll apanypany all of
you to the Faire. Perhaps we may discuss the Mission there, Nightcrawler.”

“Kurt.”
Kurt said firmly. “My name is Kurt.”

“Very
well, Kurt.” Sage acquiesced, “I will go and change.”

**

“Uniform?”
Logan peered at Scott suspiciously. “The Elf didn’t mention nothing about a
uniform.”

“It’s
just a leather-ish body armor laden pants and shirt ensemble.” Scott
explained.. “It’s not like I’m asking you to squeeze into spandex.” The X-Men
Field Leader opened a metal case. They were in the med-lab. Hank McCoy created
the uniforms for the X-Men using the unstable molecular formula invented by a
member of the well known superhero team, The Fantastic Four. He just added in a
healthy dose of Kevlar and made the uniforms aesthetically acceptable.

“Reed
Richards didn’t make this, did he?” Logan backed away from Scott cautiously.

“Reed?
He invented the process but he didn’t, I repeat did not make our
uniforms.” Scott seemed as vehemently opposed to Reed-wear as Logan. He handed
Logan a rather unremarkable black leather pair of pants, short sleeved shirt
and jacket. Wolverine inspected them, they seemed perfectly harmless and
relatively inoffensive. The jacket seemed cozy enough, lots of pockets, and had
a faint black-on-black “X” insignia on the upper sleeves. “Hank can crea
tr
trench coat or duster for you, if you like. It’s how some of the guys
personalize their uniforms. You just get with him about the design and number
of pockets.” Scott continued as he handed Logan a smaller silver case. “Your
comlink unit.” He explained. “You, uh, familiar with Reed’s …work?”

“Yeah,
I’ve seen it.” Logan slipped the comlink case into the jacket’s pocket.

“Scott!”
Jean slid into the room, almost crashing into one of the exam tables. Her
velvet “kung-fu” mary janes had practically no traction. She was wearing a
tightly laced black brocade bodice over a very poofy-sleeved chemise, and two
green skirts, the top skirt bustled up into her brown leather belt. Her head
sported rather lopsidedly a dried flower wreath. “Heed! Coupons! Noooooow!” she
bellowed in her best faux-Scottish accent. Scott yanked his wallet from his
pocket. He pulled out a few bright yellow Renn-Faire coupons and handed them
over to his wife. Jean tucked them into her cleavage.

“I
want those honey-roasted almonds.” Scott grinned and gave her a quick kiss.

“Hey,
Logan.” Jean greeted, dried baby’s breath scattering with every movement of her
head. “Want to go to the Renn Faire with us?”

“Nah,
thanks though, Jeannie. Just getting my general issue from Cyke here.” Logan
held up his bundle of leather duds.

“Ooo,
did you show him the old uniforms?” Jean cackled evilly. “They were…special.”

“God
no, I want to keep him. Not send him running screaming back to Canada.” Scott
closed the metal case. “We never actually wore them except for that one
try-on session. Hank just copied the material for our actual uniforms. Piotr’s
was my favorite.”

“I
had a certain fondness for yours, Scott.” Jean giggled. “I have to show
him. I gotta.”

Logan,
I’m going to show you the scene teleicalically, ok? Jean’s voice resonated
inside his mind. It was faintly unnerving. Close your eyes, it helps.

“Yeah,
sure.” He said aloud, unsure on how to communicate telepathically back. He sat
down and closed his eyes. Like a weird sort of inner cinema, a scene began to
unfold behind his clenched eyes.

**

“Holy
Dayum, I am The Sexy.” Scott announced, looking down at his bright blue
wonder-suit. “It’s sort of like a scuba outfit gone horribly awry.” He adjusted
his yellow panty. “What’s with the diaper?” His head looked freakishly small
trapped inside its confining skull condom. His canary colored huge
goggle-like visor gleamed majestically in the med-lab lighting. He checked
himself out in the large dressing mirror Hank had set up. “Holy fuck!” he
squeaked and then burst into loud peals of laughter. The rest of the X-Men
stared in gaped-mouth wonder. Screams of laughter erupted from the small
assembled crowd that sat and stood in the med-lab. Scott, red-faced from
laughing himself, strutted around proudly. “I’m not sure what to do with these
yellow strap things.”

“I
covet the coolness of thee!” Bobby jumped up and walked over to Hank, who had
his face pressed against his desk, his shoulders shaking. “Gimmee!” Hank kicked
over a relatively small case at Bobby. He gleefully snatched it up and dashed
into the private exam room they were using as a dressing area. Everyone could
hear him squeal with delight. He pranced out only a few minutes later, wearing
an ice blue unitard bodysuit with a big white “X” across the chest and knee
boots. “Check it out guys!” He iced up, the unitard disappeared, leaving only a
translucent brief in its wake. “An Ice Panty!” Hank fell on the floor and
howled. Jean sprayed the back of Kurt with a mouthful of soda. Kurt took no
notice aawkeawked, open mouthed. Remy decided it was time to start drinking.

Warren
braved the dressing room next. He came out with a look of utter disbelief.
“This is fucking indecent.” He muttered. His costume was another tighter then
skin-tight bodysuit that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. It was
blue and white and spora bia big golden halo in the center of his chest. His
blond hair poked frumpily out of his partial head condom. Even his wings looked
indignant. Scott had to lay down. Bobby took pictures. Kurt continued to gawk.
Jean twitched slightly from the floor. Hank made pathetic little mewling noises
and gasped for air. The rest looked for exits and other routes of escape.

Piotr,
Remy and Kurt decided to attack the costumes together. There was a sudden burst
of rapid fire Russian, French, and German expletives from the exam room.

“I
do not see how this is supposed to stay on.” Piotr’s anguished voice drifted
out.

“I
don’t understan’ how t’get get dis thing on my head. It keep pullin’ at my
hair. An’ these be some complicated boots.” Gambit just seemed slightly
confused, “An’ why is it pink?”

“Wow,
these are some seriously improbable epaulettes.” Kurt appeared mystified. “And
they’re pointing at my crotch.”

Gambit
walked out first, “Piotr an’ Kurt are havin’ some technical difficulties, but
dey be out soon.” He lumbered around in what looked like heavy metal knee
boots, black pants and a bright pink body armor top with a weird neckpiece. His
reddish hair stuck awkwardly out of another partial head condom. He had his
trench coat covering the entire outfit. “Mm, dis thing is just plain retarded.”
The lacelace rejoiced. Gambit smirked. Luckily, the Cajun had been born
completely shame-deent.ent.

“I
cannot come out like this. I just….” Piotr called out from the room. “I cannot
even begin to describe the wrongness of this…thing.”

*BAMF*

“Uh
oh, looks like Kurt went over d’wall.” Remy chuckled.

“He
said he needed a “prop”.” Piotr explained. “All right, I am coming out now.”
Everyone waited with baited breath.

It
was worth the wait. Piotr’s face was bright red. It matched the bright red of
the huge “V” that was his costume. A giant red “V” that thrust from each
shoulder and met at a point right at his nether regions. The “V” pointed at his
red Speedo. He had what looked like red Go-Go boots. A yellow mock
turtleneck-type dickie filled in the “V”. Bobby stood and saluted. Piotr scowled.
‘Ro nearly swallowed her tongue. The rest applauded.

*BAMF*

Kurt
appeared, brandishing a rapier and a black mullet wig. He wore a black painted-on
body suit and little white mittens and socks. Like Piotr, Kurt also had a giant
crotch pointing “V”. Unlike Piotr, Kurt didn’t have a modesty sparing padded
Speedo. Everything, right down to Kurt’s religion, was revealed. Remy covered
Jean’s eyes. Rogue wolf whistled. Dani whipped out her digital camera.

“Greetings,
Mein Freunds! Vhat do you think?” He cried, excessively German. “I liebe zis
costume more zen unwashed Lederhosen! I zink zah ladies will love it, Ja?” He collapsed
onto Jean’s lap, waggling his eyebrow. “I am zee Uber-Sexy, Ja?”

“You
are zee Uber-ham.” Jean shoved him off her lap. She stole his mullet and put it
on.

“Honey-Baked,
baby.” He retorted in his normal voice with its soft accented lilt. “Unhand my
hair-do, you mullet swiping fiend.” Kurt snatched his wig back.

“Well,
that answers my question on if he had any “special” piercings.” Dani observed,.
“Reed Richards designed these, huh?”

“They
say genius can breed insanity.” Kurt said from the floor, using his faux-mullet
to cover his naughty-bits. “Speaking of Hank...”

“Your
turn, Dr. McCoy.” Bobby made a face and plucked at his costume. “I have an
X-wedgie in my X-costume. This thing makes my swe sweat.”

Hank
wiped tears from his eyes and stifled another round of guffaws. He reached down
and held up a tiny bundle of navy blue.

“What’s
that?” Scott asked.

“My
costume.” Hank held up a teeny pair of
dark blue short-shorts. “I’m disinclined to don such, ahem, diminutive duds.
For some reason beyond my mere mortal comprehension, Dr. Richards has concluded
that The Beast needs hot pants...and a little belt with the obligatory “X”. And
here I deduced that disco was dead.”

“I
am without words, Hank.” Scott took the little panty and held it up with two
fingers.

“Allow
me to lend you a few of mine: deranged, debacle, diabolical diaper of doom...” Hank
shook his head.

“It
seems today’s alliteration will be brought to you today by the letter “D”.”bby bby observed.

“Ladies’
turn.” Remy yanked off his head condom. “I have got t’see dis.”

The
women assembled in the exam room, what followed was a series of giggles,
horrified shrieks, incredulous gasps, and moans as they struggled to adorn
themselves with their ill-conceived costumes.

“Shazam!”
Jean leapt out. She had an all over orange-ish body suit highlight with some
sort of blue body thong, moderate epaulettes, high heeled boots and another of
the popular quasi-head condom. Her red hair jutted out of the top and flopped
around her shoulders. She bounced over to Kurt and poked him with her epaulette.
He took to the challenge and their duel was on: pointy shoulder thing vs.
pointy shoulder thin/p> /p>

“Behold
my Injun-ness.” Dani dead-panned, strolling covered head to doe-skin covered
toe in fringe layered orange spandex. “I feel like a doofier and sluttier version
of Apache Chief.”

“The only Superfriend
lamer then Marv, Wendy, and Wonder Dog.” Bobby informed the crowd wisely. “Holy
Stereotype, Batman.”

“Enuch Chuck!”
Dani cried and collapsed against Bobby, who patted her back consolingly.

“I
think my soul just died.” Warren said, holding Hank’s clipboard over his groin.
The rest of the women filed out, cussing and red faced. They were dressed
similarly to Jean, just with different coloring and accessories. Storm counted
no less then thirty-three lightening bolt motifs on her costume. Rogue tried to
hide her green and yellow suit under her leather bomber jacket. The med-lab
door opened and Professor Charles Xavier wheeled in, a manila envelope on his
lap.

“Henry,
I brought down that file that we were discuss-...” Charlesoiceoice died away as
he took in the room. “Oh, dear, someone’s let Reed play with fabric again.”

**

< The
scene faded from Logan’s mind.

“I,
uh, well...” He looked down at the boring black leather in his arms with
renewed appreciation. Jean grinned.

“Whenever
anyone bitches about their uniforms, Jean provides a gentle mental reminder of
what could be.” Scott tossed Jean the keys to the Mansion’s van. “How
many of you guys are going?”

“Lessee:
Me, Kurt, Bobby, Kitty, Dani, Hank...I think that’s it.” Jean readjusted her
off-kilter head wreath. “Wish you could go.”

“Me,
too.” Scott handed Logan a thick packet. “Here’s the rest of your Indoc stuff.
Bobby already put you in the system, right?”

“Yeah.”
Logan was still reeling from Jean’s mental display of superhero costuming gone
terribly wrong. “You said you wanted to show me the grounds? You wanted my opinion
on some shit?”

“Ok,
you two...I’m out of here.” Jean shuffled off, her velvet slippers sliding
precariously along the super slick floor of the med-lab.

“Bye,
Hon.” Scott turned towards Wolverine. “Absolutely. I’m going to give you the
guided tour. If what Kurt and Jean say about you is true then we could really
use you and your experience around here.” t pat paused and rubbed the back of
his neck. Logan could smell the lightest trace of fear on the young leader.

“What’s
eatin’ you, Cyke.” Wolverine shoved the uniform under his arm. “I noticed Chuck
ain’t come to greet me or Sage. Not even here.” He tapped his temple.

“Yeeeah,
you came at a very weird time.” Scott sighed, “I hate keeping things from them.”

“The
Prof ain’t at a conference in Virginia, is he?”

“No,
he’s not. He was...but then something happened. He stopped answering his
cell phone and didn’t respond to email. He’s always very good about keeping in
contact with us. We’re his kids.”

“So,
he’s not at the conference...where is he?” Logan leaned back against an exam
table, “Can’t you use that Mutant Detector thing?”

“Cerebro?
Yeah, I did. He’s not there. According to Cerebro, he’s not anywhere.”
Scott said.

“Dead?”

A
shadow of grief flickered across Scott’s face, “That’s what I thought at first,
when I first tried Cerebro two weeks ago. Then Jean came to me a few days ago
and tells me that the Professor contacted her by telepathy to tell her about you.
He wanted me to arrange a little rescue mission and send Kurt. She said he was
very explicit that it be Kurt specifically. The Professor was still not showing
up on Cerebro. I just don’t see how someone could trick Jean by impersonating
Charles telepathically.”

“You
opted to not tell the troops out of fear of them losing morale.” Logan scratched
at a bit of ble,ble, “But when Jeannie comes to you saying Chuck talked to her,
you decided to go ahead and send the elf anyway.”

“Kurt’s
very good at self-preservation.” Scott opened Hank’s little minifridge and helped
himself to a Coke.

“You
used the Elf as bait. Flush out what wanted him if it wasn’t Chuck that talked
to Jean.” Logan peeked into the fridge. “But you didn’t tell him, ‘cause you
were dealin’ with a possible telepath and didn’t want his mind read and showin’
your hand.”

“Well,
yes.” Scott sipped his Coke. “Sounds mercenary doesn’t it?”

“Nah.
It’s how ya play the game.” Logan popped open the lone beer he found. “Jeannie deciding
she wanted to go with complicated matters?”

“Boy
Howdy, but I had to let her. If I put up too much of a fight, she might read my
mind.” Scott set his can down and crossed his arms. “I can’t believe how weird
that mission ended up being. Sage alone...”

“You’re
still with lettin’ Black Team head to Madripoor to go lookin’ for Sage’s Tarot
cards even with Chuck missing?”

“Yup.”

“Why?”
Logan asked.

Scott
reached into his back pocket, “Because this morning, I received this in the
mail.” He pulled out a small padded manila envelope and handed it to Wolverine.
Logan reached in and pulled out a card. He turned it over in his hand. It was a
Tarot card, hand painted. The Hierophant. The watercolor was beautiful and
slightly faded bearing the scent of age, but the image was very clear. A robed
man sat on a chair in a garden. Logan frowned.

“It’s
Chuck.”

(A/N: My story “Limits” is the
prequel to this (sort of), I suggest reading it first. I will be editing “Limits”
for better continuity with this story.)