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Mar. 21st, 2003 06:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
evilbeejFanfic for Bloodyink follows. This is thus far, mind.
"Okay, so there was this guy."
"A guy? What guy?"
"I dunno, just some guy. A perfect stranger. Totally anonymous."
"Well he can't be *totally* anonymous, you /did/ see him. Gotta have
*some* kinda distinguishing features."
"I'd never seen him before! He was just some guy at the time!"
"But he's not now?"
"Will you shut up and let me tell you what happened?"
"Okay, okay."
"So there was this guy who was a perfect stranger at the time - and
still is, dammit - and he was on the corner, selling flags. And I--"
"What kind of flags?"
"Dammit, I know I'm not a Professional Intergalactic Storyteller, but
we can't all be as cool as you are. Let me tell!"
"Sorry."
"Selling all kinds of flags. Nautical flags, national flags, school
flags, those stupid Happy Happy flags that people hang out for, like,
Easter or Cinco de Mayo. A bunch of flags. And I saw this one I *had*
to get. Had to."
"What was it?"
"Time's up. You're gonna miss your train. I'll tell you later! Love
you! Bye! ...RUN!"
(part two)
*Gonna miss my train. Sheesh. This Sliders business is getting old.
She knows I'm never going back there! Tell me later my ENTIRE ass...*
brooded Kitty, tugging her tank top down where it'd begun riding up
when she slouched crankily into her seat. *I wasn't even supposed to
BE there that day!*
"You didn't wanna get stuck there, didja?" came a cheerful voice from
behind her.
Kitty turned to glance over her shoulder at the tall, obscenely
gorgeous redhead who was in the process of wandering over. "Well, no.
But Kitty -- okay, I'm really gonna have to find a new way to
reference people, because, like, this is getting ridiculous -- was
telling me something she thought was really cool, and I didn't get to
hear the end of it."
"Well, you could always add modifiers. For instance, you coulda
called her 'Seventeen-Year-Old Kitty', but we're bound to run into
more. The traditional way is sorta...mm. Using a descriptive for the
world they're from. Or the weirdness peculiar to their world. So
she'd've been Intergalactic Storyteller Kitty, or maybe Space Opera
Kitty," said Rachel, leaning on the back of Kitty's chair. She idly
checked over her uniform, adjusting the cuffs. "Everyone's got labels
like that, otherwise it *is* ridiculous. This Kurt calls you
Braceface Ultimates-verse Kitty. Even I've got names. I mean, notice
how the Pete who's piloting talks about me as The Rachel With The
Stupid Uniform."
"Oh, and I meant to ask you about him-- no, wait. What does he call
*me*?"
"You don't want to know."
(part three)
"No, I do! Tell me!"
"You're gonna have to overhear that one."
"You're mean. He's a spy. He's good at not being overheard. Besides,
how the heck do you pilot a train?"
"What else did you want to call it?"
"Uh, well. Uh."
"Yeah. It's not like it's on track or anything..."
"*Rachel*!"
---
"Are you sure we can't just drop her off?" asked Pete under his
breath, leaning against the control panel. Piloting indeed.
"Who?"
"BabyKitty."
Kurt grinned toothily over a styrofoam cup of chicken-flavored
ramen. "Better not let her catch you calling her that, Wisdom."
"Mnf."
Out the windows, of course, was complete madness. Chaos. It was like
a song off the tail end of Radiohead's 'Amnesiac', or possibly
something from LP 3 of the Clash's 'Sandinista!'. Well, worse,
really. More like Revolution 9 while the listener's on acid. This was
somewhat irritating, because there's nothing so useful as glaring out
a window when things aren't going your way.
Finally, after a somewhat lengthy ramen-slurping-sounds-filled pause,
Pete spoke again. "I'm going to see to Morgan."
"Oh," started Kurt, swallowing hurriedly and making a face as the
ramen went down wrong, "khek. Ugh. Keep out of the last car, that's
where Britanic's housed himself."
"Right."
---
"...Nightcrawler, do you think we could find a Kitty who's a little
more interested in math and a little less interested in N*Sync?"
asked Alistaire almost diffidently, coming into the first car and
shutting the door quietly behind him.
This time, Kurt actually choked on the ramen. As he coughed
helplessly and set the cup aside, he waved one hand somewhat
gracelessly about - if it were anyone but Kurt, it'd've been
flailing.
"Are you all right?"
Another not-quite flail and some impressive coughing later, Kurt
slouched into his seat and eyed Alistaire. "Does /everyone/ have a
problem with her?"
"With whom?"
"Braceface Ultimates-verse Kitty."
"...I don't have a problem with her!"
"But you want a different Kitty."
"I could use some help."
*I don't think I'll ever get used to interchangable Excalibur
members. I don't think I'll ever get used to this verdammt train.
Mustn't maim Stuart. Must speak civilly,* Kurt instructed himself,
rubbing his face. "You can wait, like everyone else, to see if
there's a place she wants to stay or we find her home. Or we find
another that doesn't mind a counterpart occupying the same train. You
remember what happened when we had two Ferons."
Alistaire actually shuddered. "One was bad enough."
"Yes. May I finish my lunch, please?"
"Oh. Yes. Terribly sorry," said the Englishman, backing out of the
car and shutting the door again. Barefoot Loincloth Ramen-Addict Kurt
was someone *he* wasn't entirely sure he'd get used to.
---
"I *told* you he was spooky," whispered Kitty, tugging at Rachel's
sleeve after Pete'd passed through the car.
"Yes. Spy. Spooky. They tend to go hand in hand," replied Rachel,
entirely too amused. She detached Kitty's hand from her sleeve and
plopped into the seat across from the young teenager. "So what were
you meaning to ask me about him? Other than what he calls you,
because I'm still not telling."
"Oh. Er," started the girl, looking away from the door the spy had
gone through, trying not to look at Rachel. "Well, uh. Why's he keep,
like, staring at me? I mean, I don't think I look *that* weird, or
anything, or. Like. Is he some kinda pedophile? He's all old."
"No, he's not. You're perfectly safe around him," assured Rachel,
stretching out some. "Trust me. Telepath. Et cetera."
"Not a pedophile or not old? Because he's old enough to be too old,
you know?"
"Yes."
"Well which is it?"
"Not a pedophile, and not old, but he's as aware as you are that he's
too old for you."
"What's that supposed to mean!"
"Are you obsessing over Pete, Kitty?"
"...no!" *It's just that his eyes are so blue. And he's so *intense*.
And so English. And my mom would *so* wig.* Too late, Kitty covered
her face and thought of mauve elephants.
"You *are*!" grinned Rachel, leaning forward. "Kitty and Pe-ete,
sittin' in a tree, F-U-C--"
That warranted a squeak from Kitty and a desperate
handflapping. "That is *SO IMPROBABLE*! Not to mention GROSS! But
improbable! You can't sit in a tree and, you know..."
"Have you tried?"
"Oh man..."
---
"All right?"
Pete came quietly into the car that'd been recently retrofitted as a
medical thingy, hooking his hands into his pockets after he'd shut
the door.
"I guess so," was the muffled response from underneath several layers
of blanket. Only a mess of unruly blond hair was visible.
"He didn't mean anything by it," offered Pete, trying to mean it. It
wasn't long before he gave up. "And even if he did, he's an idiot."
"Don't care what he said. It's this suddenly being a girl thing I'm
kind of having problems with," came the voice again, more audibly
miserable - its owner was beginning to peer out from the blankets.
"Don't worry, as soon as you get away from him, it'll stop."
"And when can I do that?"
Morgan pushed the blankets off and sat up, looking fully as unhappy
as he -- she -- sounded. Long, wild yellow hair spilled over the
teenager's shoulders, down her back. The green and black outfit she
wore fit snugly, coming up to her neck and covering hands and feet;
her face and body were unequivocally beautiful, but she moved like a
scared, angry adolescent boy.
"Can try for next stop, if you're not hurting too badly. Or wait
until the train comes by your universe again - as soon as Stuart gets
a hand with the maths, the probability we'll get there skyrockets."
Pete leaned against a bulkhead, reaching up with one hand to scratch
his nose.
"Then I guess we pray for a Pryde that can do the maths, huh."
"Yeah. There's a lot of that going around."
"Poor Kitty."
"What, BabyKitty? She doesn't want to be here, either."
"Oh, boy. Don't call her that to her face!"
---
"Okay, so there was this guy."
"A guy? What guy?"
"I dunno, just some guy. A perfect stranger. Totally anonymous."
"Well he can't be *totally* anonymous, you /did/ see him. Gotta have
*some* kinda distinguishing features."
"I'd never seen him before! He was just some guy at the time!"
"But he's not now?"
"Will you shut up and let me tell you what happened?"
"Okay, okay."
"So there was this guy who was a perfect stranger at the time - and
still is, dammit - and he was on the corner, selling flags. And I--"
"What kind of flags?"
"Dammit, I know I'm not a Professional Intergalactic Storyteller, but
we can't all be as cool as you are. Let me tell!"
"Sorry."
"Selling all kinds of flags. Nautical flags, national flags, school
flags, those stupid Happy Happy flags that people hang out for, like,
Easter or Cinco de Mayo. A bunch of flags. And I saw this one I *had*
to get. Had to."
"What was it?"
"Time's up. You're gonna miss your train. I'll tell you later! Love
you! Bye! ...RUN!"
(part two)
*Gonna miss my train. Sheesh. This Sliders business is getting old.
She knows I'm never going back there! Tell me later my ENTIRE ass...*
brooded Kitty, tugging her tank top down where it'd begun riding up
when she slouched crankily into her seat. *I wasn't even supposed to
BE there that day!*
"You didn't wanna get stuck there, didja?" came a cheerful voice from
behind her.
Kitty turned to glance over her shoulder at the tall, obscenely
gorgeous redhead who was in the process of wandering over. "Well, no.
But Kitty -- okay, I'm really gonna have to find a new way to
reference people, because, like, this is getting ridiculous -- was
telling me something she thought was really cool, and I didn't get to
hear the end of it."
"Well, you could always add modifiers. For instance, you coulda
called her 'Seventeen-Year-Old Kitty', but we're bound to run into
more. The traditional way is sorta...mm. Using a descriptive for the
world they're from. Or the weirdness peculiar to their world. So
she'd've been Intergalactic Storyteller Kitty, or maybe Space Opera
Kitty," said Rachel, leaning on the back of Kitty's chair. She idly
checked over her uniform, adjusting the cuffs. "Everyone's got labels
like that, otherwise it *is* ridiculous. This Kurt calls you
Braceface Ultimates-verse Kitty. Even I've got names. I mean, notice
how the Pete who's piloting talks about me as The Rachel With The
Stupid Uniform."
"Oh, and I meant to ask you about him-- no, wait. What does he call
*me*?"
"You don't want to know."
(part three)
"No, I do! Tell me!"
"You're gonna have to overhear that one."
"You're mean. He's a spy. He's good at not being overheard. Besides,
how the heck do you pilot a train?"
"What else did you want to call it?"
"Uh, well. Uh."
"Yeah. It's not like it's on track or anything..."
"*Rachel*!"
---
"Are you sure we can't just drop her off?" asked Pete under his
breath, leaning against the control panel. Piloting indeed.
"Who?"
"BabyKitty."
Kurt grinned toothily over a styrofoam cup of chicken-flavored
ramen. "Better not let her catch you calling her that, Wisdom."
"Mnf."
Out the windows, of course, was complete madness. Chaos. It was like
a song off the tail end of Radiohead's 'Amnesiac', or possibly
something from LP 3 of the Clash's 'Sandinista!'. Well, worse,
really. More like Revolution 9 while the listener's on acid. This was
somewhat irritating, because there's nothing so useful as glaring out
a window when things aren't going your way.
Finally, after a somewhat lengthy ramen-slurping-sounds-filled pause,
Pete spoke again. "I'm going to see to Morgan."
"Oh," started Kurt, swallowing hurriedly and making a face as the
ramen went down wrong, "khek. Ugh. Keep out of the last car, that's
where Britanic's housed himself."
"Right."
---
"...Nightcrawler, do you think we could find a Kitty who's a little
more interested in math and a little less interested in N*Sync?"
asked Alistaire almost diffidently, coming into the first car and
shutting the door quietly behind him.
This time, Kurt actually choked on the ramen. As he coughed
helplessly and set the cup aside, he waved one hand somewhat
gracelessly about - if it were anyone but Kurt, it'd've been
flailing.
"Are you all right?"
Another not-quite flail and some impressive coughing later, Kurt
slouched into his seat and eyed Alistaire. "Does /everyone/ have a
problem with her?"
"With whom?"
"Braceface Ultimates-verse Kitty."
"...I don't have a problem with her!"
"But you want a different Kitty."
"I could use some help."
*I don't think I'll ever get used to interchangable Excalibur
members. I don't think I'll ever get used to this verdammt train.
Mustn't maim Stuart. Must speak civilly,* Kurt instructed himself,
rubbing his face. "You can wait, like everyone else, to see if
there's a place she wants to stay or we find her home. Or we find
another that doesn't mind a counterpart occupying the same train. You
remember what happened when we had two Ferons."
Alistaire actually shuddered. "One was bad enough."
"Yes. May I finish my lunch, please?"
"Oh. Yes. Terribly sorry," said the Englishman, backing out of the
car and shutting the door again. Barefoot Loincloth Ramen-Addict Kurt
was someone *he* wasn't entirely sure he'd get used to.
---
"I *told* you he was spooky," whispered Kitty, tugging at Rachel's
sleeve after Pete'd passed through the car.
"Yes. Spy. Spooky. They tend to go hand in hand," replied Rachel,
entirely too amused. She detached Kitty's hand from her sleeve and
plopped into the seat across from the young teenager. "So what were
you meaning to ask me about him? Other than what he calls you,
because I'm still not telling."
"Oh. Er," started the girl, looking away from the door the spy had
gone through, trying not to look at Rachel. "Well, uh. Why's he keep,
like, staring at me? I mean, I don't think I look *that* weird, or
anything, or. Like. Is he some kinda pedophile? He's all old."
"No, he's not. You're perfectly safe around him," assured Rachel,
stretching out some. "Trust me. Telepath. Et cetera."
"Not a pedophile or not old? Because he's old enough to be too old,
you know?"
"Yes."
"Well which is it?"
"Not a pedophile, and not old, but he's as aware as you are that he's
too old for you."
"What's that supposed to mean!"
"Are you obsessing over Pete, Kitty?"
"...no!" *It's just that his eyes are so blue. And he's so *intense*.
And so English. And my mom would *so* wig.* Too late, Kitty covered
her face and thought of mauve elephants.
"You *are*!" grinned Rachel, leaning forward. "Kitty and Pe-ete,
sittin' in a tree, F-U-C--"
That warranted a squeak from Kitty and a desperate
handflapping. "That is *SO IMPROBABLE*! Not to mention GROSS! But
improbable! You can't sit in a tree and, you know..."
"Have you tried?"
"Oh man..."
---
"All right?"
Pete came quietly into the car that'd been recently retrofitted as a
medical thingy, hooking his hands into his pockets after he'd shut
the door.
"I guess so," was the muffled response from underneath several layers
of blanket. Only a mess of unruly blond hair was visible.
"He didn't mean anything by it," offered Pete, trying to mean it. It
wasn't long before he gave up. "And even if he did, he's an idiot."
"Don't care what he said. It's this suddenly being a girl thing I'm
kind of having problems with," came the voice again, more audibly
miserable - its owner was beginning to peer out from the blankets.
"Don't worry, as soon as you get away from him, it'll stop."
"And when can I do that?"
Morgan pushed the blankets off and sat up, looking fully as unhappy
as he -- she -- sounded. Long, wild yellow hair spilled over the
teenager's shoulders, down her back. The green and black outfit she
wore fit snugly, coming up to her neck and covering hands and feet;
her face and body were unequivocally beautiful, but she moved like a
scared, angry adolescent boy.
"Can try for next stop, if you're not hurting too badly. Or wait
until the train comes by your universe again - as soon as Stuart gets
a hand with the maths, the probability we'll get there skyrockets."
Pete leaned against a bulkhead, reaching up with one hand to scratch
his nose.
"Then I guess we pray for a Pryde that can do the maths, huh."
"Yeah. There's a lot of that going around."
"Poor Kitty."
"What, BabyKitty? She doesn't want to be here, either."
"Oh, boy. Don't call her that to her face!"
---
