Exiles in Elseworlds

"Dude, I already told you three times is--" Alison opens the door, sentence abruptly ending before it is completed. She's a little surprised to see Mystique. Since much of the team has been doing their own thing away from each other until the appointed time, she's been taking care of some of her own wants and needs while here. And having a room with clean sheets and cable? Heaven after that nightmare they were in.

"You aren't Enrique," she says with a grin. "C'mon in. Is it time already?"

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"And you aren't Aaron," Mystique winks. "I told the maid to just clean around him."

She takes a long drag on her cigarette. "I've restocked ammo. Bought you a present." She tosses Allison a box. "This place has the tech to fulfil some of my more subtle needs. After that trick you pulled with the wire in your skates, I thought you might have similar tastes in alternative shopping."

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"Aw, but I didn't get you anything," Alison says with a bit of sarcasm as she catches the box. She isn't wearing her gaudy costume, having changed into more sensible clothes now that they are available. But there is a mid size backpack nearby which she will be stocking with all the necessities of life. Once she finds them all.

"Shopping sounds absolutely wonderful! I could use a whole bunch of stuff. I was in the middle of a concert prep and didn't have all my work tools on me when *BIP*, there I was in skater-hell." Stupid non-paved roads.

She does take a moment to open the box, wondering what goodies might be inside. As nasty as Mystique can be? She just knows it's something good.

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It's merely ammo, although there's a whisper thin strangle cord on top with what looks like two tiny carved bone handles. Hooked to her belt, they could pass for part of her costume.

"I made the bit on top myself." No need to state what with.

"I'm tired of distilling cyanide from almonds and replacing my trace minerals with Flintstones Chewables. We may not be lucky enough to land on a world this soft again for ages. Best to stock up."

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She isn't asking. If she did, she might get a little grossed out. She merely admires the beauty of the handles then tucks it away somewhere. It must be nice being able to store it all inside like Mystique does. It would allow for a lot more carrying capacity.

Grabbing the backpack, she slings it over her shoulder and nods. "I'm sure with a little persuasion, we can get some of the shops in the area to point us in the right direction."

Translation: Let's go rough up some clerks?

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"Aww...you don't want to hit the Discovery Channel store in the downtown mall?" Mystique smirks. "I'm going to eat three chemistry sets and wash them down with a crystal garden for dessert. Fuck, I'm low on Selenium..."

She shakes her head to clear it. Aaron's been a pleasant distraction, so long as he doesn't open his mouth.

"How about something a little more dockside?" She shifts into a bald, beefy tough in a white wifebeater and Hello Kitty boxers sticking out of his baggy black jeans. "Wear something tarty. They'll be stupid enough to think you're just my bitch."

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Alison is distracted by the boxers. "Are those real? Or did you just make them? Because if they are real, I want a pair. If you made them, I'll pass because nothing personal, but wearing something made of your skin is a bit creepy." She heads over to her closet, poking through a moment then finding a tiny red dress that is probably illegal to wear in 47 states.

She doesn't bother wandering out of the room, just slips out of her jeans and shirt then wiggles and jiggles her way into the dress. The neckline is way down and the hemline is way up. She finds a pair of red stilleto heels and slips them on then fingercombs her hair so it is wild and out of control. Moreso than usual.

"There we go," she says then she puts on a vapid expression. "Oh Tony, you are so good t'me." She puts an arm around the manly Mystique. "And you are so hawt."

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Damn.

Raven slips an arm around the blonde's waist. Been awhile since she's done a blonde. Or a woman.

She breathes in Alison's ear, "I'm always naked." The bulge in her pants is just the pair of pistols she always keeps packed in her thighs.

Mostly.

She leads Alison down to the parking garage. For the part of town they're headed to, they'll want to borrow a car from the employees, not the guest. Yes, that beat up '84 Mustang will do nicely. She pops the lock, then slides her finger into the ignition until she can feel the shape of the key it's expecting. Bone stretches, her wrist turns, and the engine purrs to life.

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Always naked. Now that has her considering a lot of things and she can't help herself as she runs her fingers along the small of 'Tony's' back on the shirt. Since the shirt is skin, that is amusing to her.

Once they are in the car, Alison can't help smiling. "That is a very helpful skill there." She sprawls in the passenger seat, not caring that they are stealing a car and it would likely send half the team into convulsions if they knew it. This is more like what she's used to. Well, when she isn't playing her little role as the disco diva.

Her legs are crossed and she watches out the window as they head where ever they are headed. She has no doubt Mystique has an idea already in mind, before she ever showed up at the door.

"So how'd you get into all this?"

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Raven raises an eyebrow at the question.

"No foreplay, eh? Okay, beautiful. I'll give you a quickie."

She shifts into a likeness of Erik Lensherr in his regimental uniform. "I was recruited by the Lord Magneto himself after the revolution. He cleared house at S.H.I.E.L.D. and needed mutant agents to fill the vacuum."

Lord Magneto is replaced by a seven year old blue boy with only three fingers per hand. Since her feet no longer reach the pedals, she uses his prehensile tail to drive. "I'd been hiding my son in an attic, doing what I could to keep him alive despite..." She shrugs. "He has my coloration, but not my abilities. Handsome little devil." She winks, then shifts back into herself in full Red Guard uniform.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. offered me a chance to come out of the closet. Be myself in public without worrying about being stoned. Use my abilities for the betterment of mutants. Turns out I have a knack."

Her face splits in a broad, sincere smile. "Honestly, it's like a dream come true. James is my age and will probably outlive me - a rare find. I work with my kids on a daily basis. My job lets me use my talents to create a better world for my fellow mutants."

When she lays it out this frankly, she can't believe it herself. It's a good life. She wants it back.

"And you?"

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Each shift she watches with interest, a big smile on her face at the admission about a son. He is a cute fellow, despite his coloration. Or maybe because of it. But he's adorable and it had to be awful having to hide him just to keep him safe.

"I fell into it really," Alison admits. "I was an aspiring singer, working the karaoke rooms and hotel circuits, not really using my abilities. It was crap work. Then I happened across a purse that someone left and everything snowballed. In the end, my abilities were something the government felt they could use. I was trained in espionage. Then hhey helped me become Dazzler, who is a pop diva with a huge following. Especially in Europe. Which was perfect since I could help in the Cold War. It's still going on in my world. I would go into communist countries such as Germany and do concerts, which allowed me to use my other skills to gain information. It really enjoy playing the ditz one second and then getting to steal the rug out from under the big wigs without them ever suspecting me." She grins a bit then shrugs.

"Didn't leave a lot of time for things like love and children though. I wouldn't have been there for them so I opted not to go that way. Kinda disappointing sometimes but I like my work. I like that I make a difference." That part sounds familiar to what Mystique just said.

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"The Revolution put an end to the cold war." She sighs, shifting back into 'Tony.'

"I pity humans, really. Individuals can rise above it, but groups of humans aren't qualfied to rule themselves. Most of history is a catalog of human-on-human violence. Most of my current assignments consist of breaking up resistance cells. Psychos. Who wants world peace and the highest standard of living in history when you can pull your kids out of school, go live in a hovel without regular water or electricity, and sit around making weapons all day?"

She parks the car. The docks look grim. Speaking of needless human-on-human violence.

Raven gives her a sidelong stare. "Where I'm from, you followed up the singing career by becomming an internationally famous daytime talk show host."

And in the myriad universes the others hail from, she killed her own son.

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"From what I've seen, it's people on people violence. Metahumans, mutants, humans, whatever. I think it's just the nature of the beast. For example, I practice it quite often. I even--like it," she admits, looking away as she does. "So that makes me no better than the humans you talk about really."

The docks, good. They can focus on something else less uncomfortable.

"And being a talk show host sounds more frightening than facing a dozen double agents," she says with a shudder. "Retirement isn't really an option to me. I'd be bored to tears. I'll be happy if I just manage to go down with a bang when the time comes."

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No retirement. She's seen people on that plan. It makes her appreciate SHIELD even more.

She wants to go home.

"You're good at it. Your book club is full of mindless zombies who'll read whatever you dictate. There's a music club and a line of women's fashion as well."

She opens Alison's door and slides her arm around the other woman's waist. "Let's go say hi to the boys."

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A six foot four African American meets them at the door. His clothing is modest, loose and easy to move in, covering all parts of his body, but all in a garish leopard print.

"Hey, asswipe! You ain't bringin' no woman dressed like that in here. We got respect for our bitches!"

He tosses Alison a faux zebra print headscarf and a billowing robe six sizes too large in a stripey tiger print.

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"Which would be why they call them bitches," she mutters under her breath as she examines the outfit. Oh he has got to be kidding. But no, he looks serious. And she is horrified. "If you laugh, I'll shoot you in the ass when you aren't looking," she warns Mystique in that same whisper.

Then she puts the robe on over her mini dress, just thanking whatever powers that be that they are faux. If it had been real animals skin, someone was going to get a laser through the forehead. She wraps her hair carefully then gives 'Tony' the vapid smile. "Do I look nice, honey?"

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"You, too." The doorman glares at 'Tony' before tossing him a long sleeved hospital gown.

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"You make anything you wear beautiful." She gives Ali a slightly predatory smile.

Mystique quickly ties the gown in front. A few faded, overly bleached bloodstains interrupt the pattern of dancing sheep. She turns to the doorman. "Salaam alekyum, motherfucker."

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The doorman scowls, but lets the pair of them in.

There seems to be an invisible line painted on the floor. On one side, a poster of Louis Farakan glares over a card table where two men are playing backgammon. Another four are on the floor, methodically packing weapons into crates. On the other side, women in billowing robes carefully count cash. Instead of a card table, there's a long desk with two computers. One is open to an excel spreadsheet. A woman plays solitaire on the other.

Everyone's staring at Alison.

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"I want my own timeline," she mutters softly, staying close to Mystique and waiting for everything to go terribly wrong. She followed their rules. She is wearing the garish clothing they provided even though her perfect fashion sense is screaming in horror somewhere deep inside. She even is staying close to her man who is obviously the one in charge (yeah, right).

"Do I have spinach in my teeth or something?" she asks Mystique, glancing to her.

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Mystique touches her fingertips, careful not to risk too much cross-gender contact under all this scrutiny.

"Sit with the women," she whispers.

Nation of Islam. Damn. She has nothing against Muslims, but where she's from the NoI has a screw loose.

She strays to the male side of the invisible line. The tension in the room palpably eases.

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Separated. She doesn't like this at all. Alison nods briefly and heads to the side with the women.

This is not something she is familiar with personally but she can follow a lead as well as the next agent.

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The woman entering data into the excel spreadsheet gives her a critical once-over, then shakes her head, Tsking to herself.

"Girl, you can do better."

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Mystique raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment.

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"We can still hear you over here."

One of the men cataloging weapons gives Mystique a what-can-you-do shrug.

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Alison blinks but she manages to not giggle. She gives an adoring look in the direction of Mystique on the other side of the room. "Better than Tony? Ain't no such thing."

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The woman at the computer gives her a look of sheer pity. She opens her mouth, about to speak, then closes it and silently shakes her head.

"No. Can't adopt every bimbo what walks through my door. Got enough girls working under me as it is..."

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Mystique holds her hands up so everyone can see they're empty, then slowly reaches inside the hospital gown. She pulls out a thick stack of bills.

"I would like to engage in the art of civilized comerce."

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Tony has everyone's attention.

"That'll buy you a lot of civilization."

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The woman behind the computer puts on a pair of glasses and frowns at the money.

"A medium amount of civilization. Think market square, not temple complex."

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"I was thinking more 'steaming hole in the ground'."

Tony waggles his eyebrows.

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The printer spews out a thick sheaf of papers.

"We don't sell to anyone with a hit on these people or places." She hands the list to Alison. "Go take that to your man, girl."

"And no bio-weapons to first time customers, so don't even ask."

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This is almost as weird as the vampires. Just with less blood. So far. It's still early.

Taking the pile of papers, she takes it across to Mystique, arching an eyebrow in amusement but not daring to smirk or smile at it. She's trying hard to be good.

Just think of the toys they will have when this is over if she is.

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Mystique frowns as she glances through the printout.

"Listen, I don't blame you for listing Mecca and Medina on here, but the Cowboy Hall of Fame? Come on."

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"Her sister's getting married there next month." One of the thugs whispers.

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"Fine, but can't you set up a temporary list?"

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"Your rates just went up by ten percent." The accountant scowls at her. "You got anything to say about the rest of the list, or should we just throw your scrawny ass out now?"

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Mystique cranes backwards, looking at her own ass. "Come on. Even in this baggy thing, you have to admit it's not bad."

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One of the locals covers his face with one hand. Another shakes his head and starts repacking the boxes.

He opens his mouth, about to offer a few words on how to treat women, when the door bursts open.

The door is kicked open. A huge blanket is thrown in. It unrolls across the floor, revealing a highly perforated body in the middle.

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