xp_logs | Medusa and Mark: Shoes! Glorious Shoes!

Medusa and Mark are out shopping for shoes when a rather devoted fan complicates their search for the perfect footwear.

OOC: Thanks so much to Rossi for the fantastic socking

"Whoever thought that anyone would look good in these is totally disturbed," spat Mark disdainfully, carefully replacing a boot on the display table as if just looking at it would give you herpes. "I really hope this is, like, an early April Fools' joke." He padded up to his shopping buddy and peered over her shoulder at the footwear she was oh so carefully inspecting. "Those aren't so bad. A little too pointy for my tastes. You don't really strike me as a Manolo Blahnik woman."

"Pointy has it's uses at time," Medusa said as she reached out to caress the leather of a pair of Jimmy Choos. "And Manolos are necessary for the status. Just like having a Birkin bag or a Fendi." She took another few steps, stopping in front of another pair of shoes with a look of horror on her face. "What saddens me is that there are people who think these are cute," she said pointing to a buckled and furred monstrosity that looked capable of running off on it's own.

Mark crossed himself solemnly. "Think of all the poor ferrets who died to make that," he sighed. "I mean, it works if you're going for a Tara Reid look; totally whacko and coked-up. I wish all the mean shoes would just buy a boutique together and blow themselves up. Like, don't make abominable shoes for no reason. It's not fair. It makes me sad." It was rather disturbing how Reid-like he sounded, too.

"Never do that again," Medusa said, a pained look on her face. "Or I will never be able to look at you the same way." The expression on her face brightened as she turned. "And I do believe this shopping trip just took a positive turn," she said, drawn to a pair of Gucci heels like a moth to a flame.

"But you still love me," Mark beamed. "Oh, now those are gorgeous. Perfectly suitable for a little black dress, which I can only assume that you own a number of. Very sexily regal, y'know. Almost makes me wish I had the legs to make 'em look good," he teased.

"Oh my God! I don't believe it! It's you, it's really you!" The voice belonged to a young man - barely out of his teens, if that - with stringy brown hair and a tubby build. He was barging towards them without apparent heed for anything or anyone in his way. Clasping plump hands in front of him as he reached them, his gaze was clearly adoring. "I've always dreamed of this moment, but I never thought I'd actually be meeting you in the flesh!"

Living and working with Manhattan's mutants had shown Mark some weird people. Hell, Manhattan in general is full of weird people, mutant and non-mutant alike. So this boy with stars in his eyes was par for the course to Mark. He chuckled and nudged Medusa lightly with his elbow. "Well, would you look at that. How does it feel to have fans, Lady Medusa?"

Medusa shot a withering glare at Mark. "Unpleasant would probably be the word," she whispered to him, before placing a hand on his arm and taking a step back. She was beginning to doubt her decision to send Jackson on ahead to grab the pair coffee - after all, she so sweetly convinced him, it wasn't like anything untoward was going to happen while out shopping, right? Smiling at the manchild in the hope that he would stay put, she took another step backwards, dragging Mark with her. "Maybe they have a back exit..."

"No, don't go! We've got so much to talk about!" The young man's tone turned beseeching, but with a definite undercurrent there - he was not about to let them just leave. "I've been such a fan of yours for all this time, please, just five minutes?"

It was very hard not to laugh, but Mark forced himself to keep it in, if only for Medusa's sake. No need to encourage a stalker. "I'm sure she appreciates the gesture, kid, but we're really in kind of a rush."

"Yes, flattering really, but I am afraid we were just about to leave. Have a pleasant afternoon," Medusa said, trying to strike find a statement that would neither encourage nor enrage the crazy man. Mark was never going to let her live this down - she could just imagine the teasing. Glancing behind her, she barely kept the frustration off of her face. What kind of store didn't have an extra exit in the rear?

An expression of utter confusion appeared on the young man's face, followed by revulsion. "Her? You think I... with her?!" Now those muddy brown eyes were fixed entirely on Mark. "Don't you understand? It's you, Mark! It's always been you! I'm your biggest fan!" For a minute it seemed he'd cross the gap between them and embrace Mark. Or possibly fall at his feet. "I got to all your gigs. All those songs you play, just for me. You can't say you don't know what I'm talking about, we've got a special bond! We're meant to be together, I just know it!"

Oh no, it's finally happened. Mark's life was officially suitable for a drama on The CW. "Um, no. I think you have me mistaken with someone else." Now Medusa wasn't going to ever let him live this down. "Listen. Like I said, flattered, but uh . . . oh, look, it's Kylie Minogue!"

A look of shock crossed Medusa's face, though it was quickly followed by amusement. She wasn't used to being the observer in fan related incidents and she could suddenly see why others always found it humorous when she was being pursued. Covering her mouth to keep the laughter in, she poked Mark in the side and raised an eyebrow.

"Mark Sheppard, DJ at Silver. You're a Leo, you adore Madonna and you were just recently away sick for a week over Christmas. I was worried to death when you didn't show for your spot." The young man's tone had hardened slightly, gaining an edge of admonishment for Mark's apparent thoughtlessness in not being at Silver that night. "I was so scared something had happened to you!" Now those muddy eyes crossed to Medusa. "Maybe I was right. Maybe this slut has been trying to take you away from me!"

"Oh dear Lord." Mark wanted to cry. Not just because he'd developed a nutcase of a fan, but because that slur officially meant that this had no chance of ending well. He was never going to be allowed in this store again. "I'd apologize if I were you, kid. You really don't want to continue."

"What did you call me?" Medusa said, the easygoing smile on her face quickly fading, a glare taking its place. She considered herself a very controlled person and usually was able to handle nasty comments slung at her, but for some reason the boy had managed to get under her skin. "Now, because I know you are unaware of who you are talking to I will let that slide. Once you apologize, of course." The iciness in her tone was almost visible in the air.

"Apologize? When you're taking him away from me? I've loved him longer than you, bitch, and if you think I'm going to sit back and let you take him away from me, you're wrong!" The fanboy was seriously losing his composure now, fists balling aggressively as he took another step towards them. "I don't care who you are, Mark's mine!"

"Okay, chill now." Mark took a step forward and held out his hands in a placating gesture. "First, Medusa is a friend. There's no taking involved. Second, calling a noble a 'slut' is a sure way to get your ass kicked, and I'm sure she has diplomatic immunity, so you're fucked. And third . . . dude, I've never even seen you before. Put down the Best Of Kathy Bates and go home."

"We've got a connection!" the fanboy declared desperately. He grabbed for Mark's hands, clasping him tightly. "Please, you have to see that! Forget about the frigid bitch, I'll show you what true devotion is!"

Medusa glanced around and quickly realized that no one in the sparsely populated shoe store was going to be much help. Not wanting to use her hair in such an open area aggressively, Medusa did the next thing that came to mind. Picking up a rather pointy toed Manolo, she threw it at the fanboy with all her might. "Let him go," she said, the words coming out strangely calm for the situation they were in; probably because she had just thrown a shoe.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Mark wrenched his hands away and stepped back again. Holy fucking shit. He really did want to cry now. "Oh em gee, time out please. Medusa, that was dirty. Go with the Fendi. Less chance of poking his eyes out. And you, dude." Mark paused while he thought of the most tactful way to say what he felt. "You're psychotic."

The shoe had bounced off the fanboy's shoulder, and he stood looking at Medusa in horrified amazement. "You threw a shoe at me! You threw a shoe!" And with that, he grabbed for the handiest pair of shoes - the previously-mentioned furry monstrosities - and hurled them at Medusa. "I'm not psychotic! The doctor said so!"

Cabrão! Automatically, two red tendrils snaked out and neatly caught the shoes, throwing them back in the direction they had come. Medusa cast an almost guilty look at Mark. "I believe I may have made things worse." Glancing back over at the fanboy, Medusa shook her head in amazement. He still didn't seem to be stopping or backing off. "Um, more shoes?"

Mark looked around the store at the horrified shoppers and clerks, and sighed. "I believe that the only way we could dig ourselves deeper would be to blow this place up." His hand reached into his back pocket, where he kept his iPod. Not that he wanted to blast this kid, but if he got dangerous (and throwing those abominations almost counted as dangerous in his book) then Mark had to defend himself. Right? Of course.

"I'm not crazy! I'm not!" Something seemed to have snapped in the fanboy and he was blindly grabbing shoes and hurling them now. Tears streaked his fat cheeks. "You can't call me crazy! No-one gets to call me crazy!"

Medusa's hair whirled, knocking shoe after shoe down to the ground before they could hit her or Mark. Suddenly one lock of hair flashed out to retrieve a shoe that had fallen to the floor. "This one," she declared. "Is exactly what I was seeking. I wonder if they have it in brown."

"Oh, wow, that's fabulous." Stalkerboy was completely ignored when Mark caught sight of The Shoe. "It'd look great in silver, too. Even red, except not with your hair."

"You're not paying attention to me!" shrieked the young man, actually stamping his foot. "Stop ignoring me! I hate it when people ignore me!" This time he picked up a chair, raising it above his head threateningly.

And then the sound of sirens, approaching quickly, became audible. Gulping, the fanboy dropped the chair and fled, bolting out of the store and down the street rather more quickly than he size would have given credence to.

Staring at the retreating back of Mark's crazy fan, Medusa allowed herself to laugh, though the humor was mixed with a variety of other emotions. "Well then. How interesting. You certainly know how to pick them," she said to Mark. Turning around, she caught sight of a saleswoman peeking her head up from behind a counter. "Ah, right, damage control time." Flashing a brilliant smile at the timid girl, she gestured at the piles of shoes strewn about the store. "We will take the lot of them. Just package them up and send them to the usual address." Holding up The Shoe, she continued, "Especially this one. In brown. And silver. Size six and a half."

"That was the most surreal experience of my entire life, and I work with Betsy Braddock." Mark shook his head in an effort to clear his mind, and couldn't help but grin at Medusa. "I know I'm going to think back on this and laugh my ass off some day, but Goddamn Jesus H. Christ in a handbasket."

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From:

x-aerial.livejournal.com

This log showcases two amazing battle strategies that should be tried out on all the big baddies. First, throwing shoes. Can you imagine the look on the faces of supervillains as, instead of finding themselves facing an amazing display of superpowers, they find themselves under attack by shoes? Second, ignoring the person. What's the fun in trying to destroy the world and kill people if you just get ignored?