Operation: Sha-Boom: Adenville
Jan. 7th, 2008 10:28 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsX-Force arrives at the outskirts of Adenville a little worse for wear, and with the wrong luggage. And the wrong cars. Oh, and the wrong decade. That too.
The CD ended, and Amanda's hand left the steering wheel to reach for another without taking her eyes from the road. Ahead of them, the rear lights of the other rental car carrying the rest of the team glowed through the murky weather, rain blatting against the windscreen. The wipers had been working industriously since the airport.
In the passenger seat, Wanda had a booted foot up on the side of the door -- she was using her elevated knee as an impromptu writing table. It had been a relatively quiet ride, so she was finishing up a ream of paper work. And perhaps a crossword puzzle or two. "This is horrible weather," she remarked, not glancing up at the rain. It hadn't stopped yet, why would it stop now.
"You're telling me. And I'm English, this is the middle of summer for us." Amanda sounded grumpy - the rental car they'd picked up steered like a pregnant whale. Unable to find what she was after, she glanced down at the CDs piled in the console between the seats. "Okay, who snuck in the musical theatre?"
Mark looked up from his People and raised an eyebrow. "Don't blame me. I have a strict anti-Tonys rule. Except for Avenue Q and Hairspray. Those can stay."
Remy remained characteristically silent on the exchange. Not just because he didn't have an opinion on the music selection, but also because the lanky Cajun was fast asleep, head resting against the window in the back seat. The normally alert assassin had just finished back to back trips on the network, and had gone straight into the investigation. He'd been out during the flight, and soon the same again after climbing into the rental car with little more than 'manda can drive' exchanged with his teammates.
"Maybe it came with this shitbox." Amanda tossed the CD down again, turning her attention back to the road. "Hey, Boss Lady, do us a favour and find something else to put on?"
"Maybe a bit of random will help...what the hell?" Wanda, bent sideways to pick through the CDs, caught a flash of light in the distance, through the rain. The first car ahead of them was suddenly slamming on their brakes and now Amanda was forced to do the same. The seatbelt suddenly bit deep into her shoulder as Wanda was shoved forwards by the sudden lurching of the car.
But Wanda's eyes weren't glued on the road -- they were staring at the pen in her hand. It had morphed into an older version of itself. "...what?"
"I have no fucking idea." Amanda was staring at the other car, which had turned into something from one of those old black and white American sitcoms set in the fifties. Then she glanced down at the dash of their car, and realised it had done the same. Further investigation revealed...
"What the bloody buggering hell am I doing in a pink poofy dress?!"
Remy raised his hat from his face, deciding to put off wondering how the somewhat worn grey Racer had gotten there in the first place. He rubbed his eyes, taking a second to push the horned-rim glasses up on to his forehead first, and took a breath.
“Merde. Dis isn’t a dream.” He looked around the car, taking in the sudden and in some case, jarring fashion changes, before he opened the door and stepped out. LeBeau wasn’t a car expert by any means, but a year of living in the boathouse with Cain Marko and his movie tastes had taught him some unique skills, like identifying cars from the period the other man liked to relive in his film taste.
“Alright, dere’s either a telepath mucking wit’ our brains right now, or ‘manda’s a bad enough driver to actually take a wrong turn back in time."
Wanda popped out from the other side of the car and frowned, hands on her hips, down at her outfit. It was conservative and quiet in nature, not exactly something she would have really picked out for herself. "Now, did everything change?" she asked, reaching to open the collar of her blouse and peek down it. A second later, she was patting her legs with an odd expression. "I still have sexy underwear but I do not remember putting on ones that look like they came out of a time before I was alive. However, they still are hot."
If whatever was happening was the work of a telepath, there was a better than good chance that turning her power on would hopefully shake them from her head. But then she was suddenly turning to everyone, an angry look on her face. "My powers are gone," she said, quietly but firmly. "I cannot even feel them right now."
Amanda struggled out of the car, trying to untangle herself from the dress and what seemed like layers of tulle petticoats. Up ahead, the occupants of the other car were doing the same as they, opening doors and getting out, movements wary and cautious. She snapped her fingers, but only produced a sound, no werelight. "Mine too." Then an odd expression crossed her face, and she peered up at Remy's face. "Your eyes..." she said, sounding shocked. "They're... blue."
Remy reached up and pulled off the glasses, leaning into the rearview mirror to check. He could see the blurry smear of the blue colour, coming into focus as he put the glasses back on. LeBeau had worn contacts as part of a disguise many times before, but the suddenness was disturbing.
"'parently my vision is bad." He muttered, trying to ignore the loss of perception as well. Remy's spatial awareness was gone, making the ground feel less stable under him. "No powers at all... check de other car?"
Doug emerged from the car in front, plucking a blue wool sweater with a large yellow 'M' on it from his chest. "Anyone have any idea what the hell's going on here?" he asked as he moved toward the rest of X-Force. He would have made a ready quip at Amanda's clothing, but he was too frazzled to joke.
"'Cause you can't stop the motion of the ocean or the sun in the sky," Mark sang softly as he joined the rest, clad in shockingly blue suit and matching tie. His hair was actually combed back nicely for a change. "Someone owes me a new iPod. Because this? Ain't gonna cut it." He held up a small transistor radio and frowned. "I mean, I've been waiting for an excuse to get an iPhone, but this isn't quite what I was expecting."
Before Marie-Ange emerged from the car, a pair of shoes were flung out violently, and then a checkered white-and-red hairband. "Whoever has done this must be colorblind!" She said, standing up in stocking feet and a red-and-white striped dress . "There is no redhead in the world, not anywhere, who looks good in bright red!" She wasn't even going to start on the hair. The dress she could fix. The hair was going to take work. "And the last time that those shoes were in style, my mother was still a child!"
"I," Illyana said distinctly from inside the car, "am wearing a skirt." A pause ensued; then several schoolbooks flew out, possibly aimed at whoever was in the line of sight. The blonde emerged, indeed wearing not only a skirt, but, in fact, a cheerleader's uniform, complete with a peppy ribbon tied around her previously unadorned ponytail. "I'm going to kill you, Amanda."
"Hey!" came the protest. "This wasn't me! I'm not evil any more, remember?"
"Enough." Remy said finally. "Doug, Amanda, I want you to take one of de cars, drive back de way we came up de highway. No more de fifteen minutes, den turn around, Let me know if we're--" Remy couldn't believe he was about to say this seriously. "--actually back in time. Everyone one else, let's take stock, neh? Find out what we're dealing wit'."
"C'mon, Doug." Amanda took Doug's arm and lead him back to the car she'd been driving, cursing the skirts as she swished with every move. After a moment, there was the revving of the Oldsmobile's engine (perhaps a little more loudly than was warranted, but which was explained by a slip of a high-heeled shoe) and the vehicle executed a three-point turn before heading back the way they'd come.
LeBeau reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, and pulled out a wallet. In it was a driver's license with his picture on it, under the name 'Ray Stephen Ludlow'. He scowled, noting that he wasn't supposed to drive without his glasses. His staff was no where to be found, and the cheap overcoat he was wearing had none of his normal hidden pockets. In it, he also fished out a hand written receipt, for a boarding house in Adenville. "Anyone else already got a place to live in dis town?"
Marie-Ange dug around in the tacky handbag that was once her perfectly tasteful one and pulled out package of cigarettes, which she threw back into the car, several tubes of lipstick, which she dropped as if they were disease-ridden, and then finally an ID card, a voter's registration card, and a housekey with a paper tag on it. "I think I have ... it says apartment 3-b, so I think I have a flat. How much would everyone like to wager that I live on the wrong side of the tracks?"
Smirking, just a tad, Wanda was following suit and going through her own purse. She was luckier than Marie-Ange in that the bag was much more tasteful but not by much. Giving the wad of church papers a blank look, she quickly located an ID card and a photo. "Well, at least you are not married," Wanda remarked after a minute, giving the picture of her 'husband' a cursory glance. "Looks like I have a house somewhere in town and I am a Mrs. Simons."
From his wallet, Mark pulled out a driver's license, half a dozen business cards from various talent agents, and no less than eight pictures of teenage girls (also one boy and a middle-aged housewife) with lewd notes written on the back to . . . "Flash Valentine?" Mark read, his expression somewhere between horror, revulsion, and deathly amusement.
The reaction was drowned out by the sound of an engine, as the second car with Doug and Amanda in it returned. The witch bounced out - or tried to, as she got tangled in her skirts again - and after some flailing she finally reached the others, looking much happier. "'S not permanent. You go back up the road a bit, everything changes back."
"And nothing seems the worse for wear for it," Doug added. "Clothes, cars, everything goes back to what it should be. I left my laptop in a locker at the bus station a couple miles back." Opening his period bookbag to find a pad of engineering paper and a slide rule where he'd expected his computer had been something of a shock, but it was better than having the Olds weighed down with Rayovac or something similar.
"Then would you drive me back? I'll send commentary on your lack of intelligence on the south wind, it will almost be like I'm there." A long, silk stockinged leg stretched out of the car, high heels and a modest, tailored skirt. It wasn't much different from the norm, really, a pencil skirt, a tailored blouse, but Sofia's PDA was suddenly a small clipboard, forlornly clutched to her chest. "I'm wearing Chanel number 5. I smell like trophy wife."
"No one is going anywhere. Doug, I think dat we just found out what happened to your reporter." Remy scratched his head. "Remy not feeling any of de normal signs of telepathic invasion. But it could be. Or some kind of spell or mutant dat can twist time. Whatever it is, it's powerful enough to take an entire fucking town wit' it. We not 'bout to leave dis behind us."
"A spell like that would take a hell of a lot of power..." Amanda said dubiously. "But it could be some kind of perception-altering thing, or maybe a portal into another dimension?" She looked down at her clothes and sighed, stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets. "Well, it's better than bugs, at least?"
Doug grimaced and shuddered. "What happened to not talking about bugs while I'm around to hear?"
"I'm just saying, is all."
The CD ended, and Amanda's hand left the steering wheel to reach for another without taking her eyes from the road. Ahead of them, the rear lights of the other rental car carrying the rest of the team glowed through the murky weather, rain blatting against the windscreen. The wipers had been working industriously since the airport.
In the passenger seat, Wanda had a booted foot up on the side of the door -- she was using her elevated knee as an impromptu writing table. It had been a relatively quiet ride, so she was finishing up a ream of paper work. And perhaps a crossword puzzle or two. "This is horrible weather," she remarked, not glancing up at the rain. It hadn't stopped yet, why would it stop now.
"You're telling me. And I'm English, this is the middle of summer for us." Amanda sounded grumpy - the rental car they'd picked up steered like a pregnant whale. Unable to find what she was after, she glanced down at the CDs piled in the console between the seats. "Okay, who snuck in the musical theatre?"
Mark looked up from his People and raised an eyebrow. "Don't blame me. I have a strict anti-Tonys rule. Except for Avenue Q and Hairspray. Those can stay."
Remy remained characteristically silent on the exchange. Not just because he didn't have an opinion on the music selection, but also because the lanky Cajun was fast asleep, head resting against the window in the back seat. The normally alert assassin had just finished back to back trips on the network, and had gone straight into the investigation. He'd been out during the flight, and soon the same again after climbing into the rental car with little more than 'manda can drive' exchanged with his teammates.
"Maybe it came with this shitbox." Amanda tossed the CD down again, turning her attention back to the road. "Hey, Boss Lady, do us a favour and find something else to put on?"
"Maybe a bit of random will help...what the hell?" Wanda, bent sideways to pick through the CDs, caught a flash of light in the distance, through the rain. The first car ahead of them was suddenly slamming on their brakes and now Amanda was forced to do the same. The seatbelt suddenly bit deep into her shoulder as Wanda was shoved forwards by the sudden lurching of the car.
But Wanda's eyes weren't glued on the road -- they were staring at the pen in her hand. It had morphed into an older version of itself. "...what?"
"I have no fucking idea." Amanda was staring at the other car, which had turned into something from one of those old black and white American sitcoms set in the fifties. Then she glanced down at the dash of their car, and realised it had done the same. Further investigation revealed...
"What the bloody buggering hell am I doing in a pink poofy dress?!"
Remy raised his hat from his face, deciding to put off wondering how the somewhat worn grey Racer had gotten there in the first place. He rubbed his eyes, taking a second to push the horned-rim glasses up on to his forehead first, and took a breath.
“Merde. Dis isn’t a dream.” He looked around the car, taking in the sudden and in some case, jarring fashion changes, before he opened the door and stepped out. LeBeau wasn’t a car expert by any means, but a year of living in the boathouse with Cain Marko and his movie tastes had taught him some unique skills, like identifying cars from the period the other man liked to relive in his film taste.
“Alright, dere’s either a telepath mucking wit’ our brains right now, or ‘manda’s a bad enough driver to actually take a wrong turn back in time."
Wanda popped out from the other side of the car and frowned, hands on her hips, down at her outfit. It was conservative and quiet in nature, not exactly something she would have really picked out for herself. "Now, did everything change?" she asked, reaching to open the collar of her blouse and peek down it. A second later, she was patting her legs with an odd expression. "I still have sexy underwear but I do not remember putting on ones that look like they came out of a time before I was alive. However, they still are hot."
If whatever was happening was the work of a telepath, there was a better than good chance that turning her power on would hopefully shake them from her head. But then she was suddenly turning to everyone, an angry look on her face. "My powers are gone," she said, quietly but firmly. "I cannot even feel them right now."
Amanda struggled out of the car, trying to untangle herself from the dress and what seemed like layers of tulle petticoats. Up ahead, the occupants of the other car were doing the same as they, opening doors and getting out, movements wary and cautious. She snapped her fingers, but only produced a sound, no werelight. "Mine too." Then an odd expression crossed her face, and she peered up at Remy's face. "Your eyes..." she said, sounding shocked. "They're... blue."
Remy reached up and pulled off the glasses, leaning into the rearview mirror to check. He could see the blurry smear of the blue colour, coming into focus as he put the glasses back on. LeBeau had worn contacts as part of a disguise many times before, but the suddenness was disturbing.
"'parently my vision is bad." He muttered, trying to ignore the loss of perception as well. Remy's spatial awareness was gone, making the ground feel less stable under him. "No powers at all... check de other car?"
Doug emerged from the car in front, plucking a blue wool sweater with a large yellow 'M' on it from his chest. "Anyone have any idea what the hell's going on here?" he asked as he moved toward the rest of X-Force. He would have made a ready quip at Amanda's clothing, but he was too frazzled to joke.
"'Cause you can't stop the motion of the ocean or the sun in the sky," Mark sang softly as he joined the rest, clad in shockingly blue suit and matching tie. His hair was actually combed back nicely for a change. "Someone owes me a new iPod. Because this? Ain't gonna cut it." He held up a small transistor radio and frowned. "I mean, I've been waiting for an excuse to get an iPhone, but this isn't quite what I was expecting."
Before Marie-Ange emerged from the car, a pair of shoes were flung out violently, and then a checkered white-and-red hairband. "Whoever has done this must be colorblind!" She said, standing up in stocking feet and a red-and-white striped dress . "There is no redhead in the world, not anywhere, who looks good in bright red!" She wasn't even going to start on the hair. The dress she could fix. The hair was going to take work. "And the last time that those shoes were in style, my mother was still a child!"
"I," Illyana said distinctly from inside the car, "am wearing a skirt." A pause ensued; then several schoolbooks flew out, possibly aimed at whoever was in the line of sight. The blonde emerged, indeed wearing not only a skirt, but, in fact, a cheerleader's uniform, complete with a peppy ribbon tied around her previously unadorned ponytail. "I'm going to kill you, Amanda."
"Hey!" came the protest. "This wasn't me! I'm not evil any more, remember?"
"Enough." Remy said finally. "Doug, Amanda, I want you to take one of de cars, drive back de way we came up de highway. No more de fifteen minutes, den turn around, Let me know if we're--" Remy couldn't believe he was about to say this seriously. "--actually back in time. Everyone one else, let's take stock, neh? Find out what we're dealing wit'."
"C'mon, Doug." Amanda took Doug's arm and lead him back to the car she'd been driving, cursing the skirts as she swished with every move. After a moment, there was the revving of the Oldsmobile's engine (perhaps a little more loudly than was warranted, but which was explained by a slip of a high-heeled shoe) and the vehicle executed a three-point turn before heading back the way they'd come.
LeBeau reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, and pulled out a wallet. In it was a driver's license with his picture on it, under the name 'Ray Stephen Ludlow'. He scowled, noting that he wasn't supposed to drive without his glasses. His staff was no where to be found, and the cheap overcoat he was wearing had none of his normal hidden pockets. In it, he also fished out a hand written receipt, for a boarding house in Adenville. "Anyone else already got a place to live in dis town?"
Marie-Ange dug around in the tacky handbag that was once her perfectly tasteful one and pulled out package of cigarettes, which she threw back into the car, several tubes of lipstick, which she dropped as if they were disease-ridden, and then finally an ID card, a voter's registration card, and a housekey with a paper tag on it. "I think I have ... it says apartment 3-b, so I think I have a flat. How much would everyone like to wager that I live on the wrong side of the tracks?"
Smirking, just a tad, Wanda was following suit and going through her own purse. She was luckier than Marie-Ange in that the bag was much more tasteful but not by much. Giving the wad of church papers a blank look, she quickly located an ID card and a photo. "Well, at least you are not married," Wanda remarked after a minute, giving the picture of her 'husband' a cursory glance. "Looks like I have a house somewhere in town and I am a Mrs. Simons."
From his wallet, Mark pulled out a driver's license, half a dozen business cards from various talent agents, and no less than eight pictures of teenage girls (also one boy and a middle-aged housewife) with lewd notes written on the back to . . . "Flash Valentine?" Mark read, his expression somewhere between horror, revulsion, and deathly amusement.
The reaction was drowned out by the sound of an engine, as the second car with Doug and Amanda in it returned. The witch bounced out - or tried to, as she got tangled in her skirts again - and after some flailing she finally reached the others, looking much happier. "'S not permanent. You go back up the road a bit, everything changes back."
"And nothing seems the worse for wear for it," Doug added. "Clothes, cars, everything goes back to what it should be. I left my laptop in a locker at the bus station a couple miles back." Opening his period bookbag to find a pad of engineering paper and a slide rule where he'd expected his computer had been something of a shock, but it was better than having the Olds weighed down with Rayovac or something similar.
"Then would you drive me back? I'll send commentary on your lack of intelligence on the south wind, it will almost be like I'm there." A long, silk stockinged leg stretched out of the car, high heels and a modest, tailored skirt. It wasn't much different from the norm, really, a pencil skirt, a tailored blouse, but Sofia's PDA was suddenly a small clipboard, forlornly clutched to her chest. "I'm wearing Chanel number 5. I smell like trophy wife."
"No one is going anywhere. Doug, I think dat we just found out what happened to your reporter." Remy scratched his head. "Remy not feeling any of de normal signs of telepathic invasion. But it could be. Or some kind of spell or mutant dat can twist time. Whatever it is, it's powerful enough to take an entire fucking town wit' it. We not 'bout to leave dis behind us."
"A spell like that would take a hell of a lot of power..." Amanda said dubiously. "But it could be some kind of perception-altering thing, or maybe a portal into another dimension?" She looked down at her clothes and sighed, stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets. "Well, it's better than bugs, at least?"
Doug grimaced and shuddered. "What happened to not talking about bugs while I'm around to hear?"
"I'm just saying, is all."
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Date: 2008-01-08 08:23 am (UTC)Seriously, there are no words for how much love I have for you all right now.