Operation: Bat Country - Day 6: The X-Ranch

[xp_tarot]

Darcy and Kevin re-enact one of the classic road trip movies.



They were all parked in the same rest stop, swapping between cars and the RV. Kevin stepped out into the lot, placing his hat on the counter as he left the RV and grabbed his bag. He walked over to the T-bird, running his hand over the hood with a private smile to himself with the memories it brought back.

"I need to give you a few minutes alone with the car, Boss?" Darcy asked jokingly as she came to a stop on the passenger side, bag slung lightly over her back and sunglasses perched on her nose. "I can go powder my nose for another moment, let you sit behind the wheel and enjoy your alone time with her."

"One of the issues with age. I remember when they rolled off the line and showed up as the newest model on the lot." Kevin said, a little self deprecating. "I admit, stuck with CBs and 8 tracks, it's like a little trip back to my middle ages."

"Mm, I bet you got to see all sorts of nice cars that are considered classics now. The tail end of the Studebakers. The VW Microbus... did you ever own a bug or microbus? Like, I can't really see you in either, but I'd love to imagine it." Darcy opened the door on her side gently, depositing her bag on the floorboard. "And lucky me, we aren't just stuck with 8-tracks on this ride. My iPod's in my bag along with adapters that should make it work in the car, so we've got a little more freedom in what we listen to."

"Why are you all so against the 8 tracks? I have a Neil Diamond one to start." He said, sliding into the driver seat. He reached into his bag and pulled a straw cowboy hat from it to put on his head.

"Hard veto. If I have to listen to Neil again in the next 8 hours I'm going to do something terrible to someone, and you're the only other person in the vehicle." Darcy grimaced and grabbed the small box of 8 tracks in the back seat. "Let's see, we've got... The Eagles, Beach Boys, Bowie, Beatles, Sly & The Family Stone..." her voice trailed off as she skipped over a few tapes, then lifted in curiosity. "British Motown Chartbusters? Nice."

"Let's start with the SuperFunk 8-track." He said. "This car deserves to start with 'Black Betty'."

"This car is not from Birmingham, but I agree." Darcy handed it over with a grin. "And in what should absolutely be no surprise at all, I'm singing along to every song I know. Sorry not sorry!" Her fingers tweaked the side of the cowboy hat. "Left your grandpa cap in the RV, hm? Where's your boots?"

"Lead car needs a different hat." Kevin took a minute to get used to the feel of the wheel and the stick. "Can I call you Frog for the rest of the shift?"

"Depends, am I calling you princess?" She couldn't resist the joke. "No, that's fine. Why Frog? And what am I calling you?"

"Bandit, obviously," He gave her a quick smile as his hands caressed the car. This was a machine.

It took Darcy a few seconds, but comprehension dawned. Her cheeks pinked, but she asked him again just to see how much of the movie he'd quote. "Why Frog, Bandit?"

"You're the unexpected pretty girl." He grinned under a mustache that hadn't been there before.

"That's not your line, but nice mustache," she teased. "You only look a little like a 70s porn star with it." A pause, and then "Please don't give yourself a Ron Jeremy face, he doesn't do anything for me."

"Damn. Did I miss Burt Reynolds?"

Darcy gave him a squinting glance, then laughed. "It passes from the neck up, but I wouldn't know about the covered bits. Undo a few buttons, I'll tell you if you got the massive bear pelt on his chest right. Good job on that pouty lower lip, make all the ladies swoon."

Kevin tossed in a stick of gum to chew as he pulled out, accelerating quickly as he merged into traffic. Ramjam came over the speakers louder than expected - Jubilee must have been in the car prior to the swap - as Kevin found his groove on the highway.

Darcy adjusted the volume to something a little softer, singing and shimmying along from the passenger's seat as they made their way down the highway. "I want to drive the last hour or two," she said as 'Black Betty' ended and the next song came on. "I know you can do the whole shift, but I want to do part."

"Only if you agree to swap when a high speed chase is possible." Kevin joked.

"You can't get us in trouble with the law today, Bandit," Darcy joked back. "We gotta stay under the radar. Save running from the law for the trip back. Also the logistics of switching seats while still driving and running from the law... great way to catch a feel."

"Why do you think I suggested it?" He grinned and picked up the CB. "Breaker one-nine, breaker one-nine, anyone got any bear-traps on site between here and Gallup?"

"This is Old Del in the reefer. Got one just past the marker at the flying hook. Looking for out of towners."

"Ten-four Old Del. Appreciate the heads-up."

She laughed, reaching over and lightly pinching him in the arm. "You're absolutely ridiculous, old man. We can switch after you get us past the po-po. Matt hasn't passed the bar in New Mexico, I can't call him to bail our asses out."

"Looking for out of towners. Might be best if we pull them on us. I think I can lose them," Kevin said.

"Warn the others about the cop and your hare-brained plan so none of them try to keep up with us," was her only comment to that.

Darcy reached for her bag, swapping her standard glasses for an oversized pair of sunglasses and a scarf that she wrapped over her hair. A quick flip of a compact and swipe of red lipstick later, she had everything tucked back in and leaned back into her seat. She put on her absolute primmest voice, lips turned up in a smile as she rested her arm along the car door. "You may now put the pedal to the metal."

"Put the hammer down?" He said, an oddly impish grin leveled at her.

"I better feel like I've been on an Indy track by the time we're done with this," Darcy replied with an equal grin. "Green light, Boss."

"I need you tracking Smokey." Kevin said, as he downshifted and the car lit out. He blew past 100mph in minutes, showing his ass for the speed trap.

"Hopefully just with my eyes, because we're a little light on tech and the car isn't... well. I could try to do tracking through the CB, but I'm not sure how well it'd work," she replied, voice dubious. "Just as likely to short it out, I think."

"Just keep your eyes open. This is going to be a little tricky." He could see the parked unit just ahead, and coming in clearly way over the limit. However, he quickly decelerated before crossing the radar range. dropping down to seventy-five, just ten miles over the limit as they crossed. He focused on passing two cars in front, getting over into the left lane. "Statie pulled on to the highway?"

"Yep," Darcy confirmed as she looked over her shoulder. "Hasn't overtak- no, wait, there they go. No lights yet."

"Only gunned us at ten over the limit. Hit's his cherries now and it's just a couple of hundred. He wants twenty plus. That's speeding and reckless driving in this state - 2-3 grand." Kevin said with a grin. "Just keep an eye on him. Let me know if he hits the lights." He eased over, coming up in front of a tanker truck. "Breaker one-nine, breaker one-nine, anyone got ears on a Shell rolling refinery that just passed Bluewater? Over."

After a long moment, the CB crackled back to life. "Ten-four. This is the Duck. That you in the four wheeler out front?"

"Ten Four Duck. Got a bear behind me about to light cherries I need to lose. You mind if we Do Si Do with you?" He put down the speaker for a sec. "Please tell me his lights aren't on yet."

"They're not on yet," Darcy replied dutifully, although it was the truth as well. The trooper was still hanging a few cars behind them, the Trans Am firmly in the flow of traffic. There were a few other semis she could see in the distance, and even though patterns weren't a specialty of hers she had a good idea of what Kevin was going to do once he started going. "Time to dance."

"Beautiful." He hit the gas, pulling ahead of traffic sharply, but veering almost immediately to the right lane. The traffic was too much to allow for a radar hit, but it looked like the car had just peeled out. "Hold on!" Kevin said, as he crossed in front of the truck and on to the shoulder. He sharply cut the speed, slotting in behind the bulk of the trailer as the squad car pushed into the left lane and gunned it, flying up the highway, ready to hit their lights and tag them for a hefty fine. The Trans Am continued to drop back as the state trooper got further ahead and then nestled behind the trailer back on the highway.

"You ok?"

"Great!" Her heart was rabbiting a bit the way it always did in a situation that got her adrenaline going, but she was bright-eyed and smiling widely as she turned to watch Kevin instead of the road. "Very tricky of you, good job."

"If he follows procedure, he'll alert the next trap up the road that we're coming and get him on the road. By the time they're getting back in position, we'll be long past." Kevin said. "Duck, this is Bandit. Threes and eights for the assistance."

"Ten four. Also, you're my fourth Bandit this week. If you want to thank me, watch a different movie before you choose a handle."

"Ten-four." Kevin said, back in his normal looks with the hat. "There's a great diner about an hour up the road. We can switch off driving there if that works?"

"Sounds great. And Kevin? I get the hat while I'm driving."

"Wouldn't have it any other way, Frog."



On the last leg, Darcy gets whimsical about the RV’s CB call sign, Doug explains the joke about Thor’s hammer, and they discover a new way to eat Girl Scout cookies.



Darcy was pouting at not getting to drive the Trans Am. Once the adrenaline from tricking the state trooper had worn off she'd been out like a light, not even stirring when they stopped for fuel. Kevin had woken her up shortly before they switched cars, and in retaliation she'd swiped his cowboy hat on her way to the green car a few spaces down.

She smushed her head into Doug's shoulder when she got there with a tired smile. "You want to drive the first leg and I'll take the switchover into Vegas?"

"Works for me," Doug said as he flipped the keyring around his finger. "I'm feeling fresh enough right now." He slid into the driver’s seat, moving it forward and backward by increments until he found the right distance for his legs to be comfortable on the pedals. Then it was flicking the tiny lever that positioned the side mirrors, the hum of the tiny motors audible even in the cabin. Then a quick adjustment of the rearview and they were pulling out. "Music?" he asked Darcy as they turned out of the gas station's driveway.

Darcy wiggled her ipod at him with a wink and a grin. "What're you in the mood for, cutie? I've got everything on here from classical to current Hot 100 on the Billboard charts. Well, the parts of the Hot 100 I actually like. Lot of Lizzo, little bit of everyone else." She left the ipod between them, digging in her backpack to emerge triumphant with an energy drink and snack. The walk around had helped to start clearing the fog from her sleep brain, but food and caffeine would make it better.

Doug put the car in gear and turned out of the lot. "My only strong feeling is keep it upbeat, so Lizzo works. Nobody needs to be trying to drive to melancholy ballads." He adjusted the dial on the CB as Darcy got the music going. "Man, whose idea was the callsign 'Gator' for this thing." He snorted. "For that matter, I wonder which of the 'get some cars for the drive' crew fixated on this. It's practically neon, so my money's on Jubilee."

She flipped to her Dancing playlist, and let the ipod rest in the center console between them as "Tempo" came on. "I mean, it's basically neon swamp green, so Gator's fitting. But family circus? No. The RV is Mew-Mew. I'm not calling it anything else." Darcy stuck her tongue out at Doug playfully, then popped the tab on her Celsius, shimmying her shoulders along to Lizzo and Missy as she took a long sip. "Want some?" She tipped the can in his direction. "It's oraaaaaaange."

"Mew-mew? Why are you naming it after..." Doug trailed off, then remembered the brand name of the RV that they had kitted out, and put all the pieces together. He made a delighted chortle. "So many jokes to be made about Marie-Ange and Amanda cuddling with this particular Thor, and sooooo many ways for me to get murdered if either of them ever hear the jokes." He declined the offered energy drink, though. "I prefer my energy drinks more luridly green than this vehicle," he informed Darcy.

Darcy didn't get the joke, but she was glad she'd made Doug laugh. "Don't get murdered, that's strictly banned for my lovers," she teased, taking another sip of her drink. "And orange flavor, not lurid orange. It's actually mostly clear." More for her, even if she didn't mind sharing her caffeine with him. She almost felt human again, the last of the sleep shaking off as they bantered and the drink started to hit her system. She dug into her snack next, a small bag with carrots and an individual cup of peanut butter. "Do you want to share the story behind that joke, or is that a 'for later' topic?" she asked once she'd eaten a carrot.

Doug grinned. "So you know how there was that whole thing where Thor thought he was a biker, and the Enchantress and Trickster Boy were messing with him?" He was honestly pretty glad that he hadn't been there himself, the mission report read pretty brutally in spots. "Marie-Ange and Amanda were on that mission, and as part of it...yeah, they shared Thor's hammer, as it were. Magic threesome. Hence jokes."

"I did skim that one, yeah." It hadn't been good reading, but once they were allowed to know about what had come before and she had access, she hadn't been able to resist the deep dive. That one... that one she wished she'd skipped out on, but she'd made the connection to memories of Brand being even more awful to work with for a while, and then her Jane had met Thor, and... Knowing what had gone on more fully, she understood Brand's behavior and hesitance far, far better than she ever wanted to. Darcy dragged another carrot through the peanut butter and crunched down hard on it rather than say anything else.

"To be fair, the jokes also are a way of processing how terrible that stuff was. I mean, between that and the demon dude more recently...Kane hasn't exactly had an easy go of it." Doug had been predisposed to dislike the Mountie when he'd come to the mansion and started dating Marie-Ange. But he had to admit, the man was stalwart and a decent sort.

"Yeah, I get it." There were worse coping mechanisms than a bit of gallows humor. "Garrison does get put through the wringer." She stared at Doug pointedly. "He's not the only one, either, tesoro. Something about fools rushing in where even angels fear to tread comes to mind."

"I have no idea who you might be referring to," Doug attempted in a tone of haughty denial. "Okay, yeah, valid," he replied after Darcy fixed him with a knowing look. "I mean, Captain Hammer references are probably low-hanging fruit, but it's definitely right there, too."

"Is the hammer his penis?" Darcy's voice was dry. Maybe the caffeine hadn't quite kicked in after all. "His dick, his balls... is there something you want to tell me about your crush on Garrison, sweetie? Is it the uniform? We all know a decent man in uniform gains a +2 to hotness factor."

Doug quirked an eyebrow. "I mean, I was referring to Thor's hammer, but if you want to tease me about Garrison that's fine. I don't think I'm his type, though." They would never be close friends - though Garrison's father being a spy meant he at least got where X-Force tended to operate, but Doug's hacktivist-ish ethos didn't necessarily mesh with the Mountie's belief in the law. Plus there was the history with Marie-Ange.

Darcy slipped her hand over Doug's and gave it a squeeze. "You're my type though," she grinned, fingernails lightly tracing over the back of his hand. "Teasing you is fun, though. Maybe less about the boy scout, neither of us is... well.. that's not entirely true, Matt's fond enough of both of us, yeah? So maybe we appeal to a certain type of morally upright. Just not the maple-infused kind." Her fingers curled around his, lifting his hand up for a quick kiss.

"You're my type too," Doug told Darcy with a slightly sappy grin. "So, do you think anyone in the RV will actually answer to the callsign Mew-Mew?" he asked with a wink. "Five bucks says Kevin uses some trucker-speak for 'I'm not fucking answering to that' if he's the one driving."

"Sucker bet. Jubilee might, she generally vibes with my absurdity. How playful is Ange feeling today? Because playful Ange yes, business Ange probably no." Her eyes twinkled as she grabbed the CB, thumb hovering over the button that would let her communicate across the airwaves. "Only one way to find out, right?"

Doug smirked. "Gotta find our fun where we can, right? Otherwise it's just..." he waved a hand at the long stretch of road out the front window. "That gives me an idea, though. Mission trope bingo cards. Fill it up with things everyone does a lot. Like a space for Artie going full gremlin. Or that thing Nat does where she just produces a knife out of some pocket dimension. 'Doug makes ridiculous meme reference' is our free space." He certainly tried his best to stay self-aware about his own tendencies.

"We could have several cards where each person just has their own column, probably. Darcy says or does something ridiculous, Darcy finds a food joint and brings snacks for everyone. Jubilee finds every hidden stash of snacks. Kevin tells a story about a past mission that relates to the current one." She paused for a minute, giving Doug a mock glare. "Now I want to write these down but that requires taking my hand back. That's rude, mister." Darcy stuck her tongue out for good measure, giving his hand another squeeze.

"I'm just the worst. It is known." Doug's expression was absolutely unapologetic in any way. He considered the other members of the team. "Let's see. Angie complains about birds, that's definitely gotta be on there." The fingers of his hand on the wheel drummed a rhythm out. "Oh, I actually feel kinda bad for this one, but 'Topaz apologizes several times in a row for something'."

"You are, in fact, the worst on tumblr dot com. My followers agree." Darcy nodded sagely. "Topaz and Amanda drinking tea. Jubilee falls asleep in a weird place and scares the bejesus out of someone. Anyone leaves Ange a bird trinket because we're all little shits. Anyone calls Sarah a mafia princess. Sarah punches someone for calling her a mafia princess. Gabriel complains about his code name but doesn't actually change it. Nat has more knives than should be humanly possible on her person."

"Oh!" Doug brightened up. "Speaking of snack stashes, and before Jubes can get to them..." It unfortunately required getting his hand back from Darcy, but he reached over into the back seat to pull out a distinctive thin box. "There were 'cookie mercenaries' at the truck stop that Angie and I swapped IDs at after the speed trap." He grinned. "Also I learned a hack for the trefoils." He reached over into the back again, this time coming up with a bag of chocolate squares.

Darcy grinned as a distinctive blue box made an appearance. Cookies AND chocolate? This was a good day. Morning. Whatever. She was well past time having no meaning and her sleep schedule was beyond it's normal amount of fucked. "Why, Mr. Ramsey. Are you flirtin with me?" Her southern accent was, politely, extremely over the top, and so was the exaggerated eyelash batting that followed. She dropped the attempt at the accent with her follow-up. "It's working for me, the finest mercenary cookies and decent chocolate? Someone's getting laid soon."

"If chocolate gets me places, flattery will certainly get -you- wherever you want, miss Lewis," Doug replied in his own Rhett Butler impression. "Hokay, so." He couldn't exactly demonstrate and keep the wheel from drifting, but... "So you get one of those squares out of the packaging, and then put it between a pair of trefoils. The older scout said you can microwave it for like five seconds if you want the chocolate to get a little melty, but it also works as a sandwich as is."

"Well, we don't have a microwave, but...." She took both treats, carefully grabbing two cookies and unwrapping a square of chocolate to stick between them. Focusing on the hand holding the makeshift cookie sandwich, Darcy thought about the low wattages a microwave could be set to, concentrating on getting the cookies just a little warm and the chocolate just soft and starting to melt at the edges.

The first one ended up a bit of a mess as the chocolate melted too fast, and she ended up popping it in her mouth, grimacing a bit at the slightly burnt taste before trying again. Round two was more successful, and she leaned towards Doug. "Open up, sweetie," she asked, holding the cookie sandwich roughly level with his mouth.

Doug made an almost carnal noise at the mouthful of gooey chocolate and shortbread. "Howy shi," he said while still chewing. "That is my new favorite 'menu hack'," he declared after swallowing.

It’s dawn when they reach their destination - the mutant brothel known as the Ranch X.



They were somewhere around Boulder City on the edge of Vegas when the drugs began to wear off. Days of driving, the last night through the cold and lonely desert had finally piled up enough exhaustion that no mix of caffeine, sugar and No-Dose pills could combat. Fortunately, as they passed the Sunset Hotel, the end was officially in sight. Kevin picked up the CB and dialed it over to frequency 6 for the other cars.

"Next right. Dubman Ranch. Parking is waiting beside the big house." He said.

"Thank fuck for that. I'm so fucking tired my eyes are crossing," came Amanda's voice over the radio from where she was driving one of the cars. She followed the large boxy outline of the RV as it swung onto the dirt road that was the entrance, squinting to make out the shapes of outbuildings and the ranch house itself. "Don't tell me, I know I need to get my eyes tested," she said to her passenger before they could say anything. "Once this is all done."

Despite the fact that Wanda's eyes were closed and she appeared to be sleeping, she snorted quietly and spread her hands innocently. "Did I say anything? Though I never thought I'd see the day where I was making fun of you for forgetting your eye appointment." She dropped her feet to the floor and leaned forward as Amanda drove towards the entrance.

The gates opened to a ranch style boutique hotel set back from the entrance with a small parking lot out front. To the side, where Kevin had directed them was a second carport, Kevin guided the RV into it as the other cars fell in. This lot was connected to a second three story building and a large barn. Around the back of the main building, they could see an impressive Southwestern style garden landscape, wrapped around a deep blue swimming pool. Kevin finally took off his pork pie hat, dropped it on the seat, and pulled down his overnight.

"Grab your bags. Not sure how long we'll be here but it's a chance to freshen up a bit." He said before stepping out onto the drive.

Jubilee hoisted the large backpack that she’d managed to stuff all her worldly (for this week) belongings into and settled the straps over her shoulders. It made her look like some form of weird fleshy turtle but given she’d wanted a little bit of everything in a portable convenient container, she wasn’t complaining. “Point me to the showers and the fluffy pillows,” she said brightly.

Sarah, stretching for what felt like the first time in months, rolled her eyes in Jubilee's direction. "You know, it's considered good manners to at least meet and thank your host before making demands." Chuckling, she added, "It's going to take us days to regain our people skills after that trip."

“Dude, relax, I’m pretty sure they’ve been expecting us,” Jubilee noted as she followed behind Kevin. “Besides, I’m pretty sure that’s them now.”

Two figures had come around the corner of the main building to meet Kevin as he approached. The first was a hulking man with heavy grey skin that seemed almost like a hide, making his features heavy and crude. The other was a young dark haired woman. She was dressed casually; a flannel shirt, soft brown leather jacket and jeans. At a first glance, she seemed like maybe the gardener. But as she got closer, the iridescent scales of her red, gold and copper patterned skin caught the sun. All the exposed flesh on her face and neck and her hands were covered in the same bright snakeskin.

"Rag tag is not a word I traditionally associate with you, Syd. But here we are." She said in a bright drawl.

"Been on the road since New York City. I'd say if we're 'rag tag' at worst, we did well." Kevin said, coming up and kissing her briefly on the cheek. He turned back to the others. "This is Stacy-X. She's in charge here."

"Folks, just grab your things and come around into the front. Looks like most of you could use some rest." Stacy called out. "Henry, go connect up the RV lines for now."

Felicia gave a small wave, exhaustion told in her ponytail, the lack of lipstick, as she leaned on the handle of her matching luggage set. “We’re generally all very pretty and charming, and may even be so again after food and a shower,” she said.

"Fuck yes," was Amanda's contribution as she came out of the RV where she'd been retrieving the duffle bag that held her belongings in a much smaller contrast to Jubilee the Human Turtle. "A shower and then something to eat that isn't fried or comes out of a microwave, please."

Artie's back creaked as he climbed out of the car and stood. It was a relief to be out of there.

Darcy's eyes were bright as she slid out from behind the driver's seat of the bright green car, Kevin's cowboy hat still perched on her head. "We appreciate it, hope we're not putting you out overmuch," she said in Stacy's direction, reaching for her backpack and slinging it over her shoulder.

Doug unfolded himself from the passenger seat and stood to stretch long and languid. An extended amount of time on the road tended to wind up causing more than its fair share of cramping, even with gas stops and getting out to move every so often. He put one foot up on the bumper and did some knee bends. "It probably sounds dumb after all this sitting, but I'm looking forward to a couch or chair. Anything better than bucket seats."

Marie-Ange was not long behind Amanda, with a messenger bag over one shoulder and a pair of large sunglasses down to protect against the bright winter desert sun. "Merci, for your hospitality." She nodded at Stacy. "And the support and information."

"I appreciate the thanks, but it isn't necessary. Syd tells me our interests align in this case and I'm happy to help. Now, good lord, get inside. A hot meal and a couple hours of sleep in a proper bed will do you all the world." She said, waving them to follow her.

Through the doors was a large lobby area, dominated by a huge double staircase up to the second floor. There were a number of seating areas in the lobby, as well as doors leading to other areas. One double set was open into a parlour style area. It was furnished modernly and well, looking like any of the luxury boutique hotels in New York City. As they went in, they could see a few people in either the lobby or the parlor, all visible mutants. Most were sipping coffee, checking phones, reading newspapers; an all too familiar breakfast ritual.

"You can leave your bags here for now. Through there is the dining room. The kitchen put together a buffet service for breakfast waiting for you. If there's any special dietary requirements, just ask Alice and she'll sort you out. She's also got room keycards for you. They'll open the corresponding room on the second floor. I figure you might like a shower and a few hours sleep in something that isn't moving. There's some talent camming right now, but all the rooms are soundproofed and locked so it should cause any issues. Third floor and fourth floor are off limits." She said, giving a faux impressive wave of her hand. "Welcome to the famous X-Ranch."

The X-Ranch site was famous online for mutant specific porn serving to mutants and those with mutant kinks. It was also expensive, exclusive and notoriously hard to try and pirate or scrape for content. Rumours had spread about whether it was one studio or a collection of private feeds, but no one had determined for sure.

"Famous or infamous?" Gabriel muttered from his position in the back of the group. No one had also determined, for sure, about the other rumors that Gabriel had heard about the X-Ranch, what he'd heard consistently, whether eavesdropping while bartending or listening to others free associating about mutant sex while sharing a joint outside a warehouse party: that it was a brothel for mutant fetishists. Everyone always knew someone who knew someone who knew someone who'd spent a few hours or a night there.

He eyed the people in the lobby, trying to size them up. But he was out of practice, he knew. (The pit in his stomach had opened up when they'd arrived. Now it was growing.) And this was out in the open. Those things would be hidden. They usually were. Even, he imagined in Nevada.

A man with a latte was now staring openly at him. His gaze had been lingering too long. Gabriel couldn't read it. He wasn't sure he wanted to. "Bathroom," he murmured to whoever was next to him. "Excuse me."

Amanda raised her eyebrows at Gabe's sudden exit and caught Topaz's eye. No need to say anything, just a slight tilt of her head towards where Gabe had gone.

Topaz's eyes followed Gabe's departure, and she looked back at Amanda, shaking her head. Not now.

Amanda nodded back. Later, then. Neither was telepathic, but years of association meant they could understand each other. "You have a pretty impressive set up here," she said instead to their host. "Looks like you take good care of your people."

"We try our best. At least, I haven't heard any complaints." Stacy said, waving them towards the dining room. Her eyes flicked to track Gabe walking out but said nothing.

Artie shrugged and, in a move calculated to draw attention back to the group and away from Gabe, he projected his question as text, rather than using a synthesizer. "Are you concerned about having us here? Thanks for hosting us, Stacy." The text was distracting when you weren't used to his ways of communicating.

"Our security here is very good. Those Church of Humanity and Sapiens League assholes have been trying to find us for years now. Couple even came close. Fortunately, the deserts around Las Vegas aren't unfamiliar to anonymous graves." She said and shook her head."

"There's plenty of time for more questions later. I've got some additional information to go through with Syd and your person. Get some food in you before you pass out. Talent is very curious about you all, since I'm breaking about a dozen of my normal rules for the house having you all in. They're good people if you feel like chatting." She motioned to Kevin. "'fraid your breakfast is going to have to be quick. I got some more intel and it's not good."

"Send them my way, I owe Henry an apology for having to cancel our book discussion this week," Darcy replied with a small grin. "Might as well give it in person while I can."



Stacy X follows up with Gabriel after his abrupt departure.



The entire road trip, Gabriel had been good. He'd stuck with a vape, even with the pack of cigarettes he'd picked up at a gas station in one of the cheaper states burning a hole in his pocket, because they were in a car for entirely too long, and he knew the smell of smoke bothered people, knew that he would never hear the end of it from his colleagues. And so he'd behaved.

But they had arrived, finally, at the X Ranch, and, well, Gabriel decided he wanted a cigarette. Needed it, really; he needed the ritual of the lighter and the ash and the burning and something to hold in his hands for a while and focus on instead of everything else that was running through his mind poking at him. Vaping wasn't taking as much time off his life, but it wasn't nearly as absorbing, and that was what he wanted right now.

He'd slipped away from the group, who he knew would be distracted by — well, there was a lot to be distracted by here, wasn't there? It was whatever passed for chilly in Nevada, and so he knew that he was unlikely to be too bothered in this chair outside, by the pool, where he was sure that he was not the only person in history to ever light up a cigarette and breathe a sigh of relief, even if there was no ashtray in sight.

"You got an extra one of those?" Kevin had introduced her as Stacy-X, the owner and operator, even though right now, she looked like a rancher's wife in some midwestern HBO show about land rights or something. She'd just quietly appeared, obviously seeing him leave. "Syd and the others are finally getting to their breakfast. Gives me a few minutes."

Gabriel looked at her for a second, then nodded. He was surprised not to feel a faint hunger at the mention of breakfast, he was always hungry these days — he reached for the pack of the cigarettes and passed them to her — but the trip had messed with his already errant internal clock, and after spending so much time with the others, he wasn't sure he wanted a group meal anyway.

"Here," he said, holding out his lighter to the end of her cigarette.

"Thanks." She took a long drag, holding it in for a moment, and then let out a plume of smoke. "The only bitch about my powers? Never get the nicotine rush any more. Used to be my favourite thing - first sip of coffee and lighting the first cigarette." She said, slipping on to the chair next to him, looking out over the beautifully landscaped back of the ranch.

Gabriel made a vague noise of assent before taking a drag of his own, then shifted to look at her. He didn't think she'd mind; she was probably used to being looked at. Her scales were striking; he wasn't sure whether they reflected the landscape or whether she just had a color palette that was made for the West.

"More to you than meets the eye?" It was a brusque way of asking what her powers were, and he hadn't really meant to be that rude, but the words were out now.

"I tend to think that applies to anyone who is interesting. And I do consider myself interesting." She gave him a sideways look. "Saw you head out real quick. I'm going to guess it brought up some bad memories?"

"Excuse me?" He raised an eyebrow. Probably another psy, he figured, or an empath or somebody who was very good at picking out the things you were trying to hide. His guard was down; he was tired, and he hadn't expected to stumble into this. But he wasn't going to make this easier for her.

"Almost fifty years in this business. Learned to spot people who have done the same. But could be wrong." She shrugged, taking another drag.

Gabriel studied her again, unable to help but look for the signs of almost fifty years on her face. "Props to your esthetician," he said finally. He was unsure what to say. Of course she knew the signs; she was the mutant madam. She read people for a living, and she'd done it for almost five decades (which boggled his mind, this was not a world he would ever want to spend half a century in, no matter how high-end.). Plus — he took another drag here — she didn't know him and couldn't easily write off his gruffness and aloofness as being characteristic as of late.

"Yeah." He finally said, one syllable sounding every bit as uncomfortable and reluctant as one syllable could. He scanned around to see if they were alone. "Yeah."

"And I have to imagine that, like when I started, you didn't have a whole lot of choice." She said it quietly, almost off-handedly. Her tone wasn't her prying or demanding answers. Just putting out the statement for Gabe to either engage with or not.

“Not exactly a reach,” Gabriel pointed out. He weighed switching his cigarette for a joint but suspected Kevin or Amanda or someone would notice the smell and immediately narc on him. And he wanted to have his wits about him, anyway.

“Homeless and gay,” he said, his eyes now locked on the horizon after they’d been sitting in silence for a bit.

She just nodded, looking out over the gardens, letting the moment settle. After a bit, she drew the last pull before the filter and ground it out. "Experience like that, place like this... and I can tell this isn't the first time you've heard someone say something about 'X-Ranch'. I think I've got a sense what you might be thinking about being here."

“People talk,” Gabriel said flatly. He felt she was getting too familiar, though maybe she wanted this sense of kinship; it couldn’t be easy to run a place like this. “What,” he turned to look at her now, “am I thinking?”

"That everything here, from the beautiful house to the big swimming pool was built off someone else's work. And anyone at the top of this kind of operation got there on some level of pain and exploitation. Sound about right?" She said, and a smile rippled lightning fast across her face. "That's what I would have thought at your age."

“I was thinking,” Gabriel said rather calmly, his gaze returning to the pool itself, “how given the choice I’d burn this place to the ground.” He dispensed with his cigarette and, in a split-second, lit another one. “And I know that’s not fair. I really do.” His hand was shaking as he took a drag. “What you’ve built is impressive. And I hate everything about it.”

"Fair enough. And frankly, your pain doesn't need to be argued about. But if you'd like to know a little more about it, ask a question or two, feel free." She said. "And if you don't, I can understand that. The other house is the rooms for the talent when they aren't camming or seeing a client. Would you rather stay there?"

Gabriel shrugged. A part of him hated how sympathetic she was being, even as he appreciated it. Needed it. He turned, considering her offer, considering her openness, considering her. “Do they even have a choice?” The words left his mouth before he even realized it. “Do they really have a choice? Not ostensibly, not technically, not in whatever their agreement is with you that let you do all this on their backs. In reality, do they have a choice, when the ‘client’ calls” (and the air quotes hovered) “and there is money on the table for you, do they have a choice?”

"Talk to some of them. See what they say." She said, and turned in her chair. "Here's what I can tell you. I hire professionals; people who have made a choice to do this work. And my talent keeps most of their money. Most importantly, a fat bank account isn't what gets you into this place. I mean, yes, we charge all kinds of rich weirdos through the nose for a night, but you might be surprised how many mutants are clients because this is the only safe place they can go for whatever reason. But the person who ultimately decides whether or not to take a client is the talent." She said plainly, forearms resting on her knees as she spoke.

"Please stop talking to me like this is any other business," Gabriel responded without even taking a beat. "I know it is for you. I know it mostly is. I know it's legal here and regulated, and I don't know you from Adam, but I am sure you're an ethical madam and everything is above board and everybody is treated perfectly well. But don't say clients or professionals or talent, not to me." He flicked ash on the ground. "I know sex work is work. I'm a good millennial. I'm online, I read all the viral tweets. But this is... this is just..." He stared at the cigarette in his right hand. "And you, at the top of it all."

She paused for a long moment, her look searching. "The difference between the world you remember and the one I've created here is that I don't make the decisions for other people. I'm not pretending this place is some kind of altruistic endeavor. I make my money. But I use terms like professionals and talent because that is what they have chosen to be before I ever got involved." She gave him a slight, knowing smile. "But I also don't expect to change your mind over a cigarette. But I'm happy to answer any questions any time you have them. So would most of the people here."

It was his turn to pause and consider that. "I don't want to ask," he finally said. "I can't imagine — I don't even..." He couldn't vocalize what he wanted to say. He wasn't even sure what he was thinking or feeling; he'd lost his ability to think straight when they'd gotten here. Too many memories — well, impressions, more like, they weren't specific, but they were flooding his brain, and he loathed how little control he had over that. For years, he'd kept a part of himself locked up, and then a demon ripped open the lockbox and preyed upon the weaker parts of his soul. And now he was sitting here next to a woman who had, apparently, had a similar journey and turned it into wealth and status and something good, when all it had brought him was darkness and pain.

He looked up, surprised by a choking noise that he'd heard, and it was only after a moment that he realized his face was wet and the noise was in fact his own guttural sob, a violent sound that, if he were a more poetic person, he'd imagine had been working its way out of his lungs for years.

She touched him carefully, gingerly. Just his shoulders to start, light enough that he could break away with a twitch and looked into his eyes. "I know. I know. But, if nothing else, you're safe here." Stacy said. "If nothing else, believe that from me."

Gabriel had flinched at her touch. Her words made him want to crawl into a hole. The whole thing was absolutely mortifying. Had he felt this exposed when his mind had leaked his fear and shame and recollections to Quentin? He couldn't remember, but it felt different; he remembered being more stoic, more matter-of-fact. Certainly he hadn't reacted like this.

He sat there for a bit, no longer making noise, trying to stay calm, not wanting to look at her or say anything or acknowledge how his body and brain were betraying him. He knew she understood on some level, and that made it easier, but it also made him hate the way he was now acting. And yet at the same time, even though she got the contours, she didn't know him, and maybe that made the whole thing less meaningful, because there were no stakes.

"They don't know," he said, his voice shaky but mostly under control. "Not even Sydney." There was an implicit warning there that he suspected she'd understand. "Never got caught. No trouble with the law, no paper trail."

"Makes things a little easier." As he'd struggled, she had pulled back, leaving him back in his own space. "Can't vouch for the rest of them, but if you ever decided, I know it won't make a difference to Syd. You know, that's what I remember most the first time I met him? Half a dozen feds in the room and he was the only one that looked at me like a person as opposed to just some whore."

"Well, that's you." Gabriel said. "But I don't need him to know." He didn't doubt her account, but it wasn't a conversation he wanted to have, ever, and he begrudged her for pushing him into it, even if it was clear that he was willing to be open with her because there was no fear of reproof. And because she'd seen something that he felt he needed to acknowledge, even if he resented her for that too.

He stared at his hands for a bit; the cigarette had inadvertently been discarded to the floor. He wiped his eyes, wanting a drink but knowing it was too early for one, and suspecting it wouldn't help that much anyway. He didn't want to stay here, and he didn't know how long they'd be made to be.

"Fair enough. I own the Sunset Hotel, the place you passed a couple of miles back up the highway. I can get you a ride over there. You'd only be minutes away when they're ready to go. There's a mutant there passing through on the Underground. Could tell your people I asked you to talk to them directly if you want some cover." Stacy said finally.

Gabriel considered that offer. "No," he said after a few seconds. He reached into his back pocket and withdrew a pack of gum. "I don't..." He wasn't entirely sure how to explain what he was thinking: that as much as he found her reassuring, as much as he wanted to believe her promises of ethics and fair treatment, he couldn't trust her, because the very nature of what she was doing antagonized him, and that it was hard not to believe that she was trying to get rid of him because something (he popped a piece of gum out of the foil) was not right and she didn't want him to know.

"Put me in the other house," he said. Because he wanted to keep an eye on her and everything that happened here, but he needed to be somewhere without cameras. Somewhere that the women she hired would speak freely, and where he would not be lying sleepless in a bed wondering if, wondering when, wondering who. "It's fine."

It wouldn't be. But he wanted to get a covert look around, and if he saw anything at all, he would be blowing the whistle.

Stacy nodded. "Just wait here. I'll have Alice make the arrangements and take you over. With Burning Man going on, there's always a few spare rooms." She said, and left without another word.

He sat there for a while alone again, which is, after all, what he wanted. But it wasn't as appealing as he thought it might be, especially with his wounds exposed, and with everything now just... out there. Maybe it felt good to talk about it, he wasn't sure. It had not been a relief to tell Quentin, had it? He considered calling Quentin, though he wasn't sure how to explain or what he'd say. So much of his life had been told and bits and pieces; everyone knew something, but there wasn't somebody who knew everything. And he'd wanted it that way, and he still did, but wouldn't it be easier?

Gabriel wanted to let out a guttural scream or a growl or something. Instead, he sat by the pool, though for how long he wasn't sure, until somebody showed up with a coffee in one hand and offered to show him to his room.

Amanda goes out for a smoke break and finds Stacy out on the deck. They chat about what else - Kevin.



Freshly showered - except for her hair, which she was cultivating into "white people locs" for Burning Man - and full of breakfast, Amanda decided to take her second cup of tea (and a cigarette) out on the deck. She padded barefoot out into the brilliant winter sun, squinting a little as her eyes adjusted and found she wasn't actually alone. Stacy seemed to have had the same idea.

After Gabe had been led to the guest house, Stacy had changed her mind and stayed out, looking over the pool and the ground, considering. Alice, attentive as ever, had brought out a carafe of coffee and a pack of cigarettes that she had not asked for and really wanted. She blew a careful smoke ring out before taking another sip from her cup.

"Is it alright if I join you?" Amanda asked, gesturing with the pack of cigarettes she'd dug out of the pocket of her pants. Since they were going to be leaving for Burning Man in a few hours, she'd dressed accordingly, in loose cotton pants with a vaguely Indian design in orange and black and dark green and an orange tanktop. "I thought I'd indulge in my filthy habit before getting back on the road."

"Pull up a chaise." Stacy gestured to the dozen arrayed around the pool, like a mini-resort. "Syd said you were splitting the team up. Quite the experience watching your people work."

"We've had a lot of practice," Amanda replied easily as she took a seat, setting her tea mug down on the wooden decking. Her first puff of her cigarette was taken with a happy sigh and a long luxurious exhale of smoke. "Angie's put up with me smoking since we were teens, but I don't like to smoke around her. Which means I was cutting back during the trip here." She took another drag and then reached for her tea. "I know I said it before, but it's quite the set up you have here. Makes me wish I'd had access to something like it back in the day."

"As a client, talent, or a runaway. Which I'm going to betray my witchy powers and assume you were at some point." She took a long drag. "Damn healing factor. I miss that nicotine buzz."

Amanda snickered. "Yeah, I wasn't exactly subtle. Tho' less "talent" and more "street whore" if we're being honest."

"Yeah, I don't take street kids in this house. But you would have had a safe place at the hotel." Stacy smiled. "I wasn't any different starting out."

"Mind if I ask where that was? And how you wound up here?"

"Oh, you want that tale of woe? I'll tell you, but I'm guessing if you didn't live some version of it, you heard it." She took a long draw from her coffee and refilled it. "The tale of lil' Francine Dubman isn't too special. When I was five, my daddy died. He was a long haul trucker and hit a bad easement. Momma liked the settlement and Darryl, the mechanic she'd been sleeping with liked it more. So I had a new stepdaddy. And when I turned fourteen, he thought I owed him the same attention as Momma. After a few months of that, I stole everything I could and got on a bus to California. But I didn't quite have enough, so I ended up in Vegas."

"Yeah, it's not my story, but I've heard it before," Amanda's voice was compassionate, despite her words. "So how did you wind up with this place? There's some solid money behind it all, by the looks."

"That's a longer story. The short version is that I got claimed by a pimp when my money ran out at Vegas. After a few years, he got sweet on me and we got married so he could use my clean criminal record to launder money. Which meant, after he got himself shot to death, I took over his book and his girls." Stacy settled back further, making herself comfortable. That would have been... 79 I think."

Amanda's eyebrows went up. "Fuck, you don't look much older than me and I wasn't even a twinkle in the eye of the milkman at that point. Powers thing?"

"They call it 'traumatic mutant manifestation." Stacy smiled at her cigarette before snubbing it out. "I was sitting at my kitchen table, mid fifties, having a smoke and a coffee and waiting for my assistant to show up. And then, bam, massive heart attack. EMTs managed to restart it three times on the way to the hospital. They got me into the OR and then..." She wiggled her fingers. "Suddenly I'm sheathed in this skin and a body that I didn't even have in my twenties. Funniest thing was they didn't know about my pheromone powers until after the sixth team the medical team visiting my room turned into an orgy between them that they started with the HAZMAT suits first."

The witch's snort turned into an outright laugh. "Oh, fuck. Those poor buggers." Amanda was finding she really enjoyed the woman's no-nonsense attitude. "And since I'm being nosy... how do you know Kevin? Since you two are definitely old mates."

"Winter 1981. Blondie was at the top of the charts and I looked a little like her. Chinese client puts down ten times the money for a date. And suddenly a dozen guys in shitty suits roll into my house. And then Kevin walks in. Unlike the rest of them, he looks at me like a person. Explains that the Agency needs a bug planted on him. Says that he'll pay well and if it works out, it might be a long term relationship. So I plant the bug and he comes up with an envelope of money and a double martini."

"Kev's an odd duck, but yeah, that sounds like him." Amanda sipped at her tea some more. "Sometimes I wonder how he puts up with all of us 'kids'." She made the inverted commas with one hand. "But we've definitely been the better for having him around. He's forgotten more shite than we know put together."

"I went to his funeral." This came quieter. "I think I was a little in love with him for a while. When I heard he died, I needed to be there. Met up with his old secretary who spent the entire time staring daggers at all his co-workers. Like she knew something. I cried. And then ten years later, the son of a bitch walks into my place like he was just out for a coffee."

There was no ready reply to that, so Amanda stayed silent, expression sympathetic. At last she said: "I'm sorry you went through that. It must have been hard."

"That's the good and the bad with Syd. He'll be the best ally you've ever had. And yet, there's a distance. I certainly never broached it." She shook her head. "But I learned a long time ago to take men as they are."

"You can't change 'em, that's for sure," Amanda replied, thinking of Manuel. She'd honestly thought she could help him be a better person, only to fuck it up royally.

"No, but you can charge them. Which is how I got to all this."