NOTE: My husband hates Gambit, who is my favourite character to write, so he 
    hardly ever reads my stuff. Therefore, I asked him who he wanted me to write 
    about.
        "Well, I hate Gambit. He's an idiot. Cyclops is so anally retentive, as 
        in full of shit." 
        "Well, who do you like?" 
        "I like Storm and Rogue, Phoenix and Psylocke. I like Professor X and I 
        like Beast. He's cool." 
        "So you want me to write about Professor X and the X-Babes." 
        "Yeah!" 
    The resulting story can be blamed on him. To quote my husband:
        "Let me guess. I read this one or die, right?" 




Lori McDonald
November 1996
 
Morning dawned bright and peaceful at the X-Mansion.
It didn't last.
    My Momma told me
    When I was young
    Stand tall, girl
    You're number one!
    She said- 
    You can be
    what you wanna be
    But you can't change the course
    Of your destiny!
    
	"Ah can't break away!" Rogue sang as she danced along with the music, her long 
hair whipping around her while she twisted and kicked. The vacuum cleaner she 
was supposedly using roared in protest as she swung it over her head. The music 
was so loud, pictures threatened to shake off the wall.
	In the doorway, Ororo watched her dance, her fingers stuck in her ears. "Rogue," 
she called. Rogue didn't answer, heading into the next verse as she swung her 
hips back and forth, her back to Storm. "Rogue!" Still no answer. Storm sighed, 
walked over to the stereo and yanked the plug out of the wall.
	"Ya can be what ya- huh?"
	"Do you not think that was a little too loud?"
	Rogue cupped one ear. "What?" Storm pointed at the vaccuum and she shut it off, 
blushing. "Ah - sorry 'bout that, sugah. Ah had it loud so ah'd hear it over th' 
vacuum."
	"You could have heard that over an explosion. Excessively loud music must be one 
of the most offensive sounds in creation."
	"Then you've never heard Scott snore when he's drunk." Jean stuck her head in 
the door. "Hi, Rogue. Why are you cleaning at this early hour?"
	She shrugged. "Ah couldn't sleep an' ah was tired o' bein' a slob. Sorry ah woke 
ya." Jean had been sleeping in the mansion since Scott left on a mission three 
days before.
	The red headed telepath smiled. "That's all right. I'm used to getting up at 
dawn anyway." Jean came the rest of the way into the room. "I guess we're all up 
then, except for Betsy."
	"I was already up." Psylocke stepped out of a shadow and into the room. "I was 
in the backyard doing katas when I heard Rogue's seranade. I must say, I do like 
your taste in music."
	"Thanks, sugah. Storm said she didn't like it."
	"I did not say I did not like it. I said I thought it was too loud."
	"It's rock. It's supposed to be loud."
	"I see. I will attempt to remember that in the future."
	Jean smiled. "Somehow, Storm, I can't see you listening to rock. Heavy metal 
maybe, but not rock."
	A white eyebrow rose. "Excuse me?"
	"I'm just kidding. How about I make it up to you by making you breakfast?"
	"An emminently reasonable suggestion. I accept."
	Rogue's eyes brightened. "Can anyone join in this ol' feedin' fest or is it 
private?"
	"No. The more the merrier and all that. Let me see if anyone else wants to join 
in." Jean closed her eyes and concentrated. She smiled a moment later. "Beast 
thinks I'm a 'godsend for the continuing sustenance requirements of 
nutritionally destitute scientists.'"
	"Does that mean he's hungry?"
	"Definitely. Charles is going to join us as well. No one else is home. "Coming, 
Betsy?"
	"Why not?"
	The four women headed downstairs, laughing and talking as they went into the 
kitchen, where Jean started making the batter for pancakes while Rogue and 
Psylocke set the table. As the supposed guest of honour, Ororo sat by the window 
and watched, not allowed to do anything.
	Rogue glanced sideways at Betsy as she plunked silverware down on the table. The 
Asian woman was the only one of them in costume. In her case, it was a skin 
tight, one piece thong bathing suit number, with a pink sash around her waist 
and ribbons around her arms and legs. Well known for daring outfits herself, 
Rogue considered it one of the more... interesting costumes she'd ever seen.
	"Betsy, can ah ask ya a question?"
	"I suppose."
	Rogue put down a knife and fork, glanced at her handiwork and switched them. 
"Sugah, ah've always wondered why ya wear that particular costume. Ah mean, ya 
used ta wear more than ah do."
	The ninja telepath shrugged. "It provides me with ease of movement." In the 
kitchen, Jean looked over at them and nudged Storm so that she was listening 
too.
	"Hogwash! If that thing so much as moves a centimetre down south, ya be showin' 
off enough ta make an army man blush. In fact, ya have! Ah thought Sam was gonna 
fly inta th' wall in th' last Danger Room session."
	"Maybe that's the reaction I want. You have to admit, I did win that scenario."
	"True 'nough." Rogue grinned wickedly. "So why don't ya skip th' thong an' jus' 
go out in th' all-t'gether?" She gestured grandly, almost taking off Hank's head 
as he walked in the door. "Evil-doers ev'rywhere cower in terror at the passin' 
o' Psylocke, th' amazin' naked woman!" Jean and Ororo laughed.
	"Oh, my stars and garters," Hank exclaimed, ducking. "I seem to have come in 
upon a most private conversation. What possible topic could have brought up such 
a grandious statement?"
	Rogue smiled at him. "Butt floss," she answered.
	"I... see." Hank took off his glasses and cleaned them on the edge of his lab 
coat. "Well, in that case, I believe I will do the gentlemanly thing and refrain 
from asking further."
	Jean chuckled and handed him a glass of orange juice. "That's probably a wise 
plan."
	"Ah, thank you, Mrs Grey-Summers. This is just what a poor, tired scientist 
needs after a night of research."
	"How is the research going, Hank?"
	"Slowly but surely, my dear Ororo, providing I get the results I want from this 
latest batch of experiments."
	"Sounds good, sugah," Rogue said as the phone rang and she went to answer it. 
"Good mornin'. Can ah help ya?"
	"Who'd be calling us at this hour?" Jean wondered aloud. Betsy shrugged.
	"Who? Oh, yes, please hold foh a moment an' ah'll get him," Rogue said sweetly, 
then pressed the hold button.
	"PROFESSAH! YA GOT A PHONE CALL!"
	"Ow," Storm said.
	Rogue cocked her head to one side, then grinned. "He got it."
	"He could have been dead and he would have got it!"
	Jean chuckled. "You do realize you don't need to yell at a world-class telepath 
for him to hear you."
	"Sugah, ya just like ta suck all th' fun out o' everythin', don't yah?"
	"Well, that's why I married Scott."
	"Ooh, nasty! Ah like it!"
	The red-head laughed and suddenly food was flying towards the table, narrowly 
missing the people who started diving out of its way. "I'm just kidding. 
However, since Charles could be a while, why don't we start without him?"
	A chorus of affirmatives sounded and everyone went to sit at the table. A few 
minutes later, Professor Xavier came in, his hoverchair humming softly as it 
floated an inch above the ground.
	"What was the call about, Charles?" Jean asked.
	"I've been invited to a luncheon in New York today."
	"Ooh, hot date, huh?"
	"Not quite. It's to discuss the 'mutant threat'."
	"Well, that sounds like a dull day."
	"And an important one. There will be several senators at the lunch. If I 
convince any of them of the rights of mutantkind, it'll stand us in good favour 
in the future."
	Storm nodded. "That sounds excellent, Professor."
	"An' gives me an idea. Why don't we drive ya down an' drop ya off, then go 
shoppin' 'til ya are ready ta come home?" She looked at the other women. "Come 
on, how long has it been since we all went shoppin' t'gether?"
	Betsy shrugged. "Why bother? The Sh'iar equipment can duplicate any kind of 
clothing we desire."
	"Now ya takin' all the fun out," Rogue pouted.
	Jean smiled at her younger teammate. "It sounds like a good idea to me, and we 
need a chance to get out. We've all be cooped up since the boys left."
	"Excuse me?" Hank put in. "May I point out that I am still here?"
	Rogue fluttered her eyelashes at him. "We didn' include ya with th' boys 'cause 
ya all man, sugah."
	"Oh, when you put it that way, I shan't take offense."
	'Well?" Rogue asked the group. "Ah'm goin' nuts here, but it ain't gonna be any 
fun goin' ta town without th' rest o' ya."
	"Very well," Storm sighed.
	Betsy shrugged. "I may as well."
	"I fear that I have research-"
	"Don't ya chicken out on me now, Hank."
	"-That I can put off until this evening. I would be delighted to keep company 
with you lovely ladies."
	"Smart answer, Hank."
	Xavier poured himself some orange juice. "Then I'll expect you and the limo to 
pick me up at the front door at eleven."



	"Who's drivin'?"
	"I do not believe I have ever driven a limo like this before."
	"What do you mean, Storm?"
	"It has not been hotwired."
	"Right--"
	"Why don't we let Beast drive?"
	"We do not want to let Beast drive."
	"I would love to drive. Allow me to chauffeur you all as you deserve."
	"Believe me, we do not want to let Beast drive."
	"Is everyone buckled in? Here, Professor, let me help you."
	"I can buckle myself in, Jean. You don't have to do it for me."
	"Of course not, Professor."
	"But you're going to do it anyway."
	"Beast, where evah did ya get that cute little cap?"
	"Oh, god, he's wearing the cap. Don't let him drive."
	"It's my driving cap. Never leave home without it."
	"Why do you not want Henry to drive, Betsy?"
	"Because he likes to drive backwards."
	"What?!"
	SCREEACH!!!



	Gracefully (and facing forwards), the limo pulled up to the restaurant and men 
on the street stopped to stare as a big driver in a chauffeur's cap got out to 
open the door. Out stepped a regal woman with chocolate brown skin and long 
white hair, followed by a redhead with gem green eyes. Right after her was a 
younger woman with a white stripe through her auburn hair and a purple-haired 
oriental woman. All four woman stepped onto the sidewalk and waited as the 
driver helped a man out, placing him carefully into a wheelchair. Stepping 
behind the wheelchair, he proceeded to push it towards the restaurant, flanked 
on either side by the women.
	"Wow," one man muttered as they went inside.
	"Did you say something, dear?" His girlfriend asked ominously.
	"Uh, nothing, dear."
	"That's what I thought."



	Xavier looked up at Jean almost accusingly. "You really don't need to accompany 
me inside," he said.
	She smiled, but it was Rogue who answered. "It's ya own fault foh mentionin' how 
ya always had trouble gettin' these guy's attention yoh havin' lunch with. We're 
just givin' ya a little bit better first impression."
	"But I look like a pimp," he muttered under his breath.
	#I heard that,# Betsy said telepathically. Xavier flinched.
	"Are ya cold, Professor?" Rogue asked sweetly, a slightly dangerous tone to her 
voice. "Maybe ah need ta bundle ya up." She bent over and zipped his coat up, 
almost cutting off his ability to breathe in the process. Apparently, she'd 
heard him as well.
	"Thank you," Xavier croaked.
	"Anytime, sugah."
	The interior of the restaurant was crowded, but people made way as the 
wheelchair was pushed through to a table set in a private corner. The two men 
sitting at it gaped at the women.
	"Good afternoon," Charles said. "Please excuse my students' presence. They 
insisted on dropping me off."
	"If those are his students," one whispered to his neighbour with a feral grin. 
"Then I want to be a teacher."
	"Yeah. I wonder what kind of extra-curricular activity they got."
	"Oops! Sorry, sugah!" Rogue said as she accidently bumped into the table, 
knocking a pitcher of ice water into his lap. The first speaker put a hand to 
his head.
	"Does anyone have any aspirin? I seem to have gotten a headache all of a 
sudden."
	#Ladies! Knock it out!#
	#We're just having a little fun, Charles. But we'll be off now. Have fun!#
	As one, the four women spun on their heels and strode arm in arm out of the 
restaurant, followed obediantly by the driver, men stepping quickly out of their 
way, then stopping to stare at them.
	"Well, ah do declare," Rogue decided. "Those men were positively slimy."
	"What do you expect? They're politicians."
	They walked towards the limo, and, playing the gallant chauffeur to the hilt, 
Hank darted around them to get the door. Rogue snatched the hat off his head 
though.
	"Hey!"
	"Why don't ya relax an' let me do th' drivin' foh a change, sugah?" She put the 
hat on her own head. "Set ya image inducer ta look like a playboy or somethin'. 
Or an actor."
	Jean grinned. "Can you do Mel Gibson?"
	"Ah like Arnold Shwartzaneggar mahself. Must be somethin' 'bout that accent."
	Betsy shook her head. "You two are being hopelessly silly."
	"I agree. Denzel Washington is by far the more attractive actor."
	"All right, Storm! Get down, gal!"
	Hank grinned at them, fiddling with the controls of his image inducer while 
hoping no one was watching. "As my ladies command." His appearance changed.
	"Hank, of all the possible actors out there, why do you look like Pee Wee 
Herman?"
	"Oops. Sorry. I've been having a little trouble with this particular image 
inducer and haven't had time to fix it. Hold on..." He changed again.
	"Now ya look like Charlie Chaplin. But ah think ya need ta work on the walk. Ya 
still move like a gorilla."
	"I most certainly do not!"
	"Then stop draggin' ya knuckles on the ground."
	"Damn. Wait a minute." Again...
	"Who is that?"
	"The guy from "Gone with the Wind," I think."
	"Ugh. I loathe mustaches on men. Try something else."
	"Don't ya dare! Ah love that movie. Rhett Butler, mah hero."
	"Goddess preserve us, she is giggling."
	"At least she's happy. Let's leave it at that. Besides, I don't want to end up 
looking like someone worse."
	"Such as?"
	"Bela Lugosi springs to mind."
	"What's wrong with that?"
	"Well, he has been dead for several decades."
	"And on that note, let us get moving. People are starting to stare."
	"Get used to it, Ororo. People always stare at you."
	"I refuse to get used to being seen as an object."
	"Then stop wearing the skin tight leather."
	"So says 'th' Amazin' Naked Woman'."
	"Ladies! Shall we?"
	Muttering, Ororo, Jean and Betsy got in the back with Hank while Rogue climbed 
into the driver's seat.
	"Where to?" She asked them.
	"The nearest overpriced clothing store."
	"Sounds good ta me. Hold onta ya hats."
	"But you're wearing my- Oh my stars and garters!"
	SCCREAACHH!!!!!



	With a squeal of tires, the limo raced up the street in the lane across from 
Bloomingdales. Swerving across traffic, it jacknifed, spinning 180 degrees and 
coming to a stop neatly in the space in front of the open doors.
	"We're here, everybody. Ya c'n open ya eyes now."
	"I think I swallowed my tongue."
	"Okay, group pact time. This is the last time we let anyone who is invulnerable 
be the chauffeur!"
	"Hey! Ah didn't kill anybody!"
	"Not for lack of trying. My god, Rogue, where did you learn to drive like that?"
	"Oh, mah momma taught me."
	"Why am I not surprised?"
	"Then Remy gave me a few pointers."
	"I thought I recognized that trick where she used that pile of dirt as a ramp to 
get over the traffic jam. Remy taught me that one as well in New Orleans."
	"Uh, Storm, you were in the body of a ten year old at the time."
	"Your point?"
	"Gotcha. Let's go!"



	Bloomingdale's was crowded, bright and filled with valuable merchandise. All of 
which paled before the four women who strode down the center aisle, trailed by a 
man who looked remarkably like Antonio Banderas one moment, and Igor the next.
	"Still havin' problems with ya image inducer, sugah?"
	"Yes. It seems to be malfunctioning."
	"Can you fix it, Henry?"
	"I believe so. Hold on a moment."
	Stepping out of the way of the crowds, Hank wandered over to a counter, working 
at the image inducer with a tiny screwdriver. His head down, he didn't notice a 
woman suddenly appear before him until it was too late.
	"Try our new colonge, "Putrid" for Men!" An instant later, she squirted him, and 
the open image inducer, with cologne.
	"Do you mind?" Hank yelped, yanking the device to one side. "I am dealing with 
delicate equipment here!"
	She sniffed disdainfully and walked off.
	Jean walked over and put a hand on his arm sympathetically. "Are you all right?"
	"I am not! I smell like a swamp."
	"Ah think it's kinda sexy mahself."
	"Well, that explains your attraction to Cajuns."
	"Betsy, ya see what coat rack ovah there?"
	"Yes?"
	"Wanna wear it?"
	"Want a headache for the next ten years?"
	Storm looked at the two of them cooly. "Behave yourself or we shall go home 
right now."
	"Yes, mom."
	While Storm looked as though she were slowly turning purple, Hank fitted the 
cover back onto the image inducer. "Let's see..." He pushed the button to change 
his appearance.
	"Ooh, baby!"
	He grinned. "I take it you like the results?"
	"I must say, I'm actually envious."
	"Thank you, Jean. Now let me see, is there a mirror around here?"
	"In a department store? Gosh, no."
	"Don't be flip, Rogue. It's rude."
	"Thhhpptt!"
	"Ladies, please. All right, here we go-- my stars and garters, I'm a woman!"
	"You say that as though it were a bad thing."
	Hank slowly turned bright red as he stared at the image inducer. "Oh, no. This 
part is burned out. Until I get it replaced, I'm stuck this way!"
	"So what's wrong with that?"
	The scientist, now a short, busty blonde very reminescent of Pamela Lee 
Anderson, started backing away. "I believe the part I need is in the limo. I'll 
be right back." He scurried off, stumbling on his three inch heels, trying to 
pull down his miniskirt in the back at the same time.
	"Ya know, not everyone c'n wear that look and get away with it," Rogue commented 
and everyone started to laugh.



	"Sugah, this would just look fabulous on ya!"
	Betsy looked at the short black dress skeptically. "I think it has too many 
rhinestones on it for my taste."
	Storm glanced at them over a rack of sweaters. "I believe I see Hank."
	"Are ya sure? He could look like anybody."
	"Actually, he looks the same as when he left."
	"Really?" The four women turned to see the little blonde hurrying up the aisle, 
almost tripping over his own feet in his haste, pausing only to slap one man who 
got fresh with him. The fact that the man flew backwards twenty feet to crash 
into a group of mannequins showed he used more strength than was strictly 
necessary.
	"He looks pissed," Betsy commented.
	"Looks more like a cute li'l pout ta me."
	Hank saw them and came over. "How do you women walk in these things?"
	"Years o' experience an' calves o' steel."
	"What happened, Henry? I expected a more masculine appearance."
	The tiny woman sagged, her bosom heaving. "They towed the limo."
	"Excuse me?"
	The blonde glared up at Rogue, leaving her wondering if he was really looking up 
at her, or if the image inducer only made it seem that way. "Did you not realize 
that you parked us in a non-parking zone? The-limo-is-gone," he stressed.
	"Well, ya c'n hardly blame me! One o' ya should have said somethin'!"
	"We were too busy thanking whatever Gods we believe in that you hadn't smeared 
us across the street!"
	"Always a critic!"
	Storm carefully hung the dress she was examining back on the rack and came over 
to the scientist. "Why do you not simply turn the image inducer off?"
	Hank looked disgusted. "You do realize that department stores at Christmas are 
the best places to go to find a lot of people, do you not?"
	"Of course."
	"Especially when one wishes to hand out pamphlets and such."
	"Ya point, Hank?"
	"The FOH is out in force."
	"Shit."
	He yanked his skirt down. "Exactly. I believe I am stuck like this for the time 
being, unless we wish to fight our way out?" He sounded hopeful.
	"No way, suh! Ah am gettin' mah nails done!"
	Hank sighed.



	The women, both real and illusionary, walked over to the escalator, following 
the eager Rogue, with Hank stumbling along in the rear.
	Storm fell back beside him. "Henry, why are you having so much trouble walking? 
The image inducer only produces an illusion."
	Hank looked increasingly disgusted. "Not this one. It's Forge's newest 
invention, designed to mimic tactile sensation so that the illusion may be more 
easily maintained."
	"So you feel as though you are actually walking in high heels."
	"It's not nearly as bad as the thong."



	An hour later, the women came out of the nail salon, Rogue gushing over her 
newly painted nails. "Ain't they wonderful?"
	"Yes. I don't believe I've ever seen that kind of pattern on a nail before. It's 
so... red."
	"An' strong too. Ah could take a man's eyes out with these."
	"Well, that's what I always look for in a manicure."
	Hank looked down at his own freshly painted nails. "I can't believe I let you 
talk me into this."
	"Don't worry, Hank. Just think of it as an experiment in gender exploration. How 
many times does a person get to play in a body that isn't their own?"
	"Gee, I don't know, Jean. How many times have you been cloned now?"
	"Behave, children."
	"Let them play, Storm. It's kinda fun to watch."
	"Bettes, ya got some weird ideas about fun. Come on now, there's a sale on the 
fourth floor an' Remy's visa ain't maxed out yet."
	"Remy lent you his visa?"
	"Well, not really. Ah nicked it outta his coat pocket yesterday. He won't mind."
	"Let me see that.... Why does the name on this read Scott Summers?"
	"What?!"
	"Easy, Jean, down girl!"
	"So it's Gambit's fault that there's a $500 charge on our account for Southern 
Sun Tan Body Lotion. And to think I blamed Scott for that!"
	"Actually, that one's mine."
	"What?! Rogue-!"
	"Calm down, you are attracting attention. Rogue will pay you back."
	"Ah will?"
	"You will. And Jean, why did you not just read Scott's mind to determine whether 
he used the card to buy the lotion?"
	"I do not make a habit of reading my husband's mind."
	"Too busy screaming, I'd guess."
	"Well..."
	Hank waved her small, perfectly formed hand in the air, nearly clubbing a nearby 
admirer across the nose. "Excuse me."
	"What?"
	"In a desperate attempt to change the subject before anyone winds up blown, 
thrown or blasted through a wall, I will point out that there is some form of 
commotion ahead of us which may bear investigating."
	The four women turned and looked ahead to see a crowd forming in the middle of 
the floor. Not sure what was going on, the X-Women wandered over towards it, 
deciding to let the argument they'd been having drop, though Jean kept the card. 
	They pushed through the crowd, Beast as always stumbling along in the rear, and 
came up to a platform set at waist level.
	"It's a runway used for fashion shows and beauty contests," Betsy noted 
professionally.
	"Cool. Ah always wanted ta be in a beauty show."
	As they stood there talking, a man noticed them and came over, almost oozing as 
he walked.
	"Ladies, where have you been? You're supposed to be ready for the next show by 
now!" Ignoring their protests, he herded them all behind the stage, where dozens 
of clothes hung on racks. "Now hurry up, we don't have much time. Cornelia will 
tell you what to wear."
	"I think he has us confused with someone else."
	"Just figured that one out, huh?"
	Elizabeth took one of the dresses off the rack. "This reminds me of my modeling 
days."
	"Not that one! You don't wear that until the third set!" A huge woman built much 
like the Hulk stomped over, her face red and angry. "God damn models, never 
around when you need them." As the other women and Hank watched in amazement, 
she stripped and dressed Betsy in about three seconds flat.
	"Now that's a mutant power," Jean whistled.
	"Get out there!" Cornelia threw the telepathic ninja through the curtain onto 
the stage, where music was already playing. "Next!" She advanced on Storm.
	"Goddess protect me..."
	Unfortunately for Storm, her Goddess was busy somewhere else, and in seconds she 
was in skin tight white leather, complete with a whip.
	"What is with Storm that she always gets ta wear th' leather? Knowin' mah luck, 
ah'll be back in spandex again." Four seconds later, stuffed into a short frilly 
skirt with a lollipop and her hair in pigtails, the red faced Mississippi 
Marauder was hurled bodily after Storm.
	Cornelia turned to Jean. "Your turn!"
	"Must you yell?"
	"Move!"
	"Apparently you must."
	Hank watched Jean being dressed in a floor length orange gown with increasing 
trepidation, and no small amount of interest, though he was gentleman enough to 
turn away before he saw too much, which of course left him wide open for 
Cornelia's attack.
	"Wait!" He shrieked in a voice much more highly pitched than his usual one, 
though he wasn't entirely sure if that was due to the image inducer or his own 
terror. "You can't do this! I'm really a man!"
	Cornelia paused in the process of stuffing him bodily into a delicate little 
blue teddy and looked him up and down. "Small world, isn't it?"
	Willingly, Beast fled onto the stage. Then he stopped and stared.
There seemed to be hundreds of people looking up at him. Looking down the runway 
to avoid their eyes, he gaped at his teammates.
	Betsy was at the far end of the runway, strutting around as though she were the 
queen of all she surveyed. Rogue was walking stifflegged down the center of the 
run, bright red, one hand pulling the front of her skirt down, one pulling down 
the back. One man reached out to touch her and she kicked him in the head. 
	Behind her, Storm was standing in the middle of the run, glaring around regally 
and obviously too overcome by stagefright, or the fear of ripping her seams, to 
move. Jean walked by her, holding her skirts up with one hand and waving to the 
crowd with the other. Hank stared at them and at the crowd, decided he'd had 
enough and tried to go back through the curtain. Cornelia met him on the steps.
"Going somewhere!?"
	He grinned weakly. "Uh, no." He bolted back onto the stage, ran up behind Jean 
and tried to hide in her skirts. She certainly had enough room in them.
	"What are you doing, Hank?"
	"What does it look like?"
	"Like you're trying to grab a cheap feel."
	"I am not. I'm hiding."
	"Then why are you holding onto my butt?"
	"Am I? Oops, terribly sorry, I thought that was a shoulder pad."
	"Do I normally wear them that low?"
	"Uh, no?"
	"You're on your own, Blue Boy."
	With a telepathic nudge, she pushed Hank out away from her skirts. Immediately, 
Henry looked for somewhere else to hide. He glanced at Rogue, but, her powers 
aside, she didn't have enough room in her outfit for herself, let alone him. 
Storm looked as though she was having trouble breathing and he wasn't sure he 
wanted to head all the way to the end of the runway to get to Betsy. Quietly, he 
inched back towards the curtain. Cornelia had to be better than this. He glanced 
back and saw her peering through the curtains. Then again...
	"Ah hate this, ah hate this, ah hate this," Rogue kept mumbling.
	"We must get out of here, we have to meet with the Professor in ten minutes and 
we still have not gotten the car back."
	Hank nodded vigorously. "I agree with Ororo wholeheartedly. Let us vacate these 
premises posthaste."
	"But we have to finish the show!"
	"Get a grip, Betts!"
	"And now!" Cried the designer, who'd been talking throughout all this. "We will 
take a moment's recess and our models will come back wearing my new design, the 
gownless evening strap!"
	"That's it, I'm out of here."
	Without even bothering to go back through the curtain, Hank jumped right off the 
stage onto the head of a drooling fanboy. Balancing there for a moment, he began 
scurrying to the edge of the crowd by balancing on their heads. He gave them 
quite the illusionary view, but he really didn't care anymore.
	Instantly, Rogue flew after him. "Wait foh me!"
	"Get back here! We have to collect our purchases, and our clothes!"
	"Sorry, Storm." Jean ran after them, telepathically holding her skirts up. 
"Scott can always get a new credit card."
	"They're muties!" Someone in the crowd yelled.
	"And that's our cue." Betsy hopped off the stage.
	With a sigh that unfortunately ripped half of the seams on her outfit, Storm 
tossed her whip to the charging Cornelia and flew after her friends.



	Quietly, Professor Xavier sipped his tea, smiling at the senators across from 
him. It'd been a productive lunch, his arguments winning the two men over to his 
cause slowly but surely.
	"So," he said. "You concede the fact that mutants are in most ways just like any 
other kind of human."
	One of his lunchmates sighed. "I suppose I have to. I must admit, mutants do 
generally try to fit into society."
	"Yes, they don't want to-" he heard a crashing sound at the front door. "-stand 
out?"
	Through the door came Rogue, moving with as much dignity as she could while 
dressed in pigtails and a dress that would show too much leg on an eight year 
old. She was trying to hold it down, a difficult matter for one who was flying 
horizontally.
	Right behind her hurried Jean, dressed in a horrible orange dress with enough 
fabric to cover a house. The skirt was floating off the ground in a circle 
around her. Betsy strolled along behind her, wearing bell bottom pants and a 
bikini top with as much nonchalance as she wore her usual costume. Behind her 
struggled Storm, wearing leather so ripped Xavier was afraid she'd been in some 
kind of battle, dragging with her a blonde in a semi translucent blue teddy.
	"It's stuck!" the blonde was shrieking. "I can't believe I was perfume sniped 
twice in one day!"
	"So turn it off!"
	"Wearing this? Are you out of your mind?!"
	Why does that woman sound like Hank? Xavier wondered.
	The Professor and the two senators gaped at the five women as they hurried up to 
the table and began talking all at once.
	"They towed th' car!"
	"We lost everything we bought."
	"The FOH is right behind us. We gotta move."
	"My image detector, my dignity! I'm never coming out of my lab again!"
	"Do you think this colour looks good on me?"
	The senators blinked, looked at one another, and as one, stood and ran.
	"Was it somethin' we said?"
	Xavier groaned, covering his eyes with one hand. "Do you realize how far back 
you have set mutant/human relations with this stunt?" He asked.
	"About five hundred years?"
	"Nah. I'd say a decade, tops."
	"Children!"
	"Stuff it, Storm!"
	"What?!"
	Suddenly, there was a commotion outside and Rogue picked up the professor, 
wheelchair and all, careful not to let her skin touch his. "Come on, Professor, 
we gotta get out o' here."
	They were running through a newly made back door at the rear of the restaurant 
when Professor Xavier realized something. "Where is Hank?"
	"I don't want to talk about it!" the blonde yelled.
	"Henry?!"
	"I said I didn't want to talk about it!"
	Xavier shook his head at his oldest student. "That is an... unusual appearance 
to take, Henry."
	"So what's wrong with bein' a woman?"
	Hank frowned a lot more prettily than he'd intended. "I wasn't given much 
choice."
	"Ah don't suppose ya could extend th' field o' that thing so that ah don't look 
lahk ah jus' escaped from preschool, could ya?"
	Hank fiddled with it. "I believe so. That part doesn't appear to be 
malfunctioning..."
	VASH!
	"Goddess..."
	"Ah said ah wanted MORE clothes, not none!"
	"So, it seems I'm going to have to change my code name from Psylocke to Naked 
Woman for real."
	"Fix it!"
	"I'm trying, Jean!"
	"Try harder!!!"
	VASH!
	"Playboy bunnies?! That thing turned us all into PLAYBOY BUNNIES?!"
	VASH!
	"Baywatch?!?!"
	VASH!
	"Oh great, now we're all naked again. Uh, Professor, is that you?"
	Charles, who'd been keeping his eyes closed during all of this, turned towards 
the voice. "Yes, Jean?"
	"Did you know that you look like Sharon Stone?"
	"Only with bigger knockers," Rogue added.
	Ororo, dressed in nothing but her deodorant, stepped up to the blushing Hank, 
who was trying not to look at the nude women around him.
	"You did say that was Forge's, did you not? Perhaps we should contact him."
	"Actually, he made it for Bobby, I'm just borrowing it."
	A moment of silence. "Ladies," Jean said at last. "Do you think mayhaps the 
inducer is doing what it's supposed to do?"
	"Why would Bobby want an inducer that makes him look like a women?"
	"All the better to hang out in places like women's changing rooms."
	"That's it, he dies!"
	Charles sighed. "Henry, just turn it off. We will find something suitable for 
you to wear before we go into public."
	Hank nodded and crushed the inducer. Immediately, everyone was back in the 
clothes they'd been wearing at the fashion show. Hank hugged himself. "I can't 
believe I'm wearing a teddy. No one had better say anything. I don't believe I 
could possibly be any more embarrassed than I am right now."
	Xavier stared at him, his eyes wide. "Beast, did you paint your nails?"
 
The End



(The song Rogue sings at the beginning is "I Can't Break Away" by Big Pig)