Fan Fiction ❯ Don't Kid a Kidder ❯ Chapter 8 ( Chapter 8 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Don’t Kid a Kidder

by Rosy the Cat

Disclaimer: I do not in any way, shape, or form own X-men and the various comics titles and movies, etc. They belong to Marvel. I do, however, own in the creative sense Margaret Kidder, her family and any other original characters I end up writing into this story. Steal anything of mine without permission, and I’ll round up a lynch mob of my fellow writers. This story was inspired by Gevaisa’s “Minion” and “Lady Doom,” which both kick ass, as does she. Before anybody launches any protests, she knows quite well what I’m doing and she’s probably more excited about it than I am. In fact, as of a few chapters back this story has joined continuities with the “Minion” saga. Huzzah for friendships in fandoms!

Author’s note: I’ve had a crappy week or so; first I was sick and missed a bunch of classes, then I had to pull a research paper on an aspect of the Renaissance out of my butt for my Shakespeare class. I had a little over a week, but in classic me style procrastinated and ended up writing a seven-page paper in two hours, skipping my Spanish class. Oh well, I think I did a pretty good job, even if the word-count limit kept me from using even half of the sources I researched. And now, here I am, writing because Gevaisa popped out a new chapter and inspired me to get cracking. Gracias, mi amiga!

Chapter 8

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July 19th, 2005:

Dear Diary,

Got up at the ass-crack of dawn, aka five-thirty, because apparently Kitty was hyper and couldn’t sleep all last night and couldn’t wait any longer and decided to have me share in her insomnia. Ever so glad I turned in early, then.

My last-minute packing consisted of shoving double-bagged toiletries into my duffle--Kitty warned me that shampoo and stuff can explode on plane rides because of air pressure changes--and deciding not to wear my new shoes on the plane, but instead wear my light tan church shoes that I got for last Passover/Easter. Kitty then dragged me downstairs for breakfast, disturbingly twitchy over my taking my time. There was no reason not to, anyway, since we were going in the school’s/super-team’s/whatever’s jet, the Blackbird, and thus didn’t need to deal with JFK, and we weren’t leaving until, like, eight. I planned to sleep until my normal wake-up time--six-thirty--but far be it for me to keep Kitty from being a stereotypical girl who needs an ungodly amount of time to prepare for the simplest things.

Anyway, after breakfast we went back upstairs and I deliberated over what book to pack in my back pack as spare reading material--I was already half-way through “Beauty”--decided on “Catherine, Called Birdy” by Karen Cushman, pet my cat while reassuring him of my undying affection, and about half an hour before we were to leave, got dressed. I wore a knee-length tan skirt with a violet-print blouse, which normally served as spring and summer church-wear, but I figured church-level nice was my best bet to serve as the most casual I’d be able to wear on this trip. Kitty dressed similarly--nice but not too nice--so I figured I’d be fine. In any case I was dressed and with luggage in hand--duffle and garment bag hanging over arms, back pack on...well, my back--while waiting at the front door for Kitty and Miss Munroe, sharing commiserating looks with Dr. McCoy.

The only real snafu I had was remembering that I hadn’t reminded Marie to take care of Carnation while I was gone, though I’d asked her shortly after my inclusion on this trip was made final. Marie ended up shoving me out the door so I didn’t hold the others up, much to my embarrassment. Can anyone really blame me, though? I haven’t been parted from my adorable fluff-ball for longer than a school day--reality-altering situation notwithstanding--since I got him. He’s my baby; what kind of mother would I be if I weren’t concerned for his safety and well being, I tell you?

Anyway, after that the trip was--and continues to be--rather smooth. I was too exhausted on the trip back from Genosha to notice, but I definitely prefer traveling via the Blackbird to the cargo hold of a commercial jet. The seats are quite comfy, and it’s a heck of a lot quieter.

We’ve been in the air about five hours, so I’m gonna take a quick trip to the little girls’ room and then have a nap, if I can manage it. I’m now three-fourths of the way through “Beauty,” and it’s a good thing I’ll have the wedding to distract me, otherwise I’d run out of book-y goodness long before we head back to the school.

TTFN,

Margaret Kidder.

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July 20th, 2005:

Dear Diary,

I napped my way through the rest of the flight and though we’re now in Latveria and it’s just after dinner--Dr. McCoy and Miss Munroe sprang for room service, as we were too late for the organized dinner up at the castle so we stuck to our hotel--I’m positively exhausted. We have to get up early again tomorrow because the wedding’s at ten. Yay! I’m off to bed; again.

My this mattress is comfortable...

TTFN,

Margaret Kidder.

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July 21st, 2005:

Dear Diary,

Okay, this time it was me getting Kitty up at a disgustingly early hour--a little before five, if you’re wondering--due to nerves. Call me crazy, but I think I’m entitled to be a tad hyper and jittery when the first wedding I’ve ever attended happens to be a royal one. Gah! Kitty managed to talk me down somehow and send me to the bathroom to take a shower, though by the time I got out she was already asleep again. Apparently my nervous pacing wasn’t the only thing I was doing, because Miss Munroe came over a few minutes later and helped me calm down long enough to get my shields solid and my emotions under control, before getting Kitty out of bed and in the shower for her own bathing.

Once Kitty was out and her hair blow-dried--I air-dried my hair, I always have and I have little patience for dealing with something loud that blasts my head with hot air, not to mention I wouldn’t know how to use one correctly anyway. Good thing I was the first one up then, I suppose.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah...So Kitty and I scrambled around getting ourselves ready, with me getting on my dress and doing my hair--a high pony tail that Kitty twisted up and stuck what was basically glorified, though pretty, chopsticks in to keep the twist in place--but Kitty insisted I wear at least a little make-up, so we dealt with that. As pretty as I ended up looking, I still don’t think it would be quite worth the effort to do something like that every day, or even particularly often. Plus, of course, unless I want to spend less of my allowance on books--which I don’t--I couldn’t afford makeup. I think I’ll do my best to avoid formal situations from now on, at least until I’m old enough to have my own job, or, you know, mooch off of Kitty on the few pertinent occasions until she graduates.

Anyway, we’re done now, so it’s time to boogie on down the road! ...Or, you know, go to the wedding. Whichever floats your boat.

TTFN,

Margaret Kidder.

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So once we were all dressed--by that point we, as in Kitty and I, were both too nervous to eat anything, not even the muffins and stuff that had been sent up for us--the grown-up-types walked us up to the castle--can I say that that place was so BIG it makes the school look teeny?--and, after we all got through security, Kitty dragged me off to explore. Is it a bad sign that my best friend has a disturbing ability to haul me around when I’d rather stay put? She’s got this tiny ballerina build, and while I’m rather thin I’d like to think I’ve got some muscle tone, plus I’m taller than her, she still manages to pull me all over. I suspect she’s using her powers to an unfair advantage, but I haven’t been hurt as a result yet so the jury’s still out on whether it’s worth raising a fuss over.

So anyway, after we’d walked through the room the wedding gifts were being displayed in--and let me say “Wow,” “Shiny,” and “Yow!”--our hunger finally made itself known...

*Growl*

“Was that your stomach or mine, Kitty?”

*GROWL*

“Mine I guess, but I’m pretty sure that last one was yours!”

“Har-de-har-har; it is to laugh. And where are you going?” The second bit was said with no little confusion with a side of panic, as the only people heading in the same direction I could see looked like staff.

“The kitchens; we’re both hungry, and I don’t think Doctor Doom’ll take kindly if his wedding’s interrupted by the grumbling of hungry tummies, Meg. You coming?”

I stood in indecision for a few seconds, then bolted after Kitty, clinging to her hand. After all, the safest place in the world is right next to someone who can make themselves and whoever they’re touching intangible. Worse case scenario, we bolt through a few walls and back to the teachers. She squeezed my hand in an attempt at comforting, but all I felt at that point was a vague urge to barf.

The kitchens were bustling and busy, but Kitty found a rather nice chef that spoke English and didn’t mind letting us have a quick foray through the appetizers for later. God bless ‘em.

So anyway, we were carefully working our way back to the doors when the Human Torch, who wasn’t torch-like at the moment, and the Thing wandered through. The Torch’s purpose was quite clear, as his eyes were fixated on the butt of a particularly pretty pastry chef. The Thing seemed to be playing watchdog for the Torch, though he looked rather nervous. I gave him a commiserating smile, but the next thing I knew Kitty’d tackled me under--no THROUGH--a steel worktable and a bunch of the pies on top of it. We crouched there for a bit, careful to keep our skirts away from the floor as we figured out what had happened.

First of all, any sensible single person knows to look for any obvious signs of emotional, spiritual, or marital attachment to another person in or on anyone they might be interested in before pursuing. It leads to fewer embarrassed moments, and is just plain common sense. Apparently the Torch really is a hothead in personality, because that pastry chef he’d been following like a puppy? She was wearing an engagement ring.

Second of all, apparently the fiancé in question also worked in the kitchens. You can see where this is going. Punches were thrown, workers holding carefully crafted edibles were knocked into, and retaliation was meted out. Unfortunately the Thing was so nervous that he attacked at the first sign of danger. That’s why, Kitty told me under the table, she’d tackled me. Apparently one of the Thing’s boulder-esque fists had gotten disturbingly close to my head, and all the telepathy in the world wouldn’t have saved me from a pulverized noggin.

At Kitty’s suggestion, I lowered my shields just enough to send out a distress call to Dr. McCoy and Miss Munroe, but I cut myself off before making contact because the Thing lost his balance. Right onto a table; a table that held two identical wedding cakes.

Let me describe those cakes, because they really were beautiful works of art in and of themselves. They looked like someone had sculpted them entirely out of porcelain, artistically studded them with pearls, and painted them--or plated them, as some parts were shiny and other parts had a sort of matte finish--with gold and silver. Also coated in what could have been precious metals were leaves, vines, and flowers, though there were some shaped as jasmine that had a pearly shimmer instead. They were positively gorgeous.

In a split-second, they were positively airborne. And then they were positively pulverized as they landed on counter space and kitchen workers and super heroes and floor, all indiscriminately. What looked like the head chef was positively PISSED.

I don’t know who threw the first pie, but I know exactly who yelled-

“FOOD FIGHT!”

“Honestly, Kitty!”

And it was on like Donkey Kong. In my defense I only threw one pie, and that was at the Torch, because this was all his and his hormones’ fault, no question. It’s not MY fault the pastry chef he’d been chasing got in the way while running for safety, after all. It was pretty funny, though.

Kitty finally came to her senses after her own third flung pie and the fifth time she had to phase to keep us from being splattered, and we both bolted for the wall, which lead to the walk-in freezer, which led to the courtyard where we were supposed to sit for the wedding.

Miss Munroe and Dr. McCoy took one look at us and both raised an eyebrow. Kitty and I took quick stock of our clothing, relieved to find we were still pristine. I supposed they could hear the shouting coming from the kitchens.

“WE DIDN’T DO IT!”

The teachers just groaned, while the African man next to Miss Munroe--holycrapit’sthekingofWakanda!--just looked amused.

It was a good thing we were directed to our seats at that point, because otherwise we’d probably have been in deep trouble.

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Author’s notes: Dedications and thank-yous and virtual snickerdoodles go to my buddy/beta/continuity guru Gevaisa, who’s been the bestest ever with back-and-forth brainstorming.

Oh, and by the way, Gevaisa's "Minion" can be found at http : / / www . fanfiction . net/ s/ 2530396/ 1/ . Just take out the spaces and you'll be fine.

-- Rosy the Cat

4/18/06