Tales of a Working Boy (Bobby)

[Ororo Munroe]

Storm skulks behind an upended trash dumpster, staring out across the fencing and guard towers. A few spotlights played across the empty pavement.

If there’s one thing you can say about the future, it’s that it really does suck. She shakes her head, dangly earrings jangling slightly. Warren had asked her to meet an informant that had gotten wind of possible movement on his New York base. In this day and age, no communication was secure, so the best way of ensuring privacy was meeting face-to-face.

One of the problems was that New York was now under martial law, and it had been divided into sectors for security’s sake. One needed the proper clearance to move between sectors on the ground. She could have simply flown to their destination by manipulating the wind, but that was prone to mutant satellite detection.

It wasn’t much of a problem, though. She had to keep her skills sharp or lose them. A good time for some stealth practice. She glances over at Bobby, who she’d asked to accompany her. Storm avoids a grin. They were dressed appropriately for their roles - a crime maven and her plaything.

“Everything all right, Ace?” She lets her half-lidded eyes wander over Bobby’s body. It felt slightly dirty, but she was expected to leer at him in this guise. She’d dressed him in a pair of tight leather pants, and a silvery, sleeveless mesh top that clearly showed off his muscle tone. Final touches included heavy eyeliner and a fake earring on his upper ear. “I hope you’re not thinking of backing out on me. This is an important run.”

[Bobby Drake]

I feel ridiculous.

When Storm had invited him along on this little operation, Bobby had jumped at the chance to get out of the damned base and do something. Anything at all, really.

And the specifics sounded pretty cool, when she’d explained them. Sure, they wouldn’t be able to reveal their mutations out in the field, but Bobby was more prepared for that sort of thing than most of the Institute, what with his workout regimen and unarmed combat exercises and stuff. And it was a great opportunity to learn more sneaky tricks from Storm – she’d given him some basic tradecraft training back in the day, but he was still a novice and knew it.

And he can’t complain… it really has been cool sneaking around Manhattan of the future, making contact with the criminal underworld… like something out of Escape from New York, except in real life. A little scary, a lot exciting.

And watching Storm in action hasn’t been disappointing… she moves like a ghost, she picks locks faster than Bobby could open them with a key, and she has an uncanny ability to tell when someone is passing by who might see them. Bobby’s used to thinking of himself as an OK sneak, but compared to her he’s just a blundering thug; on his own he’d have been spotted a dozen times already. It’s pretty cool.

And, yes, he’d understood that some kind of disguise would be necessary when he signed up… after all, his face (twenty years older, admittedly, but apparently well-preserved) was pretty well-known around these parts, and Storm (also older, but how many white-haired blue-eyed black women are there?) was a notorious wanted criminal. Going out wearing their own faces would be dumb.

But he hadn’t counted on the cover identities Storm and Warren would work out, and what that meant about their disguises. Hers was… effective, he’d have to admit. Painted-on pants, calf-high boots, lace-up silk corset under a black leather vest… the hair dye and the tinted lenses and the facial alterations were practically overkill; it’s not like anyone would ever look at her face.

His own getup, on the other hand… gah. Bobby’d gotten used to the X-Man suit, he’d gotten used to the black leather trunks, he’s even resigned himself to the way his powers keep leaving him naked in public. But this… he feels more naked than being naked.

Of course, that’s the whole point. Nobody’s every going to associate ‘Mistress’s boytoy’ with the Big Bad Colonel Drake, not in their wildest dreams. It’s effective. It makes sense. It’s just… uncomfortable.

> " Everything all right, Ace? "

He can feel himself squirming under her gaze, uncomfortably reminded of his reaction the first time he’d seen her in the X-Man suit. Well, the first couple of dozen times, really. Back then he’d probably have fainted if she’d looked at him like that; even now he can tell he’s flushing furiously. Does she have to look at me like that?

But, of course, she does… she’s just keeping up her end of the disguise. Which, he realizes, he isn’t. “Ace” wouldn’t be squirming and looking like a fish out of water; he’d be strutting like a rooster, like a movie star on camera, like… and he almost laughs when he makes the connection… like Warren.

That, he can do.

He hopes.

> " I hope you’re not thinking of backing out on me. This is an important run."

He squelches his curt nod and closes his eyes for a moment, reaching for the essence of Ace. Looking good, and I know it. Easy living, got it made. Cock of the walk… everybody wants a piece of me, but only the best can afford it. Yeah… For just a moment, he winces at the idea that Elliot or Josh or Jade might be listening in on his thoughts; he’s probably broadcasting this absurd internal monologue of his on all channels.

Then he deliberately puts that thought aside… Ace wouldn’t care. Ace doesn’t have a self-conscious thought in his head. Hell, Ace doesn’t have two thoughts to rub together. “Thoughtful” isn’t in Ace’s job description.

A slow breath, and he looks back at her, careful not to meet her eyes. "Of course not, Mistress. Your slightest wish is my command."

[Ororo Munroe]

> "Of course not, Mistress. Your slightest wish is my command."

In response, Storm settles for a seductive leer. She was pleased as to how completely Bobby had stepped into the role of boy-for-hire. In the past, she’d taught some of the students how important it was to sink entirely into the mindset of the character you’re portraying. Thinking like the character was as important as acting externally like the character. Bobby was doing marvelously - she doubted that anyone could have topped his performance, not even Josh, who was probably more comfortable with his own body, and had more acting experience. Granted, she doubted most of the other boys would have been up to it at all. Danny, Matthew, Sam, and Doug were all too unsure of themselves. Julian, perhaps… sometimes I wonder if prostitution isn’t one of his extracurriculars.

Storm pulls her leather jacket more tightly around her. Post-apocalypse, New York was simply a dangerous place to be, especially at night. Some areas of the country were mostly untouched by the new regime, but large population centers had all changed for the worse. People like Lady T’Challa - like myself - engaged in black market activity, scraping to keep themselves and their employees alive. It wasn’t hard to be classified as a black marketeer these days - nearly everything was illegal in one jurisdiction or another.

“Right. Ace, let’s get going. We’ve an appointment to keep.” Summoning the wind into a brief burst, Ororo vaults over the barbed wire fencing. She presses her back to the guard building, listening intently for potential threats. A short ways away, she hears the crunching of boots on gravel. Catching Bobby’s - Ace’s - eyes, she hurries into a concealed position, waiting for the patrol to get by.

Instead, they stop in front of their hiding place and begin to chatter. Ororo resists the urge to roll her eyes. At this rate, we’re going to be late for the meeting. Her ears perk up when the conversation turns interesting.

“You heard about Colonel Drake’s new op? He’s looking for transfer volunteers to replace the units he lost during that raid a couple weeks back.” One trooper scratches his neck, having taken his helmet off.

“Oh yeah - I was thinking about joining up. Always wanted to work under him.” The other trooper seems more serious, scanning the fence line.

“I don’t know if I would. I hear they’re hitting some major insurgency installation. Might want to wait until it’s over… likely to get ugly."

Ororo's eyes widen fractionally. Major insurgency installation...

[Bobby Drake]

> " Right. Ace, let’s get going. We’ve an appointment to keep. "

Bobby nods, suppressing a jealous grumble at the ease with which Storm vaults the fence. Of course, he could use his powers to shatter a hole in the fence, but that would leave signs of mutant activity… not a good idea in the current climate. He’s about to start climbing it the old-fashioned way, intending to switch to ice at the top of the fence to avoid being cut by the barbed wire, when Storm indicates a patrol; instead, he slips behind some bushes and waits for her all-clear.

He can hear voices, but too far to make out any words. Still, judging from her reaction, whatever they’re overhearing is significant. He wonders what it is.