GO WEST

Chapter 5: "That Kind of Man"

Summer had come to its inevitable end, and slowly but surely, the Massachusetts Academy was coming back to life, as students returned from their holidays to resume classes. And as always, close on the heels of late registration, orientation and the first week of classes came the annual welcome-back dance, open to the entire school, with which Headmistress Emma Frost hoped to break the ice between the new students and the old.

For some of Frost's more "gifted" students, however, the dance heralded the end of the summer session, and the transition into fall. It was a welcome change of pace for most, but for others, just a reminder of their own differences.

The Hellions never got a vacation. Sure, they had some time off during the year, time enough to briefly see their families, but Frost wasn't about to let her mutant proteges depart the academy en masse for three months. For the Hellions, summer session was mandatory, continuing not only their scholastic endeavors, but their training in use of their mutant powers as well.

For Buford McGwynn, the summer had been all but unbearable. Fifteen months ago, when he'd (barely) graduated high school, he'd vowed never to return to classes. Three months later, for no reason he could adequately recall, he was starting his college career at the Academy, on a full academic scholarship, and finding himself a mutant among mutants.

That had been the biggest change of all. Buford had always known he was stronger and tougher than most of the guys at his school, but he had attributed that to years of working out and playing football. Frost, however, had informed him that he was, in fact, a mutant, and with her training, he could be stronger than ever before. She needed him, or so she told, not only for his mutant strength, but for the charisma and leadership ability that had made him the captain of the Little Rock HS football team for three straight years. The Hellions were without a strong leader, and he was needed.

So now, a year later, he was co-leader of the senior team, a history major, and was dangerously close to burnout. Frost hadn't explained that his career as a mutant would involve so damned many classes. Add to that the complete absence of a summer vacation, and Buford was having second thoughts.

The last thing he needed now was a dance, he thought, as he struggled with his bow tie, regarding himself in a full-length mirror. It had been difficult enough to find a tuxedo in his size, much less to get into it. As far as he was concerned, you should only wear a tuxedo on the day you were married and the day you were buried.

A knock came on the partially-open door of his dorm room, and a heavily-accented voice called out. "Knock-knock, M'sieu Beef! Are you decent?"

"Yeah, sure, Etienne. C'mon in."

Etienne Delacroix, Buford's friend and fellow Hellion, fairly sauntered into the room, dressed to kill. "Well, mon grand ami, are you ready to meet ze lovely ladies? It will be a night to remember!"

Buford gave up on the tie and sighed, deflating. "Etienne, I don't wanna go. Could'ja tell Miss Frost I got sick, or somethin'?"

"Lie to Mam'selle Frost? Not likely, mon ami. And why do you not wish to go?"

"Because I look like a dang fool in this monkey suit. B'sides, I don't know how ta dance."

"Ah, pas de problème, Buford. After all, you do not have to dance." He reached (way) up to put his arm across Beef's shoulders, then met his friend's eyes through the mirror's reflection. "Aside from which, think of all ze beautiful jeunes femmes zat will be attending... overwhelmed by zair first days at ze Academy, just waiting for two well-dressed, worldly men like you and I to come and sweep zem from zair feet!" He whirled to stand in front of Buford, and grabbed his shoulders, his face twisting into a look of comic dismay. "But if you will not do zis for yourself, Buford, and you will not do it for ze ladies... please, think of me! Your dear friend Etienne, who will be forced to comfort all ze ladies himself should you not be zair! Oh, ze 'orror of it all!"

Buford chuckled at his friend's display. "Okay, okay, I'll go. Just gimme a hand with this danged tie, wouldja?"

"But of course!" Etienne grinned, deftly taking hold of Buford's tie and twisting it into a neat bow. After he had it in place, he resumed his place at Beef's side, and the two regarded themselves in the mirror. "I must say, m'sieu, you look almost as 'andsome as I!"

"If the both of you are finished complimenting yourselves," a third voice came, "may I have a word?"

The two turned around to see Alpha-team leader Haroun Al-Rashid (codename "Jetstream") leaning into the room, already fully dressed and ready for the evening's festivities.

"C'mon in, Jet," Buford called. "What's up?"

Haroun took a seat at the end of Buford's bed and gave his teammates a sigh. "There is trouble. Nothing to worry about just now, but apparently something has been brewing elsewhere, and we may or may not be needed before long. Miss Frost will keep us posted, but if the situation gets any worse... we shall need to be ready at a moment's notice."

"Oh, swell," Beef muttered. All things considered, though, being in action with the rest of the Hellions might be preferable to spending four hours in a tuxedo with a bunch of complete strangers.

"Zat would be a shame," Etienne frowned. "A shame indeed to rob ze gathering of several of its most eligible young bachelors. Ze ladies would be crushed!"

"Man, don't you ever stop thinkin' about gals?" Buford asked Etienne, giving him a sideways glare.

Etienne shrugged. "And what would you prefer I think about?"

"I just felt the two of you should know," Haroun continued. "I've already informed Sharon and Marie-Ange."

"Why didn't Miss Frost just mindcall us?" Buford asked.

Haroun shrugged. "Whatever she is involved with seems to be taking all of her attention."

A fourth voice joined the conversation from the vicinity of the open door. "Uh huh. Wanna let me in on it, boys?"

As one, the three mutants turned to look as Jennifer Stavros slinked into the room (Jenny could slink better than any woman Buford had ever met -- even Catseye). She gave the three a sultry smile before raising an eyebrow at Haroun. "Thought you were meeting me at my room, Jet."

Haroun's dark skin first seemed to pale, then flush even darker, and no wonder. Buford had known Jennifer for about a year now, and even after countless workouts, training sessions and missions with her, she still made his pulse race. Five feet two inches of exaggerated curves, pale-gold hair rolling down to the middle of her back, bright, mischievous eyes, wearing a tight black dress which was cut daringly low in the front, and even more so in the back. The most dressed-up he'd ever seen a girl was at the Senior Prom back in Little Rock; this Atlantic City bombshell was something beyond his experience.

And she was taken, too, or at least, again. At the moment, as for the past few months, she had eyes only for Jetstream.

"I... ah, that is to say I... was going to look for you, Jennifer," Haroun stammered. "I merely had to relay Miss Frost's news to our teammates. There is trouble, you see..."

"Ohhhhh, no," Jennifer grinned. "Not tonight, Jet. Right now all that's on this little mutie's agenda is leaving some scorch marks on the dance floor. The rest of the world can do without us for a few hours."

She grabbed him by the hand and pulled him toward the door, waving to Buford and Etienne as she made her exit. "Lookin' good, guys! See you there!"

Jetstream's only parting remarks to them were a look that fell somewhere between bemusement and desperation, and a shrug that seemed to say "Well, what would you do?"

Etienne clapped Buford on the shoulder. "Now zat," he grinned, "is an excellent idea. Shall we join zem?"

"I guess," Beef muttered. "Best ta get it over with..."

Even the most informal of dances at the Academy simply oozed class, as did the Academy itself. Rather than a gymnasium, this event was held in a fully-decorated Victorian ballroom, and the dress took decadence to new heights... or lows, depending on the point of view.

Somewhere near the "sidelines," Buford and Etienne could be found holding up a wall and softly conversing over the music being played by the live band (more an orchestra than a band, but such was the Academy's style).

"Take a look, mon ami," Etienne told his big friend, sweeping an arm before him as though to encompass the entire ballroom. "Look at all ze young ladies, just waiting for you. Get up your confidence! Ask someone to waltz with you... You can nevair fail with a waltz."

"'Cept that I don't know how ta waltz," Buford grumped. "I told ya that already."

Etienne let out a mock sigh. "M'sieu, I can see zat zis is going to be far more difficult zen I 'ad imagined. But nevair fear! As I am your friend, I will 'elp you get over zis fear of women you seem to 'ave."

"I ain't afraid of women," Buford scowled. "I like 'em jus' fine. I can't just go up ta some complete stranger and ask her ta dance!"

"And why not?" Etienne asked, genuinely surprised. "'Owevair will you meet ze lady of your dreams if you do not take chances?"

Buford had had enough of this line of thought. "I ain't gonna go up ta some gal I've never seen before in my life and ask her ta dance. You clear on that, 'Tron?"

"Je comprends," Etienne nodded, taking a stoic "thinker's" pose for a moment. Then, in a comic gesture of having found an idea, he snapped his fingers and pointed up to the ceiling. "Per'aps, mon ami, you would be more comfortable sharing ze first dance with one of our teammates. Zat might help you overcome your fears."

"Well, I don't think ya could pry Jenny offa Haroun with a crowbar, so not her." That left two choices, neither of which were too thrilling by Buford's perspective. Either Catseye, who no doubt knew even less about social events of this type than Buford himself, or Tarot, who was several shades too spooky for his peace of mind, in more ways than one.

"Per'aps you should ask Sharon," Etienne suggested, as though reading Buford's mind and coming up with exactly the wrong answer. "Aftair all, she is as close to your height as any woman you shall find. Or is she too... catty for you, m'sieu?"

"Fine, I'll ask someone else," Buford growled. At least that would get Etienne to shut up for a while.

Or not. "Zair we are! Go on, and I shall watch from 'ere. Should you fail, I shall offer... 'ow you say... pointers."

"Great," Buford muttered, sarcastically. He checked out the dancing couples, the milling individuals, and the various small crowds and cliques. Eventually, he spotted a group of three girls talking. None of them looked too terribly young, and all had some measure of attractiveness about them. Maybe one out of the three would take pity on him.

"Got any last-second suggestions?" he asked Etienne.

"Try zis. You obviously have little experience with ze fairer sex. Zey make you uncomfortable, n'est-ce pas?"

"Yeah, maybe... a little."

"Zen treat zem as zough zey were someone you are comfortable with. So, Buford, who are you confident around?"

Beef thought about this. "Football players," he said at last.

Etienne was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Alright, zis could work. Try to look at zem like football players. Softer, gentler, smaller, and far more feminine, but football players all ze same."

"I don't know about this, man."

"Give it a try."

"Okay, I'm goin'."

"Bonne chance, mon ami."

Taking a deep breath and absently smoothing his tuxedo shirt, Buford approached the trio of young ladies, trying to look as nonchalant as his size allowed. When he got within "range," he stopped, and cleared his throat. "Evenin', ladies," he smiled, nervously, his accent becoming more pronounced.

The three looked over, and then up at him. At six-foot-ten, Buford towered over just about everybody, and this proximity only made it worse. They seemed to be looking at him with shock at his sheer size more than anything else.

They didn't look anything like football players, that was certain.

"Hi," one of them said, with a hesitant smile. The others also tried to smile as they craned their necks up at him.

"Um, mah name's Buford," he continued, trying to take the initiative. "Most'a mah friends jus' call me Beef. Uh... wanna know why?"

Back on the sidelines, Etienne slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand, and then just shook his head.

The three girls exchanged looks ranging from shock to disgust, then drifted away, making a point not to look at him. Taking this as a 'no,' Buford retreated back to his spot at the wall, and quietly beat his head against it a couple of times for good measure.

"Zat was per'aps not ze best choice of words, Buford," Etienne said, delicately.

"Yeah. Tell me somethin' I don't know."

"Alright, perhaps ze football approach will not work 'ere. Let us zen find anozair way." Etienne's accent was getting more intense as well, as he pondered this. "Alright. I see zat zair is only one true way to teach you. You must watch ze true mastair in action."

"That'd be you, right?" Buford said, mockingly.

"But of course! Now, watch me very closely, and do what I do." He patted Buford on the chest, then set his sights on the floor. He quickly chose his target, a fairly short blonde girl (Etienne, being just over five and a half feet tall, tended to seek out partners shorter than himself), and with only the briefest of pauses to comb his hair back with his fingers, he zeroed in.

Buford watched and listened as Etienne made his approach. First, he tapped her on the shoulder, then when she looked around at him, he bowed to her, took her hand, and kissed it. "Pardonnez-moi, mademoiselle. Voulez-vous danser avec moi?"

Etienne was really turning on the charm with this one, Buford noted, giving her the full French treatment and everything. She seemed to like it, though, as she smiled, nodded, and led him out to the dance floor. Etienne looked back at Buford, gave him the thumbs-up, and winked.

Now that he was alone, and Etienne was otherwise occupied, Buford considered just leaving and heading back to his room. He knew, though, that Miss Frost wanted them to mingle with the new crowd. Besides, Etienne would be on his case for at least a week if he took off now.

Maybe there was something to this French stuff after all. He decided to give it a go before making his exit. Skirting the edge of the ballroom, he surveyed the scene from well above the level of the crowd, thanks to his height.

After searching for a moment, he decided to try it out on a girl over at the refreshment table. She was pretty tall for a woman, though nowhere near Buford's stature. Her red hair was tied into several braids, which were gathered in "hangman's nooses" that hung over her shoulders. Though she was facing away from him, he could still see that she was slender, and had legs that seemed to go on forever, quite noticeable given the clingy, strapless dress she was wearing. Bolstered by curiosity as to who this could be, he gathered his nerve and stepped up behind her. "Uh... pardonay mwa, mad-mwa-sel... er... voo-lay voo dansay aveck mwah?"

The girl stiffened, then turned as though she were a statue mounted on a pivot, and stared at him with wide grey eyes. "Only if you promise to practice your French, M'sieu McGwynn," she laughed, still stunned.

Buford's eyes bugged as he recognized her as a very French Marie-Ange Colbert. "Whoa. Um, sorry, Tarot, I..."

"Please," she smiled, somewhat wryly, "my name is Marie-Ange. Or you may call me Angie if you wish; everyone else does. But this is a social occasion. I would hope we could drop the codenames."

"Right. Angie. Sorry." Buford stammered. "Geez, I'm embarrassed."

"Don't be," she assured him. "Let me take a wild guess. Etienne was giving you... pointers?"

"Yeah," he said, leaning against the table alongside her. "I don't know what it is with him, but whatever he's got, I ain't."

"Then consider yourself fortunate," she laughed, wryly.

Buford nodded, and then the two lapsed into silence, watching the dancers. Still, Buford was finding it difficult not to stare at her. He barely recognized her as the gangly, long-faced waif he'd known since joining the Hellions. He was surprised, and somewhat chagrined, to find himself sizing her up and enjoying what he saw. For all her air of mystery and gypsy-like dress most of the time, she was positively smoldering this evening. Her clingy green dress was slit way up on one side, exposing a good amount of leg, and the lack of straps up top showed off her pale shoulders, prominent collarbones, and what in her case passed for cleavage. The only concession to her typical dealings with the occult was a pair of silver earrings in the shape of pentacles.

"You... look nice," he said, slowly.

"Merci," she smiled, suddenly the shy little waif again.

"Um, Angie... if ya don't mind me askin'... um..."

"Yes?" she prompted.

"Well, you don't... usually look this nice. Not even at other dances. What did'ja get all gussied up for tonight?"

"Ah," she nodded, understanding his confusion. "I've been feeling... pretty... lately."

"Oh. Um... any particular reason?"

Her smile widened as she looked up at him. "Because, m'sieu, I believe that I may very well be in love."

This took Buford completely by surprise, and it was a moment before he realized that she wasn't referring to him. "Oh," he repeated. "Um, is it anyone I know?" he asked, and then immediately regretted it. He didn't think he wanted to hear the answer.

She shook her head. "Non. He lives far from here, and I don't believe you and he would ever have met."

"He? What, you got a boyfriend?" he asked, before he could stop himself. Open mouth, insert foot.

She narrowed her gaze, as though studying him more closely. "Oui. Does this surprise you, m'sieu?" she asked, in a tone that was somewhere between humored and dangerous.

Buford's face began to turn beet red. "Ah'm sorry, I didn't mean anythin' bad, it's jus'..."

"Just what?" she insisted, smiling sweetly.

"Jus'... ah, don't take this the wrong way or nothin', but I heard a rumor that you were... y'know... one'a them... y'know..."

"Non, I do not. Please, enlighten me."

"Well... I heard that you were one'a those gals who... liked other gals more than guys."

"A lesbian?" she prompted him.

"Uh, yeah. One'a those."

She nodded slowly. "Ah... I see." She then stood on her toes, gave him a little peck on the chin, and smiled. "You should not believe every rumor you hear, m'sieu."

"Yeah. I guess I shouldn't." Admittedly, the source of the rumor had been Etienne. It was the only reason that Bevatron could come up with to explain how a single, unattached Frenchwoman could resist the charms of a suave, debonair Frenchman like himself. Now that Buford thought about it, he realized it had been a pretty rude thing to say.

After a silence, he recalled that there had been a reason he'd approached her in the first place, and he decided to give it a shot. "Um, say, Angie... I don't s'pose you wanna... dance?"

She turned a surprised smile on him. "Merci, Buford, you're very kind to ask. I'm afraid I have to decline, though. I can scarcely stand up at the moment." She grimaced as she shifted her weight on her feet. "I have the distinct impression I won't be feeling pretty for very much longer if it involves having to wear these heels. This will be the last time I let Jennifer pick out shoes for me."

"Oh. Um, that's okay," Buford nodded. He was hit with a sudden image of Marie-Ange and Jennifer at the mall, like regular people. For a moment the world seemed like a much more normal place, and that made him strangely uneasy. "I've been thinkin' about jus' headin' up to the dorm anyhow."

As he said this, someone suddenly reached around from behind and covered his eyes. "Surprise, bigboy!" When he turned around, he saw Catseye looking up at him with those huge violet cat-eyes of hers and giggling.

"Oh, uh, hi, Sharon," he said, involuntarily giving her the once-over. She was wearing something black and frilly, with long sleeves and a high neckline in front. It seemed specifically designed to conceal, the frilly skirt hiding her everpresent tail, while the neck and sleeves covered any traces of the thin, wispy fur present even in her human form. Her mane of lavender waves and curls outlined her sharp-featured, very feline face, and her smile, however pleasant, was somewhat unnerving due to her fangs (elongated canines, he reminded himself).

"Sharon," Marie-Ange said, before Buford could get in another word to defend himself, "I believe Buford was looking for a dance partner. Perhaps you would oblige him?"

"Oh, no, that's okay, really, I..." Buford stammered.

Catseye's eyes got big and round. "Of course!" she said. "Catseye happy and pleased to dance with bigboy friend. Come with?" She directed this last to Buford, taking his arm and pulling him toward the dancers.

"Um, just a sec, Sharon," Buford managed, holding up one finger to her. He leaned close to Marie-Ange and whispered "I don't mean ta sound rude, but didn't the last guy who danced with Catseye end up in traction?"

"You should not believe every rumor you hear," she grinned, impishly. "Now go on."

"Easy for you ta say," he said desperately, letting Sharon drag him out to the floor. Marie-Ange watched them go, laughing to herself.

"Angie?" came another voice then.

Marie-Ange looked around to see a raven-haired young woman cautiously approaching her. "Bonsoir, Kristina," she smiled. "Are you enjoying the dance?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," the other girl smiled, looking somewhat nervous. "I just wanted to ask you... That guy you were just talking to... Buford, right?"

"Oui," Marie-Ange nodded. "What of him?"

"Do you know if he and Sharon have something... going? Are they like, seeing each other?"

"Hardly," Marie-Ange chuckled. "This was just a feeble attempt at playing matchmaker."

"Oh," Kristina smiled, self-consciously. "Um, how well do you know him?"

"Fairly well. Why do you ask?"

"Well, it's just that... I've been trying to work up the nerve to talk to him all night. Do you think he'd even notice me?"

"Well, whyever not?" Marie-Ange asked her. "Kristina, you're a very intelligent, attractive person. How could he not?"

"Thanks, Angie," Kristina said, flushing slightly. "You know me and my low self-esteem."

"I believe," Marie-Ange replied, delicately, "that you and Buford would have a lot to talk about when it comes to self-esteem. Believe me, he's just as nervous as you are in situations of this kind. But were I you, I would catch him as soon as this song's over. He was thinking of leaving early."

"Well, where is he?" Kristina asked.

The two scanned the sea of dancers for the two tallest figures, who would of course be Beef and Catseye. When they finally located them, Kristina's jaw dropped. "Oh. My. God."

"That's just Sharon being Sharon," Marie-Ange shrugged. "Think nothing of it."

"What are they doing?"

Tarot studied the pair a while longer. "Either the tango or the lambada. It's hard to tell."
 
 

It wasn't so much that Catseye didn't know how to dance. She just seemed to want to incorporate every dance step under the sun into their five-minute song. Buford just sort of rolled with the punches and prayed that they'd be finished soon.

And of course there was Catseye's affectionate side to deal with. Once she was finished with her bizarre routine, she wrapped her arms around him tightly, lay her head on his shoulder, and proceeded to sway with the rhythm, turning it into a slow dance. His hands, placed on her back, felt a strange vibration, and he realized that she was purring. She even started nuzzling him with the side of her face, like a housecat. He was deeply afraid that she might start to lick his face if the song went on much longer.

Mercifully, it did not. While the other dancers stopped to applaud the orchestra, Sharon looked up at Buford, hoisted herself up to eye level (nearly pulling him off-balance in the process), and kissed him full on the lips. After they broke, Buford stood very still, apparently in shock. Catseye gave him another feline smile, waved goodbye, and disappeared back into the crowd.

Fresh air was sounding better and better.

Trying to ignore the looks he was getting from some of his schoolmates, Buford made his exit, getting to the sidelines as quickly as possible and finding the nearest door to the outside.

Once away from the crowds and music, he let himself take a deep breath of the cool night air. All of a sudden, he felt very tired, and he took a seat on the steps leading up to the hall. Holding his head in both hands, he took another deep breath, and let it out noisily. "One'a those nights," he muttered to himself.

"Excuse me..?"

Buford looked round, and saw that someone had followed him out. At first, all he could see was a silhouette against the open doors of the hall, but as the figure moved closer, he was able to focus in on details. She was a black-haired girl of about medium height, wearing a plain blue dress. She was not particularly curvy, like Jennifer, or svelte like Marie-Ange, or lithe like Sharon; rather, she was completely average, in height as well as build.

"Mind if I sit down?" she asked him. Her voice was a soft, furry mezzo-soprano, and had a melodic quality that seemed to suggest that she was a practiced singer. It was at that point that Buford realized that he'd been hanging around Etienne far too long, as he found himself taking in every detail of her at once. That was more his friend's style than his own.

"Nah, g'right ahead," he almost choked, getting a better look at her face. Her raven hair was permed, and outlined a delicate-featured face and crystal-blue eyes. She put Buford in mind of a Patrick Nagel woman.

She sat down at a safe distance, tucking her legs to one side so that her dress wouldn't get rumpled. After a brief pause, she worked up the courage to scoot an inch or two closer.

For a few minutes, neither of the two said a word. Finally, she broke the silence by introducing herself. "I'm Kristina. Kristina Yarborough."

"Uh, nice ta meet ya, Kristina. I'm Buford McGwynn."

She nodded, as if she'd already known that. "Oh, you can call me Kris," she then stammered. "My friends all do."

Now that introductions were out of the way, they settled back into the nervous silence they'd shared earlier. Buford's mind was racing, trying to think of something... anything... to keep the conversation going.

She spoke for him. "That was an... interesting dance you had going in there," she offered, cautiously.

Buford sighed heavily; he'd hoped that no one would have noticed. "Yeah, she was kind'a weird as far as dance partners go."

"So why'd you leave when you did?" she asked.

Buford looked up at the clear sky. Over the lights of the campus, a few stars were visible. He looked at them rather than at her, as he didn't trust himself not to stare. "I don't really like crowds that much. I'm not used to 'em. I guess I just needed space."

"Oh," she nodded. "Um, I should go then, and let you have your space..." She stood up, as if to go.

"No, wait," Buford said then, reaching one hand out and taking her arm. Surprised, she looked down at him, and he tried to smile. "You're fine. You ain't done nothin' wrong."

This gave her a moment's pause, and she returned his smile, somewhat hesitantly. She kept looking at his hand on her arm, apparently surprised at this contact. Seeing this, he let go, but kept smiling. "Um, you wanna go take a walk? Get some air?"

She nodded. "I... yes, I would."
 
 

Their walk took them all around the campus. Conversation was still slow and faltering, but was beginning to gain some form of momentum.

"All these old buildings are amazing," Kris was saying. "I've never seen anything like this back where I'm from."

"Where's that?" Buford asked.

"San Francisco."

He gave a low whistle. "You're a long way from home," he nodded.

"Oh, it's worth it. This was... really the only place I could go. But I love it already. It's so... historical."

"Yeah, this place is pretty old," Buford explained. "Some'a these buildings have been here about three hundred years. They tell us some'a the foundin' fathers got their schoolin' here."

"Wow," Kris sighed. "That's what I love about the east coast. San Fran's a great city, but this area's got so much more... history."

He gave her a sideways look. "You like history?"

"Oh, that's my major," she smiled in reply.

"No kiddin'? It's mine, too."

"Really? What made you choose it?"

He shrugged. "I'm from the deep south, in case ya couldn't tell by the voice." She laughed at this. "Anyway, there's a lotta history back there. My family was real big inta the Civil War; most of 'em belonged ta some kind'a preservation society, that re-enacted some'a the battles every year. Kind'a got me interested."

"Oh, that's neat," she smiled at him. "I wish my family would've been into things like that... So are you mostly into U.S. History?"

"Yeah, that's my emphasis. What's yours?"

"Ancient Greece. I love reading about it -- the Homeric epics, the philosophy, the wars... Hey, what's that place there? Is it a church?"

Buford followed her gaze. "Yeah, that's just the chapel."

"God, I don't think I've ever been to a school that had a church on-campus."

"Like I said, this place is pretty old. Back when it was built, there wasn't no such thing as separation of church an' state. We still have services there every Sunday, but it's not... required or anythin'."

"You go to church?" she asked, perhaps just a bit surprised.

"Yeah, ever since I's little. I... uh... sing in the choir, too."

"You do?" she asked, smiling with eyes wide again. "Do you sing in the Academy choir, too?"

"Uh, yeah," he admitted, somewhat sheepishly. "I'm lead baritone."

"Oh, that's great! I'm auditioning Monday morning. Maybe I'll see you in there!"

"Yeah, I'm sure you'll do jus' fine," he smiled. "You got a pretty voice."

"Thanks," she smiled, blushing. "I guess we've got a lot in common."

"Yeah, I guess we do."

By now, their walk had taken them to a small duck pond off in the outskirts of the campus. Beyond were the stables, and the equestrian course. As he pointed out each of the sights to Kristina, Buford was suddenly aware that he was alone with a girl he'd just barely met. The night was getting altogether too interesting for him...

"So why did'ja decide ta come out here, anyway?" Buford asked her at last. They paused at the edge of the pond, and he picked up a few stones from the ground, sending them skipping across the water.

"It's... complicated," she sighed. "At first, I was going to go someplace in California, like maybe Berkeley, or Santa Barbara, or even right there in San Fran. But... as it turned out... this place was the only choice I could make. Having the headmistress offer me a full scholarship was a big incentive, too." There was some sort of hesitant insistence in her voice, as though she were trying to articulate something beyond the words, but it was lost to Buford.

"I know what you mean," he agreed. "I never thought I'd make it in college with anything short of a degree in football."

"Aw, you're not just some dumb jock," she smiled. "You seem a lot smarter than that. And besides, you're a history major. Can't go wrong with that, can you?"

"Yeah," he chuckled. "Maybe I'll see you in some'a my classes."

"Oh, no doubt about that," she nodded. Again, it seemed that there was something else that she was trying to say, but he couldn't place it.

The next voice he heard, however, was in his mind, rather than his ears. The headmistress was contacting him telepathically. *Attention, all Hellions. All Hellions report to the Ready Room, in uniform, immediately.*

An hour before, Buford would have welcomed this interruption. Now, though... He turned to Kristina, trying to think of some excuse. "Look, Kris, this ain't personal or nothin', but I... uh, I jus' remembered, I gotta be somewhere right away."

She sighed and nodded. "I know, Buford, I know."

This brought his line of thought to an abrupt stop. "What?"

"I'll... need you to show me the way to the complex, though. I -ah- don't know how to get there from here."

Slowly, the pieces clicked into place, and Buford understood the hints she'd been dropping all through the conversation. "Oh. You mean..?"

She nodded. "I'm a mutant, too. I... came here to join the Hellions."

Buford descended into the underground complex, still more than a little dazed at this latest revelation. Kristina followed behind him, not saying a word.

They took an elevator down into the sub-basement levels, still silent. The doors slid open, revealing a white-tiled hallway that stretched to either side.

"Ladies' locker room's down that way," Buford said at last, pointing down to the right.

"Thanks. I... think I can find my way from here." She looked positively mortified, but still tried to speak. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry 'bout it," he shrugged. "Better hurry, though."

She gave him what passed for a smile. "I'm sorry," she repeated, then went off down the hall. Buford watched her go for a moment, then headed the other direction, taking the door to the locker room.

Etienne and Haroun were already there, getting changed, as were a few members of the junior team, who were as anonymous to Beef as Adam. Without a word to any of them, Buford opened his locker and dragged out one of his violet and black skinsuits, shrugging off his coat in the process.

"So, m'sieu Beef," Etienne grinned at him, "what's zis I hear about you and une jeune femme out at the lake?"

"Let's not talk about it," Buford muttered.

"Ah, but zis is a good sign, mon ami! Per'aps we can break you of your fears yet!"

Buford turned and gave Etienne the kind of look he'd give the quarterback just before a sack. "I said let's not talk about it," he growled, accenting every word.

For a moment, Etienne looked genuinely surprised. Buford turned away then, and got on with changing. Etienne took a breath as though to say something in response, but Haroun gave him a Meaningful Look, making him think better of it.

The Ready Room was more crowded than Buford could remember in all his time at the Academy. Normally, the miniature lecture-hall was next to empty, but now, Buford guessed that there were about twenty costumed mutants gathered in the sloped rows of seats. Buford sat with the rest of the senior team, sans Tarot, who was seated with her students, the junior Hellions. There were a lot more of them than he was accustomed to seeing, including a still uncomfortable-looking Kristina. After a while, she seemed to notice that he was looking at her, and she got that stricken look again, before looking away. Buford sighed.

Etienne, seated next to him, leaned closer to be heard over the gabble of other voices. "Buford, I'd like to apologize."

Beef looked around at him. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Etienne reiterated. "I suppose I've been something of a pain. No harm was meant, honestly."

"It's okay, man. Hey, did'ja ever notice that when ya talk quiet like this, you lose most'a your accent?"

For a moment, Etienne seemed to be considering that. "Zut alors," he then grinned, getting the accent back in place. "We could not 'ave zat, now, could we?"

Buford chuckled. "You're crazy, y'know that?"

"But of course!"

The scattered conversations came to a halt, then, as Emma Frost herself stepped into the ready room, followed by her assistant Devin "Brainwash" Johnson. "Good evening," she said, addressing the group. "I regret having to pull you away from the dance, but we have a minor emergency on our hands, and I believe the Hellions' intervention will be required.

"For the senior members of the team, you've no doubt noticed that there have been several new additions to our ranks. I had hoped for more formal circumstances under which to introduce you all to one another, but forces seem to have prevented this. For now, speed is of the essence."

Behind her, a panel on the rear wall of the room slid open to reveal a blank viewscreen, which lit up with a map of the state of Connecticut. "Some time ago, I received an irate call from Alexander Blackwood, the headmaster of the Greenbriar Academy in Connecticut. For those of you who do not know of Greenbriar, it is a school much like our own, gathering young mutants to be trained, in secret, to control and improve upon their superhuman abilities. Four of these mutant students were abducted by agents claiming to serve the Hellfire Club, in an effort to implicate this institution, and perhaps to hinder our friendly relations with Greenbriar. The students have been recovered without injury, but all the same, I want a team to scour the site of the battle for any clues pertaining to our mysterious impostors."

Jennifer's hand went up, and Frost looked up at her. "Roulette?"

"If you don't mind me asking... why?"

"Because, Roulette, someone out there is committing crimes using our name. We must stop them before such acts continue."

"No, hold on a second," Jennifer went on. "You said they claimed to work for the Hellfire Club, not the Academy or the Hellions."

Frost gave a short, terse sigh. "You are correct, of course. I can only say at this point, Jennifer, that steps are being taken regarding your concerns. For now, though, we are affiliated with Hellfire, and what concerns them concerns us as well."

"Fine," Roulette muttered. "So who's going?"

"Brainwash will take a team of four to six. Stealth will be more important in this case than firepower, and we will require some methods of divination. Jetstream, Tarot, Catseye and Bevatron, I'm entrusting this one to you."

"Pardonnez-moi, mam'selle Frost," Etienne interrupted, raising his hand, "but why would I be needed on a stealth mission?"

"In the event of an ambush, Bevatron, you will provide cover-fire for the retreat."

"Je comprends," he nodded, accepting this logic.

"Tarot," Frost went on, "would you like to suggest any of the junior team for this mission?"

"If she's willing," Marie-Ange replied, emphasizing the last word, "I would bring Farsight, for her clairvoyant powers. She may be able to help us locate the kidnappers."

Frost nodded, then turned her gaze on a girl in the back row. "Do you wish to accompany the team, Farsight?"

The girl (Farsight, obviously) nodded somewhat nervously. "Okay. Uh, it won't be dangerous, will it?"

"It shouldn't be. Should you encounter trouble, you are to retreat to the Academy as quickly as possible. Is that understood?"

"Completely, Miss Frost," Haroun nodded. "I'll make sure of it."

"Very good, Jetstream," she nodded to him, giving him a hard smile. "That will be all. Jetstream, Tarot, Catseye, Bevatron and Farsight, stay here for further briefing. The rest of you are dismissed to your dorms. Remain on alert status until we're certain what we're dealing with."

As most of the students got up to leave, Etienne leaned in Buford's direction again. "Je suis désolé, mon ami. I thought for certain you would be coming with us."

"You heard the lady," Beef shrugged. "I'm about as good on a stealth mission as an eighteen-wheeler. Just be careful out there."

"Always," Etienne grinned. "We will finish our search for la femme parfaîte another time, n'est-ce pas?"

"Yeah, sure," Beef nodded, giving his friend a pat on the shoulder as he got up to leave. He took a look around the room for Kristina, but she had already left.

On his way out past the front podium, he overheard part of a heated conversation between Frost and Johnson, barely audible over the sounds of the departing Hellions. "How do you expect me to get anything done out there if you send Little Miss Grandstand Moves with me?" Johnson hissed.

"Catseye knows stealth better than anyone in this room, Devin, present company included. Now, I want this one by the book, and I want them pulled out at the first sign of danger, are you clear?"

"No wonder we never get any results around here anymore," Devin scowled at her, his voice dripping sarcasm. "Can't risk the poor, innocent children, now, can we?"

"By the book, Devin," she repeated, in a voice that could cut glass. "Don't butt horns with me, little man; I'm warning you. One more fiasco like the last time, and you are gone; do you understand me?"

Beef decided to get out before they noticed he was listening. He hoped that Frost would get rid of Johnson anyway, fiasco or no fiasco. The Hellions had enough problems without a powerful, psychotic pseudo-telepath in their midst...

Kristina was waiting for him out on the front steps of the Hellions' dormitory by the time Buford arrived. "Hi," she smiled, tentatively.

"H'lo," he smiled back, somewhat strained.

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," she sighed. "I was going to, really, but... I was scared to."

"I know."

"I understand if you're mad, I just... what?"

"I know," he repeated. "Kris, it's okay, really. It's not somethin' people tell perfect strangers on a first date."

She smiled again, still a bit nervously. "First date?"

He shrugged. "First date, first talk... shoot, whatever you wanna call it. But it's okay. I'm sorry if I seemed like I was angry. I was jus' surprised. Seems everyone I meet these days is a mutant."

They both involuntarily scanned the area around them, to make sure no one was around to hear them. "C'mon," he said, then. "I'll walk ya up ta your room. We're supposed ta be on alert, y'know."

"Okay," she nodded, the smile looking a little more genuine, then.

They went in through the lobby, past the unoccupied front desk, and around to the elevators. On the way up to her floor, Buford resumed the conversation. "So, um, what can you do, anyway?"

"I'm a pyrogenetic," she replied. "Extremely low level. At this point, I can barely start a fire with dry straw. Marie-Ange suggested I call myself 'Embers' for the time being."

He nodded. "That's a good name. Lots more poetic than 'Beef.'"

"Oh, I don't know," she laughed. "There's a certain charm to that."

"Yeah, I kind'a prefer that ta bein' called 'Buford,' anyway."

"Come on, there's nothing wrong with that name."

"Try livin' with it for nineteen years, then tell me that again."

The doors opened at her floor, and he escorted her down the hall to her room. Here, she turned around and looked up at him, giving him another of her smiles. It was one of her most stunning features, he decided, and he was glad that he was seeing it more often.

"I've never been on alert status before," she said, softly. "What does it mean?"

"Just means stayin' in your rooms. If the away team has trouble, we might be called in for reinforcements."

"Somehow I doubt they'd need me."

He shrugged. "Now, maybe not. Give it a few months, though. When I first got here, I could press about four hundred pounds, tops. Now, they've got me liftin' somethin' like four tons. I'll bet you'll be lightin' up bonfires 'fore long."

"You think so?" she smiled, excitement dancing somewhere behind her blue eyes.

"Yeah, I do," he smiled back. "Jus' listen to Angie. I hear she's a real good teacher."

"I will. Um, will we see each other in classes, or anything?"

"I dunno about training classes," he shrugged, "but I guess we'll find out."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Then, all of a sudden, they became the two scared teenagers again. Um, look, Kris," Buford began, "I'm sorry this night turned out so weird. I'd... really like ta see you again, if'n that's okay."

"I'd like that too, Buford," she said softly. "I'd like to finish that talk we started."

"Yeah, me too." A thought then struck him. "Hey, we're s'posed ta stay in our rooms, but there's no sayin' I can't call you. Miss Frost'll jus' mindcall if she needs us anyway."

"That'd be great!" she grinned. "My extension's 5578."

"5578," he repeated. "Okay, I'll give you a call soon as I get downstairs."

There was a pause, then Kris put her arms around him and gave him a big hug. "Thanks, Buford. I'll talk to you in a few, okay?"

"Okay," he nodded, returning her hug carefully.

With one last smile, she unlocked her door and disappeared inside, closing it behind her. Very much heartened by the way things had turned out, Buford went back down the hall toward the elevators, whistling an old Gatlin Brothers tune and feeling better than he had in a long time.

Sometimes this school thing wasn't so bad after all.
 
 

Next: "Trick of the Light"

Go West #5: "That Kind of Man"
by Jeremy Bottroff, 13 October 1993

This story (c) 1993, 1999 Jeremy Bottroff

"That Kind of Man" performed by The Nylons, words and music by Paul Cooper, (c) 1999 Abovewater Music (BMI), from the album ONE SIZE FITS ALL

Haroun Al-Rashid (Jetstream), Beef, Bevatron, Marie-Ange Colbert (Tarot), Emma Frost (White Queen), Sharon Smith (Catseye), Jennifer Stavros (Roulette), Hellfire Club, Hellions, Massachusetts Academy, and Snow Valley (c) 1999 Marvel Entertainment Group

Marsha Wilson (Farsight) and Kristina Yarborough (Embers) created by Jeremy Bottroff, (c) 1999 Jeremy Bottroff

Alexander Blackwood, Devin Johnson (Brainwash) and the Greenbriar Academy created by Michael Jones, (c) 1999 Michael Jones/Everbard

The names Buford McGwynn and Etienne Delacroix were my idea, since Marvel didn't see fit to keep poor Beef and Bevatron around long enough to give them real names of their own...  (Commence heavy sigh)

The author actually started writing this chapter waaaay back before he even started chapter 1.  It seems Jonesy made some comment on the Greenbriar message board about what uninteresting characters Beef and Bevatron were, and the author said "Oh, yeah?"  (Cooperative creation is fun that way...) Thanks, Bard-man.