Disclaimer: The characters in this story which are not mine, are not mine. They belong to Marvel. The ones who are, are, except for the ones who belong to Mel, who says I am allowed to use them if I want, so that's all right. I am making no money from this fine piece of work, more's the pity, and suing me would be very pointless.

Note: This story was originally posted in five, count 'em, five sections. It has been pasted together here for your reading convenience, and I've left the little headings in so you'll know where they are. Or were. It doesn't really matter, but I felt like it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

Look, it wasn't a dark and stormy night, okay? I know it should have been dark and stormy, you know it should have been dark and stormy, years of tradition say it should have been dark and stormy, but certain omnipotent beings just don't care, so it wasn't.

I mean, honestly, if someone is going to snatch you out of your nice warm bed at 2:00 in the morning and insist that you take responsibility for Time, Causality, and The Serious Kicking in the Botty of Certain Self Important Twits in Spandex, they should at least provide some atmosphere.

What's going on, you say? Start at the beginning? Oh all right, if you insist.

It all started with the little invisible men. There they would be, standing there in the street, and everyone except myself and my very bestest friend who I will get to in just one moment was apparently completely unable to see them. For some reason, whenever they saw us looking at them they would look very frightened and vanish.

My friend's name is Mel, and we share interests like Terry Pratchett, Calvin and Hobbes, Netsurfing, and of course Tim Tams. (Note; for Americans and other non-Australian type foreign persons, a Tim Tam is the ultimate in a chocolate biscuit. They are a sovereign remedy for PMS.) So of course there's always lots to talk about, in the ordinary way of things. The little invisible men, however, were not what you might call ordinary.

Soon they started following us around. We saw them whenever we met in the city, hiding behind large upside-down newspapers and staring at us intently. I saw one of them being dive-bombed by birds outside my back fence. Mel swears that she woke up one morning to see one peering in her bedroom window. The fact that her bedroom is on the second floor didn't appear to be bothering it.

Anyway, the 2:00 snatch came just as we were seriously started to wonder if we were, in fact, rather mad, and if so, were we both crazy, or was one hallucinating the other, and if so, which.

Apparently, it was me.

The details of what went on in that encounter with the little invisible omnipotent beings, as they turned out to be, are all a bit vague, but it seems my ability to negotiate without actually waking up stood me in good stead (you know, now that I come to think of it, I have absolutely no idea what that phrase means, but I'm getting sidetracked here). Anyway, though I did come out Guardian of Time and Causality, and Bum Booter Extraordinaire, I did manage to be an inch and a half taller, with extremely good hair, even more curves than before, oh yes, and an unlimited credit card.

I also demanded a healing factor (slow and clunky, but at least it reduces recovery time a bit); a pain suppression factor (how can I keep the secrets of the universe a secret if they can be tortured out of me); an extremely high alcohol tolerance (again, needed for keeping secrets secret) and a high tolerance for heat and cold (so I won't have to change the uniform with the season). For some reason they were starting to look quite tight-lipped at that point.

I was then informed that I would be required to form some sort of team thingie or other who would help me in my efforts to wrestle the timeline back on its rightful course. It could include anyone I liked, but I would apparently need at least one telepath, one teleporter, and one Hitting People person if I was to succeed. I was offered two options regarding strategy, which were a) moral or b) safe.

After some thought, I decided to go with c) efficient.

The problem with their ideas was of course, that while they sounded pretty good to me, being morally pure means that the villains won't respect you. Playing it safe, on the other hand, means that they will respect you even less. Since they were the ones who would really be difficult to convince, they were the ones I had to try to impress. My efforts can be described thusly.

See, the first thing a newcomer on any scene has to do is establish a place in the scheme of things. Someone nobler would have simply announced her presence and waited for volunteers. Someone sneakier would have hired a group of professional mercenaries and then announced her presence. Someone more cautious would have approached some group of heroes or other and asked for assistance before announcing anything. I, with my own highly personal brand of logic, very publicly hired the most vicious and amoral thugs available, and let word of mouth handle the rest.

This meant that I had an ex-terrorist as my teleporter, and my telepath was a crimelord once known and feared throughout the Far East. My new employers handled this reasonably well, following, if not actually agreeing with, my line of reasoning. My thug, on the other hand, caused a bit more trouble.

I made a grand entrance, if I do say so myself. My alleged costume was, in fact, a floor length black velvet cloak, a black robe, and a black mask. I wanted to preserve the option of going outside without being recognised. Anyway, I and my two colleagues looked a bit Gothic, a bit spooky, and really impressive.

At least, judging by Forge's reaction when we teleported into X-Factor's secret base.

Now I have never liked Forge. My argument is that, while Cyclops has all the charisma and planning ability of a banana, he is doing the best he can with a genuinely limited intellect. Forge, on the other hand, is stupid on purpose, which quite frankly annoys the hell out of me.

That's probably why I said what I did.

It really isn't any excuse, but it is why.

Forge: Who are you? What are you doing here?

Me: Shut it, you self-important nosewipe, and call everyone together right now.

So it was rude. Anyone who's been reading X-Factor recently will agree that he's had it coming.

Anyway, eventually the whole group was assembled. For those not familiar with X-Factor, at this point in time it consists of:

The afore-mentioned Forge, whom some will remember as having trifled with Storm's affections, powers, and life in no particular order a while ago. Utter toerag. Has a fake leg and fake hand to go with his fake emotions and fake personality.

Polaris, Miss Priss to us, former X-Man. Despite all the writer's attempts to spice up her life recently by having her ex-boyfriend changing sides and trying to kill her, she is still as bland as porridge and half as interesting. Has green hair and a distressing tendency to dress in neon pink.

Mystique. If you don't know who she is then GO FORTH FROM THIS PLACE IN SHAME!!! Accomplishments too numerous to mention, Rogue's foster mother, Graydon Creed's real mother, Sabretooth's ex, has now gone completely off her nut and actually fancies Forge. Urrggghhh. Never mind, she's still my favourite female villain of all time.

Shard. Look, I'm not even going to try to explain this. Just accept that she is a hologram of a dead person from the future and incidentally Bishop's little sister. Quite good, actually, with a bit of a character and everything.

Wildchild. My favourite. Apparently has a dark past, but isn't sharing, which of course means that he fits right in in the Marvel universe. Lots of character, a sense of humor, and a very cute pout. Actually, he's quite cute in general, which we know thanks to Shard and that time she materialized in on him in the shower.

And last but not least, SABRETOOTH! Nuff said.

One guess who I hired for my thug.

Forge: You want to WHAT?!?!

Me: Zip it, Hopalong, or I'll turn you into the world's biggest pez dispenser. (I have endeared myself to Sabretooth already.) So, Sabretooth, in this position you will be called upon to a) menace people, b) hurt people or c) kill people and quite frequently d) all of the above. I will pay you lots of money and give you regular days off. I will also remove that ridiculous collar. What do you say?

Sabretooth: What's the catch?

Me: Well, you sort of can't kill Wolverine for another sixteen years because we're going to need him then, but after that I'll give you his ugly head on a plate if your little heart desires it. (Actually, I quite like Wolvy, but I want to get in good with my future thug)

Forge: BUT HE'S A PSYCHOTIC SERIAL KILLER!!! YOU CAN'T JUST TURN UP HERE AND TAKE HIM!!! HE'S IN MY CUSTODY!!!!

Me/Sabretooth: SHUT IT OR DIE, MORON!!!

Sabretooth: I'll take it.

Me: Good.

We make Forge take the collar off, and Sabretooth insults everyone goodbye.

Me: If it's any comfort, Forge, he would have escaped and brutally butchered the lot of you in a few days time.

We leave.

Okay, so you all think I'm crazy, but Creed isn't that unreliable. Oh sure, putting a collar on didn't work, but duh, we all knew it wouldn't. All that government programming is going to get to meet some other sets of government programming and have a few drinks 'cause none of them have a snowball's in hell of actually working. Thing is, whatever his other faults, he is a professional, and for this much money he'll play my cause like there's no tomorrow. The protection from the angry government forces is in the nature of a bonus.

The mutant serial killer known to the world at large as Sabretooth was, to put it mildly, having a very confusing day. About an hour earlier, a mysterious woman had appeared in the middle of X-Factor's base and had, he wasn't quite sure how, hired him away as a bodyguard/hitman/kneecapper. They had then gone to her secret base, which seemed to be a rather nice house in the English countryside, where he had gotten his first real look at her.

She was tall, red-haired, and would probably fill out a spandex uniform every bit as well as any X-woman. She was also about nineteen years old.

He hadn't really had time to comment, as she'd immediately hustled him into one of those flowing black things they all seemed to be wearing, but he was having a few second thoughts about working for someone young enough to be his granddaughter. Still, it might be worth hanging around for a while. If the impending introduction to the X-Men turned out anything like her encounter with X-Factor, this would be pretty entertaining.

They arrived in the living room, right in front of an extremely startled Cannonball. Without a pause, Sabretooth's new boss walked up to him and looked him up and down.

"Hmm. Bit young. He'll do, though. Call the others in, kiddo, I'm here to introduce myself."

"Wurrhg?" the kid replied intelligently

"Sighhh. Go. Get. The. X. Men. NOW!!!" Cannonball raced out of the room, screaming for his teammates. "Yeesh. With an intellect like that, kid's a born bloody X-Man."

The entire team crowded into the room, trying to look tough and menacing. They didn't quite manage it, but they just about managed to pull off confused. After a bit of dithering, Cyclops stepped forward.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"That," said the girl irritably, "is exactly what Forge said. Do all you brain-dead leader types have the same script-writer or something? Anyway, enough chit-chat."

"I'm currently known as the Oracle. That scenic little group standing behind me are working for me at the moment, so you aren't allowed to kill each other. I will try not to let my work interfere with yours, but if I say jump you will say how high, clear? Good. Any questions?"

"Ye-"

"Fabulous. Before we go, let's get to know each other a bit, shall we?"

"Team, these are the X-men. I know you haven't all met them, so I'll introduce you. Our talkative friend here is known as Cyclops. He's an utter twit, and so two dimensional you could use him for wallpaper, but quite good at the good soldier thing.

"This is his wife, Phoenix. Marginally more intelligent, but she's as limp as a wet tissue. Spends her life running around yelling 'Scott!' while Squinty here gets his butt kicked by some villain or other. These two deserve each other."

"WHAT?!?!?"

"Over here, we have Storm, Iceman, Archangel, and Cannonball. Generic heroes, the lot of them. Boring, but bearable. Standing next to Storm is Bishop, who's from the future and I am not going to even go into the story behind that. Let's just say he's even more anally retentive than Cyke, if that's possible, and let it go. Beside Archangel is his girlfriend Psylocke. She's actually going through a metamorphosis of personality right now, so we'll just have to wait and see if the new one is any more interesting."

"I'll give her more interesting!"

"The silver-haired fellow with duh written all over his face is Joseph, the mutant formerly known as Magneto. I'd like us all to have a moment of silence in memory of the exciting, first-class villain who was lost in order to give us this wishy-washy, personality free excuse for a hero. All right, that's long enough."

"In the corner are Rogue and Gambit-"

"An' what you got to say 'bout us, p'tit? What we gon' get insulted wit?"

"Insulted? (pause) Actually, I was just going to say that I quite like you two. I really hope it works out for you."

"Oh. Uhhhh, thanks."

"In fact, I'm even going to give you one last chance to figure out the nice, simple way to counteract Rogue's powers before I utterly humiliate you by telling you something so bloody obvious."

"The blue furry one is the Beast. Intelligent, in a conventional sort of way, and he is one out of one members of this team with an actual sense of humor. This scores him serious points with us."

"Last but not least, you may have noticed the short hairy fellow being forcibly restrained by his teammates. He is - Sabretooth? Do you want to say something, or is this something you should have done before we left?"

"He's a pathetic little runt with no brain and less fightin' skills, boss."

"Yes, thank you. He is a former associate, all right, of our very own kneecapper. He must be kept alive, however, as we're going to need him sixteen years from now."

"Umm, excuse me?"

"Yes, Storm, what is it?"

"What precisely is it that you and your team intend to do?"

"Well, Storm, let's see if I can explain this. Okay, picture the future as a series of roads, all branching out to encompass all possible realities. Now picture this particular reality as a car trundling merrily along the road. Got all that?"

"Yes, but I do not see-"

"We're driving."

"Urrghh."

"Yes, quite. Well, it was lovely to have made your personal acquaintance, but I'm afraid we really must dash. Toodles!" And they teleport away, leaving a roomful of very confused, and for the most part very angry X-men seething behind them.

* * *

The next stop on the list appeared to be Muir Island. They materialised on a windy platform and waited expectantly. Sure enough, Shadowcat soon came out to see who was there.

"Ah, Shadowcat. It's wonderful to finally meet you in person." Oracle said, shaking her hand warmly. "We just stopped by to introduce ourselves. I am known as the Oracle and we are sort of navigating the time stream at the moment. Mind if we come in for a moment?"

All the introductions went smoothly, as apparently the Oracle actually liked these people enough to be polite to them. Sabretooth was bored. This wasn't nearly as much fun as visiting the X-Men had been.

She had Pete Wisdom, Shadowcat's boyfriend, escort them back to the platform. When they got there, she looked him up and down, and spoke in a thoughtful voice.

"You know, I quite like you, Wisdom. You're intelligent, entertaining, and have a great sense of humor. I truly would hate to see anything happen to you."

"What do you mea-"

"I like Kitty, too. You two are great together. In fact, you two are just about my favourite people out of all the X-teams. But I just want you to know, Wisdom, that if you ever hurt her, or if anything bad ever happens to her because of you, I will have Sabretooth here feed you your testicles and then disembowel you and leave you to die, is that clear?" Happy for something to do, Sabretooth loomed over him and growled menacingly.

"Oh, uh..."

"I'm so glad that we understand each other. Have a nice day."

With which they once again teleported away.

Back at the base, Delphi (as she was known to her friends) told the newly formed team that they were now going to sit down to a hearty lunch, in preparation for the task ahead.

"Now this is going to be the real test of your mettle, guys. This is the Big One."

"Are we gonna beat someone up, boss?"

"No, I'm afraid it's much worse than a mere battle. We're going - SHOPPING!"

DA DA DA DUMMMMMMMMM!!!!

Aaaaaarrrrgggghhhh!!!! What was I thinking? It's bad enough that I've insulted two thirds of remaining superherodom whilst in a state of shock (not that I didn't mean every word, you understand, I just don't think I really should have said it out loud), but I've actually been suicidal enough to go shopping with Ellis, Takubayashi, and Creed!

Somebody shoot me.

It is no help whatsoever to remember that this whole trip was my idea. Being given large amounts of power all at once obviously affects the human brain and therefore I cannot be held responsible for my actions. It just seemed so logical...

* * *

"SHOPPING?!?!?"

"I don't do shopping."

"Is there a purpose to this action, lady?"

Good old Takubayashi. "Yes, there is a purpose. That purpose being for you to pick out your own furniture for your own bedrooms and possibly get something you'll actually like."

"Oh."

"And to pick up a few essentials."

"Define 'essentials'"

"Toothbrush, hairbrush, and a change of clothes or two? I don't know about you, but I quite like a clean change of underwear once in a while."

"I don't wanna go shopping! You didn't say nothin' about shopping!"

"Fine, Creed, if you don't want to come, you don't have to."

"Good."

"But if you end up with pastel furniture and underwear two sizes too small, you've only yourself to blame."

He gives me a look which spells out quite clearly what will happen to any young upstarts who go trying to boss him around and hints that it will be happening for a very long time. I ignore it.

"Anyway, you're supposed to be my bodyguard. You won't be doing me any good if you're here and I'm at the warehouse."

"Yeah, but ...

"And as gorgeous as that skin-tight, every-detail-revealing uniform is on you, you are going to have to get changed sometime."

"Oh. Errrrr, okay."

Note to self. Creed is not mentally equipped to cope with being flirted with by someone young enough to be his grandkid who also happens to be his boss. I can use that.

"So, are we all ready? Let's go!"

* * *

Oh. My. God.

I am never ever ever taking this lot shopping again. No, that isn't fair. Takubayashi and Ellis were fine.

I'm never taking Creed shopping again.

Fair's fair, he did try to be good. Not one single salesperson was killed, although I bet that one or two guys'll be singing soprano for a while. It's just that Creed is to shopping what an armadillo is to computer programming - however hard he tries, he just doesn't have the mental equipment.

The furniture place wasn't so bad. He headed for some nice oak stuff in Medieval Solid with only a minimum of prompting. Finding a mattress big enough for a six-and-a-half-foot-god-knows-how-many-kilos bag of muscle was a smidge harder, but after Creed picked up the manager by the throat and shook him a few times things sorted themselves right out. No, it was the clothes shopping that was the real nightmare.

I'll gloss over as many of the horrible details as I can, but here is a sample of the conversation.

Me: Look, all right, how about these then? You do wear jeans, don't you?

Him: Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Me: Fine, whatever. What colour?

Him: Grrrrrrrrrrrr.

Me: Look, we'll take four of the classic 501s, okay? (pause) How do I know what size he takes? I only met him this morning! Just guess or something. And some of those flannel shirts too. And the t-shirts over there. (pause) Creed, put the salesman down. If you don't like the purple one you only had to say.

Him: Grrrrrrrrrrrr. I hate purple.

Me: Hallelujah, God be praised! A sentence! At last, something to work with. Here's the credit card.

I won't subject you to the horrors of the shoe shop. I did, however, make him buy his own underwear and personal hygiene products. A girl has to draw the line somewhere.

Anyway, eventually we ended up in a nice little café where we waited for the other two, who had been deputized to buy sheets, pillowcases etc. as well as getting their own clothes. I privately thanked God that I had organised house, housekeeper and my own things earlier.

We talked a bit while he gulped down coffee and munched on a semi-heated up chunk of dead animal, and I hoed into the best sixteen layer suicide-by-chocolate dessert thingy in the entire universe. #Interesting fact. A healing factor stops that funny little nauseous feeling you usually get halfway through anything really rich. Yippee!# Just as I was saying something about sacrificing my own personal good for that of the universe (and admittedly sounding almost as pompous as Cyclops does), I heard this weird little snigger right behind my left ear. This brought me to my senses, and I apologized for sounding like a pretentious twit. Creed said not to worry, that he was used to it. I suppose he would be, after living with Forge for so long, but it was still rude of me.

But I had no idea where the snigger was coming from. All that evening, as Ellis teleported furniture into the correct bedrooms and Creed manhandled it into place (this was achieved by refusing to give him his until everyone else was happy), this blasted little giggle kept following me around. When someone called me boss, for example. While it was doing a good job of keeping my ego in check, it was really getting annoying.

Eventually, I locked myself in my room and sat down in the window seat. "Right." I said, "I've had enough! What's with the anonymous giggle?" (Pause)

MEL: *Sarah, is that you?*

Me: Mel?!?!? How can you be talking to me? I mean, not that it isn't great to hear a familiar voice, but I had somehow been given the impression that we were no longer in the same frame of reference. How're you doing this?

MEL: *I dunno. I just keep getting these images of you saying or doing this really stupid stuff and then I laugh. How could you say that revolting tripe about sacrificing yourself for the greater good, you nong?!?!*

Me: Errr... the power going to my head? The shock of being in another universe? The stress of the Shopping Trip from Hell?

MEL: *Are those supposed to be excuses? That reality is a bad influence on you. What happened to all those creative, utterly unbelievable excuses you used to use? Something like 'I was just trying to fit in with the unbelievably angst-ridden Lycra Loonies', or 'I loaned my brain to Cyclops for the day'. *

Me: Yes, Mel. Sorry, Mel.

MEL: So you should be. So what's going on? What are you doing there?

Me: Well, you remember the little invisible men? One night that should have been stormy... (One lengthy explanation later) And that's it. I am now responsible for the welfare of an entire timeline. Me, the girl whose mouse died because I forgot to feed it. Scary, eh?

MEL: *Yuurrrgghhh... *

Me: Oh come on, Mel. It isn't that bad.

MEL: *NOT THAT BAD?!? IT'S A DISASTER!!! DON'T YOU MOVE A MUSCLE, I'M GONNA- *

Me: Mel? Mel! Damn.

Oh well. I'll chase up the L.I.O.B. tomorrow and demand an explanation, but now I've got dinner to cope with.

* * *

Apart from having to tell Ellis to stop throwing food at Creed, and than having to tell Creed to remove the butter knife from Ellis's left nostril, dinner ended up going quite well. Murderous amoral thugs are actually quite peaceful to have around as, except when they're playing Silly Buggers with the mashed potatoes, they generally know better than to start anything. Everyone seems to be settling in reasonably well, and I am going to bed with that lovely cosy feeling which comes when you know that any potential assassins will, by the time they reach your room, be lacking weapons, fingers, toes, arms, legs, internal organs and vital signs.

And if it's any comfort, Mel, I haven't given in, even though my creativity may be flagging. I still flatly refuse to wear spandex.

(Several weeks have passed. The team is shaking down fairly well, and we acquire another teleporter, sixteen year old Blake Thompson.)

It occurs to me that I really haven't explained what powers the Oracle has. Well, you know how Rogue absorbs people's memories? Something like that, but I don't have to touch someone to do it, and I have a much better control of what and how much I absorb. On the downside though, they don't go away, so whatever I take I have forever. Sort of like sneaking into the office of the mind, photocopying the relevant files, and taking the copies away with me, as opposed to just reading them and putting them back. Usually, they don't even know I've been there. I do try not to invade people's privacy, of course, and while that is all very nice, the lack of any interesting memories to flip through at dull moments makes for conversations like this...

"Creed?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm bored."

Delphi's a good boss, really. Nice kid, always willin' to make time for any personal vendettas that might turn up, understanding about the importance of havin' a day off now and then. Makes sure everyone's tastes are catered for when she arranges food shoppin'. But there are times when havin' a boss who ain't out o' her teens yet is just annoying as hell.

"Find somethin' ta do, then."

He just doesn't understand these things. "I don't just mean I've got nothing to do now, I mean that my entire lifestyle is at this point irritating the hell out of me. You get to bash people, and terrorize them, and throw your weight around in general, and I just stand there like a stunned dugong!"

"Pretty skinny dugong..."

"I mean, it's impossible to so much as run for a bus in that outfit and the L.I.O.B. won't let me be the Oracle in anything else because they don't want anyone to know who I am and insulting people is fun but oooh I just want to thump someone sometimes and I can't get at anyone 'cept you and there really isn't much point you probably wouldn't notice anyway and you just don't care and I'm going to my room." Slam.

See? Still, I suppose she has a point. She can knock the wind right out of a spandex wearin' wimp at thirty yards with one o' those insults o' hers (and one of the best things about this job is the constant entertainment), but I guess it would get kind o' frustratin' never getting to do any actual fightin'.

* * *

"MEL!!!!"

*What now?*

"I'm bored."

*Oh, horrors. Look, I've got a bone to pick with you. *

"Aww, what'd I do now? If this is about having Creed kill those Black Air guys, that is kinda why I hired him and they were a serious threat to all mutantkind and-"

*You did what?!? Never mind, I don't want to know. This is about the time you told Cyclops he had the deductive powers of a dead gerbil and kicked him in the shin. *

(pause) "Uhh, yeah, that I remember. What was wrong with it? I can't kick any higher than that in those robes."

*I know that, but your timing couldn't have been worse. *

"You didn't start laughing in the middle of a lecture again, did you?"

*No. *

"Good."

*I had hysterics in the middle of a memorial service! *

"Oh. Oops. Anyone I know?"

*It was for you, actually. *

"Oh."

*Damn right. So what was the problem? You wanted me to help you with some minor little difficulty? *

"Umm, yeah. I'm bored. I can't do anything."

*I know, I heard you complaining to Creed. Look, you can absorb people's skills and memories when you look at them, right? Well, put some of them to use. *

"But in that outfit..."

*sighh. Here's what we're gonna do... *

* * *

That was a brilliant plan of Mel's. A double blind! A second secret identity! Now, do I have everything?

Two three foot long sabre type sword thingies and abilities to use same poached from Nightcrawler? Check.

Ninja fighting stuff lifted from Shadowcat? Check.

Outfit? Definite check. I absolutely will not wear spandex. Never, nuh-uh, no way, forget it. It's against my personal beliefs. And it makes you look like a dork. I had to have this specially made for me, but I definitely think it was worth it. This outfit isn't just a statement of my personality, it's a weapon. Speaking of which, maybe I should test it on someone...

"Hey, Thompson, Creed, whaddaya think?"

Sound of jaws hitting floor. Loud sloshing of hormones. Complete and utter inability to form a coherent thought. Yup, the skin-tight suede is a definite go.

"C'mon, guys. Let's go introduce the new me to some old friends."

* * *

"So, ye say ye're here tae introduce your new team-mate?" Honestly, I don't know why Moira sounds so skeptical. You'd think Creed was undependable or something.

Great big toothy grin. "Yeah. Kid's the newest addition to our happy little family. Say hello to the nice loser, kid."

Don't push it, you. "Hi! It's, like, so incredible to meet you! This is totally amazing, you know?"

Hey! I hear you shouting. What's going on? Well, you see, if I was simply my usual caustic self even Cyke would, eventually, figure it out. I can't keep my mouth shut (hey, it's good to know your weak points) long enough to do the mysterious thing, and angst - eeeeyuuuccchhh. So I went with the one thing no-one would ever associate with the Oracle. An idiot.

"Ye're... working with the Oracle? She hired you?"

"Isn't it so cool? And I'm gonna get to meet heroes and everything, she said!"

"Er...aye. I suppose I'd best introduce ye to the others then."

"Okay!!"

"Good idea." Geez, it's hard not to laugh doin' this. The boss is havin a ball, and that hag McTaggert don't know which way's up. Okay, doin' my bit, grin, grin, loom, loom. Good, the rest of the losers are here. Go for it, kid...

"OHMIGOSH! Excalibur!!! This is so amazingly awesome!!!" Morons. "I'm, like, speechless!!" You wish.

Nightcrawler: "Errrr, hello. Are you, um, settling in all right?"

Me: (heavy eye contact.) "Oh, yeah." Inhale... "Everyone's been so friendly."

Wisdom: "I'll bet - oofff!" Kitty elbows him in the ribs.

Kitty: (icily) "So nice to meet you - what did you say your name was?"

Me: "Oh, I'm being so rude. I'm Russet. You're Shadowcat, right?" shake hands, smile inanely.

Meanwhile, Douglock is looking confused, Meggan looks dubious, and Colossus and Rahne are blushing furiously and looking anywhere but at me. Hmm, maybe I should have toned the outfit down just a bit - naaahh.

Meggan: "Um... It's very nice to meet you. You have an interesting name, Russet, does it have any special significance?"

Me: "Huh?" Look blankly at her, then at Creed.

 Creed: It's because of your hair, remember? You have dark red hair, and you wear brown, so we call you Russet."

 Me: "Oh yeah!"

And so on.

* * *

"BWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! HOO-YEAH!! HAHAHAHAHA-" It occurs to me that my thug may be just a tad bit unstable. He's been having hysterics since we got back. Still, it'll do him good to have a laugh, and I was in fine form today, if I do say so myself.

Blake, meanwhile, is propped up against the doorway, recounting the day's activities. "Haha, and then she, heehee, asked Cyclops, and I quote, 'this is kind of a personal question, but have you always been a guy? You can tell me, I'm broadminded.' The look on his face! You should have seen it!" Creed goes off into another bout of unrestrained hilarity. "And Forge... you know, I actually felt sorry for him..." He loses all control, and joins Creed on the floor.

I look at Ellis and Takubayashi. Ellis being female, and Takubayashi being in his eighties somewhere, my outfit is not having quite the same effect on them, but I'm not wearing it for their benefit, so that's all right. "Yup. Russet is established as the original airhead. She is also, and this was Creed's clever idea," a gracious wave from the floor (he's picking up these bad habits from me, I just know it), "established as the mouthpiece of the Oracle. His reason being that there was less brain to get in the way." Pause. "It's rather insulting how easily they swallowed that..."

Suddenly, there is a horrible squoogy feeling between my ears as the L.I.O.B.s drop information straight into my brain. I really hate it when they do that. A) it's undignified, B) it's rude, and C) it always gives me a splitting headache. Still, it's effective.

"Uhhhhh, hate to break up the festivities, guys, but Ellis, I need you and Blake to go into town, to a bar called the Pint and Parrot, of all the silly names, and collect someone. No, I don't know who, they didn't say. Presumably you'll know. Off you go." They do so. We've all learned not to argue with these little gems of information. While they're gone, I lie down with a warm cloth over my face and whimper a bit. I may have a high tolerance for pain, but that doesn't mean I'm not allowed to indulge myself in a good whimp now and then.

"We're ba-ack!" Oops. I probably should have gotten changed. Oh well. I stroll out into the foyer, and am immediately engulfed in a wave of pure envy. The woman standing in front of me is one of those stunningly beautiful and elegant blonde people who make everyone around them seem frumpy and uncouth. With my tight leather and sensible plait (I don't care how easy the X-Women make it look, having waist length hair out for any sort of physical activity is just a recipe for disaster), anyway, as I was saying, I feel like an escapee from a Dungeons and Dragons game.

For some reason, though, I don't really think she's the one I sent them for. After making a few polite noises to the walking Vogue cover, I hear a sniffling noise, and realise that there's someone else here. That someone else speaks.

"Dis is all your fauld, Soz, dobody in their right bind would-"

"MEL?!?!?!"

"Yurp." She looks at me. Her eyes widen. "What on earth are you wearing?"

"Errr... nothing much?"

"I can see that!!!"

Courage, Delphi. Chin up. Shoulders back. Be brave, you can handle this. More gruesome than Pete Wisdom's eating habits... More terrifying than Sinister's dress sense... More disgusting than the thought of Cyclops perpetrating his genes on an innocent future...

Breakfast.

Do you remember what I said a while back about meals being fairly peaceful around here, because everyone knows better than to start anything? That was before Mel arrived. Pause for a moment of annoyance that she was allowed to keep her own name and I wasn't. It's supposed to divorce me from my past or something. Personally, I'd have preferred an amicable separation...

Back to the subject at hand. Open the door, slowly, slowly...

"THAT'S REVOLTING! Is it completely beyond you to eat even one civilized meal?" Mel, cornflakes forgotten, is yelling at Creed and his barely seared steak. He snarls at her viciously and continues eating. Honestly, the way his manners have improved just warms the cockles of the heart. Really. I try to sneak away again, planning to grab something to eat later, but it's too late, she's seen me.

"Where have you been? I slipped in a puddle of your tame gorilla's drool as I walked in here this morning he does it on purpose you know he does he hates me the horrible old bastard but do you do anything about it no you don't because you're going nuts here and look at you you're wearing that outfit again what did you do skin a fieldmouse for the leather if one of those laces goes you are going to be in so much trouble or is that the idea oh that's so gross I'm telling you if he has anything to do with your sudden change in workwear I am just going to chuck no even you wouldn't stoop so low not that you can stoop at all in that outfit and incidentally the stove exploded again but we aren't talking about me we're talking about you and the absolutely totally unlike you way that you've been behaving lately and just what the hell do you think you're doing?!?!?!"

"Umm, getting some toast?" Oh dear. Mel isn't coping well with this whole alternate universe thing at all. "And what's wrong with my clothes? I'm wearing more than Psylocke, Storm, Elektra, Typhoid Mary..." I look down at myself. Mel has probably given you completely the wrong idea about what I'm wearing. A natural beige sleeveless suede vest laced up to a perfectly decent height (well, almost), with matching trousers tucked into sensible low heeled boots.

"Well, the colour, for a start!"

"What about it?"

"From any distance at all you look like you're stark naked!" Point.

"I'm dressing passive-aggressively."

"Ha! Just because it's easier to beat them up when they're staring at your cleavage..."

"MEL!!"

"WHAT?!?"

"Calm down."

"Oh. Okay. AND STOP SMIRKING AT ME CREED, YOU HAVE TO DO WHAT SHE SAYS TOO!"

"Yeah, but I'm getting paid."

And so on...

* * *

In what is probably a futile attempt to calm us all down, Ellis suggests we go out to get to know each other in an environment that we won't actually have to pay to have repaired. Preferably in another country. So against my better judgement the three of us head for this nice little pub Creed says he knows. Not our usual watering hole, might I add, we'd sort of like to able to go there again, but some place in America...

Upon reflection, that was a mistake.

Not the pub, that was fine. A little smelly, a little grubby, but fine. Really. And everyone in there was almost aggressively minding their own business. Well, except for that one guy, but I put that down to drink. I was nice and knocked him out before anyone could kill him.

No, the bad part was what happened afterwards.

Well, to cut a long story short, the place was in this sort of industrial district, and when our attention was claimed by some sort of SPB activity in one of the big building thingies Mel and I, being just naturally nosy, just had to take a peek.

It was Sinister. He was standing up on a catwalk gesturing theatrically as a bunch of generic flunkies as they dragged some very dubious looking barrels through a kind of portal whatsit. (Yes, I know they should have been rolling them, but that obviously hadn't occurred to them) Now I tend to want to thwart Sinister just on general principles, such as my Objecting To Maniacal Laughter Principle or the old Dressing Like A Deranged Twit With Makeup To Match Principle, which has gotten a strenuous work out since I arrived here.

"Yo, dude! Like, put the stuff back, or we'll hafta, you know, destroy ya or somethin'."

What? This is Russet talking, remember? I can't exactly have her say something intelligent, it'd ruin the whole ploy.

"You? Destroy ME? Pitiful worm, you know not to whom you speak! I AM SINISTER!! BWAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA!!!"

This guy is getting right up my nose.

"Do you really think we're gonna be intimidated by some second rate supervillain who couldn't even afford the whole cape?" Mmmff. Good for Mel.

"WHAT?!?!?" Sinister boggles.

"Ya heard, dirtbag. Move it or lose yer vital signs!" And Creed just has to join in.

"Yeah! What he said!" Me again. I've always liked the word 'flabbergasted' and this is just how Sinny looks.

"But... But..." Then he pulls himself together. "You dare threaten me, you pathetic specimens of genetic inferiority? I'll -" Then just as things looked set to get really interesting, a group of people in really eye-twisting purple and orange uniforms come rushing in, shoving us aside very rudely in their hurry to get at Sinister.

"Hold it right there, Sinister! Your evil plans will never succeed!" This one's in blue and yellow.

What? Exsqueeze me, did that guy really just say that? I mean, 'your evil plans will never succeed'? He sounds like a Summ... Oh, no, I recognise him now...

"You!" yells a tall kinda orange haired one with a star on his face who's waving a couple of swords around like he really wants to cut someone, "Sabretooth! You will pay for aligning yourself with this personification of evil!" How dare he! I may be a little hard hearted at times, but - oh wait, he means Sinister.

"Like, chill, dude. We're not with Mr Bad Face Century, 'kay?" Lessee, there's this guy, another one who is ogling me in a really offensive way, a redhead who looks vaguely familiar, yet another guy who looks like he's trying to be tough, and HIM.

"What are you doing here, Sabretooth? How are you involved in this?" he asks, eye glowing.

I draw myself up to my full height (five-eleven) and do my transformation-to-vessel-of-the-Oracle bit. I had to do some serious negotiating with the L.I.O.B. for this, but it was worth it. My eyes glow, feet rise up off the ground, voice sounds all echoy and far away, and at this point, rather peeved too.

"They are doing my bidding, fool. You are Cable, correct? The son of Cyclops. And the rest of you are..." Pause. "I have no idea who you are."

"Hey," says Sabretooth, "I thought you knew everybody!"

"I know, I know!" Mel squeaks suddenly, bouncing happily. "They're X-Force!"

"You know, the really boring ones that we never paid any attention to?"

"Er, I'm Siryn..." The redhead says hesitantly.

"I am Shatterstar." It's the belligerent fellow with the swords.

"Umm, I'm Rictor..." Mr I'm trying Really Hard to Look Tough.

"I've heard about you guys." pipes up Mel, "Aren't you, you know, g-"

Both "NO!!"

"What? There's nothing wrong with it..."

"Hi." Smirks the guy who's been eyeing me like a gourmet meal in a famine. "I'm Sunspot, but you can call me Bobby, gorgeous." Now I admit this outfit was designed to make the most of my assets, and I've been quite enjoying all the attention my new body's been getting (not that the old one wasn't pretty good, too), but this guy's got that look, the ladies'll know the one, that says that not only is he undressing me in his head, but he's getting a lot further. This guy is being seriously offensive.

"I'd call you pond scum, jerk, if that wouldn't so be offensive to the scum. Neither my host or I is the least bit impressed, so put your eyes back into your head before I ask 'tooth here to do me a personal favour and tear both your heads off!" Sleaze.

"Only too happy, boss." Creed offers, grinning at the suddenly very worried Sunspot.

"Boss?" asks Shatterstar, looking surprised. "You are employed by this girl?"

"Nah." He lies. "I'm workin' fer the one speakin' through the kid. She's called the Oracle." They all flinch. Obviously the X-Men have told them about me. Good. I notice that, during our little chat, Sinister has made good his escape. He might not recognise Mel or Russet, but he knows all about the Oracle and really doesn't want to annoy her by killing her employees.

"What we did? You let him escape. He's holding half of our team hostage!" Cable seems a tiny bit upset about that.

"You know, I thought there was supposed to be more of you." Mel comments. I'm bored with these people.

"Aye." Says Siryn cautiously. I contact Takubayashi, get him to call Ellis, and X-Force disappear with a faint pop.

"Oh good." I say in my normal voice. "They're gone. That hovering and echoing thing gives me a headache. Let's go home."

Which we do.

Well, that's it. My account of how I became who and what I am. See ya.

Delphi.

Note 1: The specifics of how Mel came to be here will be told in a story she will write and I will go through and correct. I'll get it going ASAP.

Note 2: It has been mentioned to me that I am taking certain liberties with the character of everyone's favourite homicidal maniac. This is true. But honestly, can't the poor man have a little fun now and then? Some vague semblance of a good time? That's right, hang your heads in shame. Yeesh. Let him enjoy himself a bit, and stop carping.

Note 3: Yes, I know that there hasn't been much character development for poor Ellis, Takubayashi and Blake, (c'mon guys, quit nagging, I'll get to ya) but I'm not ignoring them, I'm just saving them for another story. Honest.

If you want to see more of the Oracle, please e-mail me. There's no point in writing more if no-one's going to read it.

You are reader number as of August 26, 1998.