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Disclaimer: Marvel's stuff is Marvel's and this story is mine. A bit of a
departure from the usual CL formula, but it wanted writing.

    Comic Limbo: Conforming to Your Station
        By Suzene Campos

    "Excuse me. Are we correct in assuming that you are Peter Paul Wisdom?"
    The rumpled figure at the bar looked up, blinking his one bloodshot blue
eye up at the generic Caucasian male and generic African-American male
standing beside him. "Yeah, whaddya want?"
    They fished out their wallets and flashed their ID in synchronized
movements. "We represent the Powers That Be here in the Marvel Universe and
are responsible for the upholding of certain long-standings and oft-performed 
Traditions," they informed him in unison.
    "Traditions?" Wait, wait... it hurt, but the alcohol-fog was starting to
evaporate and he could focus again. Putting up with peons always made him
hot enough beneath the collar to evaporate any booze in the old works.
    "Less charitably referred to as cliches. It has come to our attention that
you, sir, are not conforming to your station."
    "What the bloody hell are you gits on about?"
    "Sir, you drink. You swear. You dress as if you were going to a funeral. 
You have at least one permanant, disfiguring, and non-aesthetic scar. You have
betrayed at least one organization of which you were once a trusted member..."
    "Oh, God... someone cut the fuckin' surround sound!"
    "You smoke without a healing factor. You have a foreign accent. You engage
in wanton sex out of wedlock..."
    A dangerous glint entered the former-spy's eye. "What'd you just call
Pryde?"
    "And, most unforgivable of all, you scorn the X-Men. Sir, we have no choice
but to label you a villain! As such, you are required to immediately acquire
a secret hideout, hire an army of minions, and cause general mayhem with no
regard for innocent life."
    "An' there ain't nothing I can do to talk me way out of this, is there?"
    "We're afraid not. Tradition must be upheld."
    "Well, a'right." Pete stood and stretched. "So far as the secret hidey-hole
goes, ain't no one but you wankers knowin' about it. So, I guess that brings
us to the next whole snuffin' of innocent life thing, right?" He considered
using the bottle of scotch near at hand, but that would transcend villainous
behavior and cross the line into pure evil. He used his hot-knives instead.
After the smoke had cleared, he addressed himself to the little piles of ash
on the floor. "So now, I guess I gotta go be all villainous and get me my
minions, right?"
    As he pulled on his trenchcoat, he wondered how Pryde would feel about
Minionhood. Maybe he'd have to tie her to a chair and use feathers on her
first, but she'd come around.
    A smile tugged at his thin lips.
    It was good to be an evil bastard.

END