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[segaboybrodie]

Well HALE-FUCKING-LUJAH. The time had come. After goddamn MONTHS and MONTHS of hobbling around the compound like he was Tiny Tim or some shit, Brodie Bruce was mobile. Sure, he wasn't one hundred percent yet, but that was beside the point here. Thanks to Doctor Hottie, the cast with the transformed DICK AND BALL DRAWING was gone, and his leg was

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[banky]

So not only was Banky on some CRAZY-ASSED ISLAND, but Rogue was REAL and a BITTER FUCKING BITCH. His eye was fucking KILLING HIM and Banky was in the most sour mood he'd been in since...who the FUCK knew.

He was vaguely hoping this was all a bad dream, like maybe the carton of chocolate milk he'd finished before leaving the house had been off and was currently fucking with his head. Still and all, he knew that was all NOT FUCKING LIKELY because no way in hell would chocolate milk cut him that raw a damned deal.

Scowling, he shoved open the door of what he'd been told was the compound. He didn't know where the hell shit was, so Banky just sort of wandered. He didn't get too fucking far before he ran into a little fuckin' slice of Jersey.

"Brodie Fuckin' Bruce," Banky practically shouted, stunned for a second. If anyone from Jersey had to be there, Banky could think of a whole hell of a lotta people who would've been better than Brodie, but he'd settle. The kid wasn't a complete cock knocker.

Besides, it could have been worse.

It could have been Walt or Steve-Dave.

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Brodie figured he might make his way down to Doris, because it was high time that he gave that Clementine chick more shit for fucking NEVER ENDING disrespect of The Trilogy. He'd been keeping the head of Chewie hostage for over a month now, and the bitch probably hadn't even THOUGHT about trying to get it back. Brodie just knew she was walking around wearing the bottom half of the costume like a fucking t-shirt again.

But on the way out of the compound, he happened to run into one of the LAST people he expected to run into. NOW this place started to send people from back home. ABOUT FUCKING TIME.

"Well, Holee shit," Brodie said at the familiar face, "If it isn't Mrs. Holden McNeil." Those two fuckers had been practically joined at the hip, from what Brodie remembered.

[banky]

"Very fuckin' funny," Banky said sourly. "Har-dee-FUCKING-har, my friend."

After feigning scratching an itch on his cheek with his middle finger, Banky looked from the crutches up to Brodie's face. Little fucker was all relaxed looking, even with the damned crutch under his arm.

At least, Banky figured, there was something he could use to beat some fucking sense into the guy if he continued on with that Mrs. Holden McNeil BULLSHIT.

"No wonder your monologues sucked, Bruce. Your funny bone's lacking in some serious comedy calcium."

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What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

If Banky had been around long enough that he'd already heard the radio show, then Brodie really WAS slipping. Time was that even a broken leg wouldn't have kept him from finding out some shit like that.

"So when'd the fuck Jersey spit you out?" He asked.

[banky]

"OH," Banky said loudly, and then paused dramatically. Making a show out of shoving his jacket sleeve back, Banky brought his wrist up and pointed to it. "Somewhere between NOW and TWENTY FUCKING MINUTES AGO."

Scowl firmly in place, Banky hoisted up his duffel bag, clutching it to his chest. "So if this is really some goddamned island tropical paradise, where the fuck's the free hooch and the bell hop?"

[segaboybrodie]

"Club Med, it's not," Brodie said, with a tilt of the head, "But the food's not bad, the chicks are hot and there's comics."

Goddamn, Banky was like a fucking newborn babe, thrust into the arms of the unsuspecting island expert that was Brodie Bruce. He remembered his formative days on the island, trying to figure the fucking place out while his face healed from the Marvel-grade beating he'd gotten on his first day.

Come to think of it, Banky was sporting a similar looking bruise himself. Fucker looked like he needed someone to slap a steak on his face.

"What the hell happened to your face?"

[banky]

"Food, hot chicks, and comics. What more can a middle-class man need? It's like the bread, butter, and eggs of our diets. The fucking STAPLES, if you will," Banky agreed, dropping the duffel bag with a flourish onto the ground.

That still didn't explain how the hell he'd gotten here. He was PRETTY SURE his train ticket hadn't said 'One Way Ticket to Fantasty Fucking Island.'

"What the hell happened to my face?" Banky repeated, mouth twisting sourly. "Mad motherfucking mutant babe Rogue went all FUCKING MISERY ON MY ASS." Jaw working from left to right, Banky then huffed. "So I insulted her hair and mentioned the deadliness of her tits. BIG DEAL. It's not like I whipped off her bra and started suckling like a wee babe."

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"Yeah, she doesn't like that shit," Brodie said. He had experience in telling Rogue shit that she didn't want to hear. Usually it involved her tits.

But eating pie, she was okay with discussing. Fucking chicks. He'd never completely understand what their deal was.

"Same thing happened to me. Chick may not have her powers anymore, but she still packs a wallop." He pointed to his jaw, which had, at one point, been more purple than the fucking GRIMACE.

[banky]

"You KNOW Rogue?" Banky asked, practically yelling again. It was all too fucking crazy, like this entire goddamned place was a FIGMENT OF HIS FUCKING IMAGINATION.

And then he couldn't help it. The idea that Brodie Bruce had also gotten his ass handed to him by Rogue was too fucking funny. What were the goddamned odds?

Banky laughed, then pressed his palms against his face. "What the fucking FUCK, man?!" he half-muttered into his hands.

[segaboybrodie]

Brodie shrugged. "Close personal friend of mine. Her and Multiple Man."

Hey, he figured he had the right to call it what it was. If Brodie had had to endure the ABSOLUTE FUCKING HORROR that was that goddamn monk-dupe, then he could call the friendship whatever the hell wanted.

And he'd eaten Rogue's pie for his birthday.

Self explanatory.

[banky]

"MULTIPLE MAN?" Banky fairly shrieked, eyeballs nearly jumping right out of his head. "CLOSE PERSONAL FRIEND?"

His head spun a little bit, but Banky could deal with THAT discomfort and the fucking DISCO-DANCING PULSING SENSATION AROUND HIS EYE later. First thing first. "You, Brodie Bruce, are close personal friends with Rogue AND Multiple Man? Which fuckin' dupe? Or all of 'em?"

[segaboybrodie]

"Only the original, I’m afraid," Brodie replied, still trying to block the bastard child of Ghandi and Madrox out of his brain. "This place is like the goddamn savage land-zaps the powers right out of the mutant population."

Though Brodie still wasn’t entirely convinced that dupes couldn’t show up. He’d seen way too many people around with doubles for that to be the case. It was really just a matter of time before they were up to their elbows in Madroxes.

[banky]

Banky's eyes got round as he took in THAT bit of information. Mutants with the powers zapped right out of them? That was just as cruel as if some asshole went around randomly with a scimitar or some shit HACKING DUDES' NUTS OFF.

"For SHAME," Banky lamented, shaking his head. A beat, and then something occurred to him. "Does this just happen to do-gooders? There aren't any forces of evil walking around on the verge of destructing the very essence of our being and shit, are there?"