THE X-MEN FIRST CLASS KINK MEME: PROMPT POST
You know why you're here. You've seen the movie. You're asking yourself, "So where was the gratuitous Emma Frost as White Queen in a corset? When did Mystique totally make it with Beast? WHY IN HEAVENS DID XAVIER AND MAGNETO NEVER MAKE OUT
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But it’s not quite like that. Hank suspects most of the onlookers think he’s in some sort of very elaborate costume, but as they approach Golden Gate Park there are people condensing into the crowds, the long-haired sort of hippies that occasionally appear in photographs in the newspaper, protesting things.
“They look unwashed,” Raven hisses at Hank. “And they smell rank.”
Hank’s nose is more sensitive than Raven’s, he’s certain of it, but he doesn’t have it in him to point out that most of what he smells is rich and herbal, with an undercurrent of human that he finds enviable rather than distressing, as Raven evidently does.
“What are we doing?” Raven continues.
“I really, really, do not know,” Hank replies, and then they’re at the park, and there are so many people there in the early morning light, clumped together in a thick pack, and Hank knows he can run fast enough to leave this all behind like a bad dream. The water on the harbor is flat and bright, and Hank is torn being delighted to see it and terrified, because the world outside the house is so much vaster than he remembered.
There’s a hand threading through the fur on his back.
It’s Moira.
“Where’d you get this coat?” she slurs, eyes wide. “It’s--groovy.”
“Moira,” he says, and her lips curve into a grin.
“You came,” she says, sounding again like herself.
“I was just thinking of leaving--”
“Don’t,” she says, simply. “I can introduce you to some people.”
Raven is there, too, glancing between the pair of them.
“I don’t think this is a good idea, Moira,” she says. “There are too many of them.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Moira says, and her voice is sharp and calm, and then she’s leading Hank through the crowd, her slim hand clasping only three of his fingers. Hank fumbles for Raven, and they make a sort of chain, only they keep needing to stop because Moira inexplicably knows people, and they’re offering her joints, tabs of LSD. Raven catches Hank’s eyes and there’s a wild bewildered look in her eyes, and suddenly someone behind her catches Hank’s eyes and says, “Dude, what are you?” with something that is plainly awe.
Hank blinks.
“I’m the Beast,” he says, and the guy’s face breaks into a loopy grin.
Moira leads them on, and it occurs to Hank that they’ve gone down the rabbit hole and come out the other end, because nothing that’s happening right now is in the realm of things he expected to happen, today or ever in his life.
And then they’re approaching a man in a white shirt with a curling mane of hair, and Moira says, “Allen,” and he turns around.
It’s Allen Ginsberg. Hank’s not entirely sure how he knows what he looks like; maybe his picture was on the back of Howl, which Hank read a long time ago because he wasn’t supposed to but failed to understand. There was a moment with Elias when some small part of Howl had made slightly more sense, but then that had slipped out sideways and--
“Moira,” Allen Ginsberg is saying, grinning like the Buddha, holding out his arms and enfolding her. She draws back.
“This is the person I wanted you to meet,” she says, gesturing towards Hank, and then Allen Ginsberg comes forward, right hand extended, and says “Hello.”
It’s strange. Ginsberg starts talking about October 6th, ‘66, and the Beast, and Hank thinks he may be high, but he’s also sharp and present. He is, strangely enough, exactly the sort of human--exactly the sort of person--Hank needed to speak with; he wonders how Moira knew.
There’s a group that looks at Hank in abject horror, of course, and another faction that asks him if he was involved in that terrible violence, and Raven sort of hangs off to the side making faces that are supposed to encourage Hank to break loose, run off.
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