(#00011)
“He’s gone to ground in something called jen-ra-con,” The Professor frowned. “Either I’m getting a lot of static or… something is wrong. Nobody there looked at all human.”
Sara glared at him. “You’re kidding me. This high a concentration of freaks and weirdos and none of you has heard of Genracon? The biggest month-long geek-out known to fandomkind?”
“I heard of it,” said Kurt.
“Trek, who, scape, wars or five?” challenged Sara.
“I understood each of those words,” said Hank, “but together they make no sense at all.”
“They’re speaking in tongues,” whispered Kitty. “It like, makes sense to them.”
“All of the above, some FF, and a britcom called Red Dwarf,” answered Kurt.
Sara grinned. “Got a costume?”
“Mind OC’s? Because this body generally gets typecast…”
“I could probably turn you into a cursed elfin mage with half of my culch…”
“Babe, you could turn *everyone* into somepin’ with yo'r culch,” said Todd.
“Challenge accepted.” Sara grinned and cracked her knuckles.
“…uh oh…”
*
“I can not believe we’re doing this,” said Jean. She was wearing the two-part Next-generation costume. A series she at least recognized and could pass most of the general knowledge questions. Her brief was to play the ditzy first-timer to the hilt.
“Sara is… very persuasive.” He was currently a klingon. He didn’t know what to say to her comments that he ‘had the wrong body type for Davros’.
“I do have to say her costume choices for us are… skewed,” noted Ororo. She wore a regal satin dress that had been augmented with occult-looking jewelry and a cloak. The staff she carried with her had some interesting augmentation as well.
“I’d say it has something to do with revenge on male-centric costuming choices in general and using us as placards.” He had a ratty-looking loincloth and a fang necklace with similarly-decorated ugg boots. Everything else was bare.
“At least y'all know who you are. Ah dunno if I’m Morticia or Elvira…”
“Given those nails?” said Hank, “I’d posit you were Vampira, of Plan Nine fame.”
“…who from whut?”
“…oy…”
“At least I can wear mine on the street,” said Scott. He came off as a rather weedy Terminator.
“Apparently we’re going on the street like this anyway. Part of an activity called 'freaking the mundanes’…” said Hank.
The elevator opened, revealing Kurt in piratical getup. “Sara changed her mind. There’s already a mage in the party and this is more… 'me’.”
“Those had better be nerf swords…”
“…'estheyare…”
Kitty, in a different Starfleet uniform and an interesting bun, asked, “How do I look and like, who’s Captain Janeway?”
Another elevator pinged, allowing a tall figure in a concealing cloak to emerge.
Other con-goers, for some reason, hushed and readied their cameras.
The cloak swept of in one dramatic shove, revealing Sara, clad only in a few lengths of diaphanous drapery, an ornate headdress and apparently a small ton of jewelry.
“I AM THE LIZARD QUEEN!”
Todd emerged in cardboard armor, brandishing a redecorated super-soaker. “Show obeisance to her majesty!”
Hoots, cheers, and a sparkle of flashes.
“What?” said Jean.
“You should know by now that Sara is a master of obscure cinema. And getting ice-cold revenge.”
Indeed. Sara and her loyal guardsman were the centre of attention. Jean was just another redshirt in the crowd.
“Below zero kelvin,” Jean mumured.
*
“Can we take your photo?”
“Can I give you a hug?”
“Love the tail…”
Kurt grinned. “Ladies,” he threw his arms wide, “you can even kiss me.” Aw yeah. Chicks dig the fuzzy dude.
*
“Yo. So… what’re we doin’?"
"Aside from checking out the merch? We’re the obvious distraction. Kitty and Jean are the covert team. They’ll find our mutant miscreant and safely knock him out.”
“…and then?”
“And then I’m going to hassle John Barrowman and his kissing booth.”
“Giving him improv, I hope.”
“Improv… and with your permission, a squeeze on his ass.”