The day started like any other day.
With a loud scream.
Blake rolled out of bed, and automatically switched off his alarm clock. It wasn't going to go off for another hour, but he kept setting it in the forlorn hope that one day he'd get to sleep that long. Rubbing his eyes blearily, he grabbed a dressing-gown and staggered out onto the landing.
Several other doors opened, disgorging four other muzzy people and one extremely smug looking thug. Automatically, everyone except Creed looked to the top of the stairs. Nothing. Everyone except Creed then looked at the landing in front of them. A faint greasy smear was the only sign that anything had happened. At that point, the other four joined Creed in staring down the second flight of stairs, at the bottom of which a purple pyjama-clad figure was wobbling to its feet. Fortune did not say a word, but gave Creed the Evil Eye for a moment out of the one that still opened before staggering over to the first aid wardrobe. She opened it, and stared into it blankly for a minute. Then closed it again. "I feel better now." She announced. Turning, she marched towards the kitchen, and got nearly four steps before falling over whimpering. "Ouch."
"Vic?" The Oracle said with the zombie-like calm of one who is not, just at present, awake, but who will be very annoyed when she is. "Did you grease the stairs again? I seem to vaguely recall telling you not to do that anymore."
"I didn't." He smirked.
"You sodding well did, you scumbag!" Screamed the heap of pyjamery on the hall floor.
"I didn't. I buttered them." Creed beamed proudly. It was at this point that Geriatrix gave up on the whole concept of morning and went back to bed.
"Confucius say, when living in house full of maniacs, sleep as much as possible." He intoned, slamming his bedroom door. "Wake me up for lunch."
"Snurf?" Christine asked, opening her eyes for a moment. "Fringle wurble." She shrugged, closing them again and going to sleep leaning against the wall. Christine was not a morning person.
Ellis, who was a morning person, was staring at Creed with a peculiar look on her face. Delphi, who was also capable of waking up early, should she be called upon to do so, noticed this. "Ellis? Any particular reason for your sudden interest in our teammate, or are you just fascinated by his Animaniacs boxer shorts?" Creed looked down and blushed.
"Well," Ellis said thoughtfully, "I was actually fascinated by the image of him crawling around spreading butter on the stairs in the middle of the night whilst wearing the Animaniacs boxer shorts. The man's dedication is an example to us all."
"Animaniacs boxers? Heh-heh." Fortune sniggered. She sighed bravely. "I'm still conscious down here." She added hopefully. "If anyone cares."
Creed glared down at her. "It was you switched all my underwear for cartoon stuff!" He snarled menacingly.
"No, Delphi's developed a sudden passion for stained white y-fronts. Someone give the man a tofu-burger!" Fortune snorted. "And they aren't all cartoon characters. There's some 90210 ones too, if you look."
"Guys! Stop!" Delphi snapped. "It's way too early for this." She picked her way down the stairs and marched into the kitchen, stepping over Fortune on the way.
"That was rather rude." Fortune complained. "You could at least have walked around me."
The others staggered down the stairs in various states of zombieness. Christine and Blake went around Fortune. Ellis stepped over her. Creed stepped on her hand.
"Ouch!"
"Aw, I'm sorry. Wanna hand up?" He grinned unpleasantly.
"Get away from me, you drooling ape." He shrugged and went into the kitchen. "And put some clothes on!" Fortune yelled after him. She waited for a minute to see if anyone would come back out to see if she was all right. No-one did, so she got up and staggered into the kitchen.
The toaster spontaneously combusted.
"Thank you, Fortune." Ellis sighed, rummaging around in the large crate in the corner of the kitchen. "Blender, blender, electric mixer, blender, waffle maker ... we're out of toasters again." There was a collective moan as they realised what that meant.
"What happened to the one that grew the legs?" Creed asked hopefully. "Is it still living in the broom closet?"
"Yeah, but I think it's nesting or something. I can't get it to come down off the top shelf." Blake said mournfully. "And don't ask me how it managed that, being the only living toaster in existence, because it didn't say."
"Oh well. Here we go again." Ellis opened a cupboard and pulled out an innocuous looking white and grey toaster. This particular appliance always worked, popping out perfect golden brown toast in a matter of moments, without shooting it across the room, creating a black hole in the middle of the slice, propelling itself through the ceiling, or biting anyone. It had even been known to work without being plugged in. It was, however, avoided whenever possible, in favour of the toasters which did do all these things, for one simple reason.
Fortune's effect on this toaster had been particularly insidious. All the time it was working, it played the Macarena. Over and over again. Slightly too fast, and just a little out of tune. It was, quite possibly, the most annoying electrical appliance in the universe. But they couldn't throw it out, because it was the only one that would condescend to make actual toast.
Delphi sat at the kitchen, glaring balefully at the offending piece of breakfast helpery. "I hate that thing." She muttered.
"Me too." Creed snarled, turning on the stove and hunting for a clean frying pan. He had, in deference to Delphi's request that everyone try to get along, taken to at least searing his chunks of dead animal before he ate them in front of people. The others had made it clear that they didn't mind his eating raw meat, they just didn't like watching.
Blake was inhaling Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs, and staring fixedly at Delphi. Eventually, she looked up from her tea. "What?" she asked.
"I was just wondering if anyone who didn't live here would believe this." He shrugged.
"Believe what?"
"That the mighty Oracle, not to mention the amazing practically naked Russet, slept in a calf length tartan flannel nightshirt with a yawning teddy-bear on the pocket."
"It's comfy!" She said defensively.
"I know. I just thought it would surprise people." He shrugged, losing interest. Blake tended to not make much sense in the mornings.
When the meal usually referred to as breakfast (in this particular household, the word was almost always accompanied by a hollow laugh or hysterical weeping) was over, everyone wandered back upstairs again to dress, shower, and generally get ready for the day.
* * *
"So what are we doing today, boss?" Blake asked, putting his feet on the table and grinning hopefully. "Anything fun?" He, Russet, Fortune, and Ellis were still waiting for the others.
Before Russet could answer, there was a roar from upstairs. "Fortune!!!!!!!!!!!"
"What did you do?" Blake asked with interest.
"Nothing?" Fortune said guiltily. There were loud, stomping noises coming towards the Telling People Stuff Room. War Room, Briefing Room, and Conference Room had all been vetoed on the basis that they weren't technically at war with anyone, everyone kept their underwear on, and the word 'conference' implied that people were actually paying attention.
"Is it a 'I'm going to have to stop him from killing you' nothing, or just a 'bouncing off the walls' nothing?" Delphi asked resignedly.
"Errrrr ... ... ... " Fortune shuffled nonchalantly behind the alleged minifridge, which was about the size of a pooltable. Snacking was taken extremely seriously in a house where 'mealtime' was another word for 'natural disaster', or, on bad days, 'sudden death'.
Sabretooth stormed into the room, leaving a trail of drip marks. He had, very obviously, been in the shower. This hypothesis was based on the facts that a) he was dripping, b) he was only wearing a towel, and c) he didn't stink. His hair had, since breakfast, gone an interesting shade of vomit-green.
This might have been the reason for his apparently fouler-than-usual temper. It was hard to be sure, however, since he was by that point completely incoherent. And drooling. That was usually a bad sign. Sabretooth had, over the last couple of months, been working on his drooling problem, ever since Blake had pointed out that it made him look like a moron. He now only did it when very stressed, or very angry.
Right now, the smart money was on angry.
"GGGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH ... ... " He snarled, advancing on Fortune.
"Umm ... not wanting to interfere, but Vic, there's something I don't think you've considered." Delphi said, in as inoffensive a tone as possible - she was, after all, only a couple of feet away from him, and without the protection of an electrical appliance.
"WHAT?!?"
"If you let go with either hand, that towel is going to fall down ... "
"So?" He snarled.
"Just thought I'd mention it."
Fortune looked suddenly nauseated. "Umm ... if I surrender now, will you go put some clothes on?"
At that juncture, Geriatrix ambled into the room. He looked blandly at Creed. "Have you been watching 'The Full Monty', Mr Creed, or are you just relaxing?"
Blake obligingly whistled a few bars of 'You Can Leave You Hat On'. Fortune went as green as Creed's hair. "Don't encourage him ... " She winced.
"Darn." Ellis and Delphi complained, in unison. Creed grinned.
"Vote's against you, runt." He leered. He knew JUST how to handle this. "Now, if I rip yer arms off, the boss here'll get mad ... can't do that ... ditto if I feed ya yer duodendum ... but I don't think she'll mind this." He whipped off the now quite wet towel, twisted it up, and hit Fortune with it. There was a round of applause, and one wolf-whistle, whose source was never identified.
"I'm blind! I'm blind!" Fortune screamed, falling flat on her face. "And my arm hurts, too."
Creed flipped the towel jauntily over his shoulder, turned, and went to stride out the door. This was prevented by Christine coming through it the other way. They both stopped.
Christine looked him up, then down, then up again. With the absolute self-possession and ladylike calm that was the envy of her teammates, Christine, unblushing, looked Creed in the eye and smiled politely. "Interesting hair colour, Sabretooth. Did you do it on purpose?"
"No, but Fortune's been punished enough. 'Scuse me." Creed managed, also unblushing.
"So I see." She stepped out of the way. Creed marched out of the room, back straight and head held high. If there was a faint pink tinge around his ears, it was almost certainly due to the dye. Fortunately for him, while many of the room's occupants were looking at him quite closely, they weren't looking at his ears.
"We have such INTERESTING mornings, don't we?" Ellis said, displaying her supreme talent for understatement. Naturally, it was at that moment that the emergency alarms decided to go off, signalling an incoming message of 'Eek Help World Ending' level importance. (Delphi had flatly refused to assign numbers, colours or letters to priorities. As she put it "I won't have all that fripping around with 'Code Blue's and 'Priority One's - if the world's ending, it can damn well say so.")
Cyclops's smarmy face filled the screen. He glared around at the crew who gazed back at him. Fortune reached into the fridge and pulled out a packet of frozen twinkies, which she laid across her eyes.
"Struck blind twice in five minutes." She moaned. Cyclops ignored her, as he always did, and focused on the person he considered the leader. Christine smiled politely back at him. Delphi made a rude gesture.
"Whadda you want, Squinty?" She demanded. He ignored her, still looking at the only relatively sane member of the as-yet-unnamed group.
"We have just discovered that a previously unknown species of hostile alien is planning to invade the Earth." He said prissily. "We considered it our duty to notify you, and the Oracle, of this terrible menace."
"Are they going to use the inhabitants of the earth as incubators for their eggs?" Blake asked with some interest.
"No, we do not believe so." Cyclops said decisively.
"Well, are they going to asssimilate us all into their collective?" Blake tried.
"That is not their projected approach, no."
"Well, are they at least going to blow up all the major cities, looking to colonise Earth?"
"Uh, no, that doesn't seem likely." The decisiveness was wavering.
"Not even bulldoze the planet to make way for a hyperspace bypass?" He said plaintively.
"What? No!" Cyclops looked rather disturbed.
"Hmp." Blake slumped down in his chair, a picture of adolescent disappointment. "Doesn't sound like much of a terrible menace to ME."
"Well, what ARE they going to do?" Christine asked politely.
"They're, uh, Beast thinks, judging by the planets they've subsumed so far, going to absorb all the" Cyclops checked a small piece of paper in his hand, " methynformulaicagorabintulicide on the Earth!" he finished, his tone conveying the seriousness of this dastardly threat.
"Really? Cool!" Blake said, interest restored. "Is that going to make people's skin fall off, or all the buildings on Earth disintigrate or something?"
"He didn't say." Cyclops admitted. "He told us what they were going to do, went pale blue, and fainted."
"Hold on!" Delphi suddenly sat up. "Did you say methynformulaicagorabintulicide?"
"Yes." Cyclops confirmed.
"AAAAUUUGHHH!!!" Delphi shrieked, leaping to her feet. "We gotta stop them!! Quick, everyone, to the Small Boring Space-Plane Without A Catchy Name!!!"
"But-"
"But me no buts, this is a crisis! Go! Go!" Delphi screamed, herding her bewildered team out the door. She grabbed Fortune's arm and hauled her up. "MOVE!!!!!"
"But what ab-"
"NOT NOW!!!!! CREED, GET DOWN HERE, YOU CAN GET DRESSED ON THE WAY!!!!!!"
"Oh, ewwwwwwwwww ... " came a trailing whimper.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, they were one the bridge of the alien ship. The aliens, who looked like seven-foot-long, orange guinea-pigs with eight legs, did not seem terribly happy about this.
"Wait!" Delphi insisted. "You're about to make a terrible mistake! You don't want the methynformulaicagorabintulicide!"
"We don't?" asked the translator in some surprise. "But I told you, we need it to power our fleet! We want to go home!"
"Yes, yes, but the methynformulaicagorabintulicide won't get you home, will it? It'll barely get you a quarter of the way there!" Delphi took a deep breath. "Look, trust me, just do a quick scan for traduscafinopustelemorigite, okay?"
Hesitantly, the translator passed on the message. The Grand Appinga's eyes gleamed suddenly, and she ordered the scan performed. A moment later, the entire crew were jumping up and down and squeaking for joy. "It's true! It's true!" The translator said happily. "Lots and lots of traduscafinopustelemorigite! We can get home in just a couple years with that! We don't know how to thank you, small hairless biped creature!"
"Oh, really, it's nothing." Delphi smiled modestly. "Honestly, I'm glad someone can find a use for the stuff. You do realise it'll need refining ... "
"Oh, of course, we can do that here on board." The translator twinkled. "You have the gratitude of the Finkle, small hairless biped creatures. Do feel free to contact one of our outposts, should you require any assistance at all, we'd be only to happy to in some way be able to repay your kindness."
"Well, perhaps, ma'am." Delphi said politely. "But we will take our leave now, and let you get on with the acquisition of the traduscafinopustelemorigite." With which they bowed, smiled, and telelported back to the Small Boring Space-Plane Without A Catchy Name. Another fifteen minute's later, they paused at the X-Mansion to reassure the Beast, who had yet to recover from his faint.
Christine, who it was popularly believed could convince rocks to float, brushed his mind cautiously, encouraging him to wake. Beast sat up suddenly, and stared at her in utter horror. "The methynformulaicagorabintulicide!!" He gasped. "It's horrible! Horrible! We have to stop them!"
"Beast? Beast, calm down." Delphi, in her Oracle robes, soothed him. "It's okay, we stopped them. The methynformulaicagorabintulicide is safe."
"Oh, thank heavens." Hank muttered, relaxing slightly. "How did you stop them? The Shi'Ar seemed positive that it was a much needed fuel source for these beings. Did you give battle?"
"No, we just offered them traduscafinopustelemorigite instead."
"Ah. A sacrifice, but a necessary one." Beast agreed after a moment.
"Look, not to be RUDE or anything ... " Fortune, who had been hushed twenty seven times in the last halfhour, said rudely, "But what IS methywhatever?"
"The Secret Ingredient." Delphi shrugged, as if that should have been obvious.
"Huh?" Said several voices.
"You know ... chicken? The Colonel's secret recipe?" Delphi elaborated. "We couldn't let them take THAT, could we?"
Images of crispy golden wings drifted through everyone's minds. There was general agreement that no, the chicken must not be interfered with. After a moment, Iceman looked up. "So, what's tradusthingy? What's that in?"
"Hmm?" The Beast and the Oracle looked at each other and shrugged.
"Big Macs."
* * *
"Guys? Do you think we should have a name?" Fortune asked, poking her salad to see if any of it moved. "A team name, I mean."
"That's a thought ... " Ellis agreed. "So when we're mentioned, people can say 'Oh no, not them', and run away."
"They already do." Creed said smugly. Fortune glared at him.
"Do you want to go around being labelled as 'Property of the Oracle: One thug' for the rest of your life?" She demanded, squinting into the bottle of salad dressing for floating nasties. "We need a cool name. Something with a bit more dignity than ... than ... The Fantastic Four, for example. Preferably something we can actually lay claim to. Mr Fantastic, phht." She muttered. "He wishes!"
"Okay, like what?" Blake paused in his enthusiastic eating. He was having a growth spurt, and ate almost constantly. "Let's call ourselves ... Sudden Death to the Nth!"
Everyone stared at him. "We're going to pretend we didn't hear that." Ellis decided. "Delphi? You're nominally in charge here - what do you think?"
"Umm?" Delphi looked up from the book she'd leaned against the teapot. "Oh, right, a name. Yeah, sounds good. Any suggestions?"
"Random Acts of Destruction Inc.?" Suggested Blake, grinning.
Delphi shook her head sadly. "And he seemed like such a promising lad ... Anyone else?"
"(unpronounceable Japanese name)?" Geriatrix offered.
"Nah ... it's no good if no-one can say it ... and I don't even want to think about how it's spelled." Ellis shuddered. "What about something a little more professional sounding?"
"Universal Adjusments Unlimited! Have your universal timestream re-oriented for only $49.95 this week, but wait, there's more! We'll also throw in this set of six lovely steak knives!" Fortune declared dramatically. She look around at the blank faces. " ... Just kidding."
"I should hope so." Delphi said sternly. "Christine?"
"Umm ... what about ... something with initials? Letters and numbers, or something?" Christine said uncertainly.
"Sudden Death wasn't bad." Creed grunted.
"Sudden Death! Free for you to try this week! Unlimited trial period - you never have to give it back! Also makes a lovely surprise gift for someone special. And you still get these six wonderful steak knives thrown at ... I mean in! Call Now!!" Fortune went into hysterics and slid under the table.
"Fortune ... oh, hell with it. Let's just call ourselves the Inter-Dimensional Fixit, huh?"
"Hey, yeah, cool! We could have a van with our phonenumber on the side, and yellow overalls with patches!!" Came a voice from under the table.
"Not yellow." Christine said firmly. "I look like a dead daffodil in yellow. What about green?"
"I've worn far too many green uniforms in this life already." Fortune disagreed. "How about blue?"
"Too X-Mennish." Blake vetoed. "Purple!"
"Not on your life, boy." Creed growled. "I HATE purple. Orange."
"ALL of us look bad in orange." Ellis disagreed. "And what sort of overalls are we talking about, anyway?"
"The long-sleeved coveralls with all the pockets, the kind you can put on over your clothes." Delphi clarified. "What about red, then?"
"Yeah! Really bright fire-engine red!!" Fortune agreed. "With patches! I want patches!"
"And patches." Delphi agreed.
"This works for me." Ellis said, finishing her sandwich. "Inter-Dimensional Fixit?" There was a pause, then a chorus of agreement.
"Good." Delphi said calmly. "I'll get us some coveralls tomorrow - you can put on your own patches. Now come on, we've got to be foiling the plans of ... " she checked a slip of paper that had been marking her page " ... the Righteous Leg of Zimfkritz in half an hour."
"What a dumb name." Commented one of the newly dubbed members of Inter-Dimensional Fixit.
"Oh, yeah, Fortune?" Creed said on his way out the door.
She stuck her head out from under the tablecloth. "What?" She asked suspiciously.
"I spit in the salad dressing." He said in a kindly tone, heading down the hall.
There was a moment of absolute silence in the kitchen. Then, after a single whimper, Fortune raised the roof - almost literally. "AAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"