Notice: This is a fan fiction of based upon the stories in Lilith Langtree’s “Comics RetCon Universe”. The story is mine, but some of the characters are not. White Queen, Mystique, Wolverine, Magneto from Marvel Comics’ X-men are trademarks of Marvel Comics. All rights reserved. The Riddler and Green Arrow are trademarks of DC Comics. All rights reserved. To the best of my knowledge, all the other characters are fiction. Any resemblance to a living, dead or undead person is completely random.

** Chapter 1 **

I am pleasantly surprised when I appear back in my Reston, VA apartment.  I think that it would be an understatement for me to say that the day has been exceptionally stressful. I could really use a stiff drink right about now, but first, I have to turn on the TV to see if I am on the news. As I flip through all the news channels, this little item catches my eye when it scrolls across the bottom of my screen.

**BREAKING NEWS from San Francisco**

A one size fits all, chiseled and over groomed anchorman begins to speak. “Hi, this is Dan Vincent reporting from the Faux News studio in LA.  We have just received reports of a vicious and unprovoked attack on law enforcement agents responding to a combination bomb threat and  hostage situation in the San Francisco Convention Center by someone dressed up like the Riddler and a new super-villain calling herself Mystique.”  

WTF! I’m a super-villain, but the Riddler dude is just someone wearing a costume?

“In related news, we are receiving reports that the San Fransisco Federal Reserve Bank was robbed this evening by someone dressed to resemble the comic book villain, The Joker. Authorities are unwilling to speculate if the the two incidents are related.”

Oh shit.  The Federal Reserve Bank?!?  That’s not good.

A picture of the Riddler and the Joker appear in the background to the right the talking head.  Beside them, there is a female shadow with a big red question mark.  I feel very frustrated. Unlike myself, those two can just take their costumes off and those costumes can be found at almost any costume shop in the country.  I find myself feeling a little relieved that they don’t have a picture for me, yet.

“This just happened and the reports are still coming in, but Faux News will try to keep you updated as new information is made available to this network.  Local Faux News Channel Nine will be on the scene momentarily and as soon as they have some news to report, we will make that available.”

The reporter glances off camera, “Do we have any pictures of this Mystique person? Anything?  We do?  Great!”

I groan when my picture appears in the place holder’s position. The quality is pretty bad. I can tell that I’m a blue girl with red hair, holding a huge gun and wearing a white dress thing.  That’s it.  They must have got it from someone's cell phone or something.  I guess that I don’t have to worry too much about anyone using that to get a positive ID on me anytime soon.

“Pardon the low resolution on her picture folks.  This was taken from someone who might be,” He stops for a second, “No, is still trapped inside the convention center as the police begin their hunt for this dangerous woman.  We will update her picture as soon as a better one is made available.”

They cut to a commercial break and I use that distraction to walk into the kitchen and see if I can find that drink.  I’m getting tired of carrying my gun around. It’s caused me a lot of trouble and I would toss it in the trash, but it probably won’t fit. I set it on the counter instead.  It makes a nice and solid thunk sound as I set it down.  It isn’t until I finally set the thing down that I realize just how heavy it is.  I shake my right arm out a few times to help loosen my muscles.

As I reach up to open cabinet door with my left hand, I notice that my glove has my blood all over the palm and fingers.  It’s still wet too. My right hand is clean though. Okay, that’s weird.  I know that I used my left hand to turn on the TV. Did I just smear blood all over the remote when I turned on the TV?  

“Hmmm, maybe I should take these things off so I don’t get blood all over my kitchen?” I mutter to myself.

I carefully remove the glove on my right hand with my teeth. I don’t want to get blood all over the clean one too.  Then, I rinse and scrub the blood off on my left hand glove in the sink before I peel it off too. There is still a light red stain on the glove, but oh well.  Nothing I can do about that right now and I wonder why I even care.  I just drape the wet glove over the gun to help it dry.

As I take a step back, I notice that there is some blood smeared against the cabinet door in front of the sink.  I look down and it finally dawns on me why the front of my costume feels so wet and sticky.  My left shoulder, stomach and right thigh are covered in blood.  Additionally, my right boot has drops of blood running down the front of it.  

“Shit!” I say, hoping that I didn’t get any blood on my carpet. That would make it harder to recover my rental deposit.  I wet a washcloth and wipe the blood off my upper thigh.  Rinse the washcloth and idly note how red the water looks as it swirls down the drain.  Next, I wipe off my boot and follow that up by wiping the blood off my shoulder.  I pull the edge of my costume away and wedge the washcloth under the costume in an attempt to soak up the blood that worked its way inside the costume.  The shoulder is fairly easy to clean off since most of the blood is on the outside.

My stomach proves to be a bit harder to clean.  There is a little blood on the outside of the costume where it leaked through the bullet hole, but when I pull up and reach under my dress to wipe my stomach off, the wash cloth comes back very soaked in blood.  Yuck.  

I manage to get the worst of that cleaned up, but I will be very happy when I can take a shower and get into some clean clothes.  I would just take the costume off and do all that now, but I can’t.  The zipper is in the back and it’s stuck. Plus, I don’t have any clothes in my apartment that will fit me.

I grab some Windex and wipe down the front of the cabinet door with some paper towels, then I follow that up by checking the floor and countertops for any blood that I may have accidentally dripped onto.  All clear.  Guess I got lucky.  

With the cleaning done, I glance back at the gun and frown. From a distance, the thing looks pretty damn real.  It fooled me the first time I saw it, but up close, okay, it still looks pretty real.  It’s only after you hold it, that you can really tell that it is fake and made of plastic. It’s not the cheap plastic that you might get from a toy store. Instead, it is a solid high grade plastic that you might see from a movie prop.

Finally, I return to my original mission and open the liquor cabinet. I frown when I find it empty of everything worth drinking.  I don’t like wine, so the three bottles of my ex’s wine doesn’t count. Oh yeah. Now I remember that I drank the last bit of rum to celebrate my team’s semi-final win.  I grab a clean glass from the cabinet and decide to just get myself some water instead.  

All the searching for stuff in the cabinets reminds me that my feet are killing me. I would love to take my boots off, but I don’t know if I would be able to get them back on.  I’m sure that my feet are swollen right now from wearing these high heeled monstrosities. Amber the Costume Goddess told me that they are only three inch heels.  Like that makes them better somehow.  However, I do have to admit that the heels make reaching for things with my reduced stature a bit easier.

The water tastes like heaven to me as I greedily chug it down and refill my glass.  I wonder if I have any beer in the fridge. Encouraged by that idea, I check the fridge and sigh with disappointment.  Nope, not even an unwanted lite beer orphaned in the back.

From the living room, I hear the commercial break end.

“If you’re just tuning in, we are reporting on a breaking news story from San Francisco California and we are now here with local Faux News Channel Nine reporter Amelia Roberts.  Amelia, what updates do you have for us at this time?”

Water glass in hand, I saunter back into the living room to watch.  I wish that I knew how to just walk in these heels, but once Amber the Costume Goddess found out that I didn’t know how to walk in heels at all, she took it upon herself to train me to walk like I’m stalking prey or something.  It reminds me of the gait that supermodels use on the catwalk crossed with a dancer. Each step is very measured and precise, yet dangerous and sensual looking; or so I am told.  After spending almost an hour walking around in these heels and getting whacked for every misstep, I’m afraid that my high heel stalking walk has become habit now.  If I walk like this without heels on, I think that I will scream.

“Thanks Dan, from our early eyewitness reports, the Riddler and Mystique are thought to be responsible for planting disguised explosive devices at all the exits of the Convention Center. Once the police arrived in force,  Mystique stayed behind to cover the Riddler’s daring helicopter escape. After a brief exchange of fire that critically injured two officers, Mystique disappeared into the bowels of the Convention Center’s basement level. In an effort to capture her before she can escape, the San Francisco Police Department and the FBI have cordoned off all of the exits from Center.”

“We are still waiting for an official response to our questions regarding the alleged Federal Reserve Bank robbery that was reported to happen at the same time.”

“The FBI in cooperation with the Department of Meta-Human Affairs has issued a joint statement regarding this latest meta-human incident and based on that statement, it appears that Mystique will soon be on the FBI’s Most Wanted List.  If you see her, please to not try to apprehend her.  She is to be considered armed and extremely dangerous.  Please call 911 immediately.”

Amelia looks to her right as the guy with the Punisher t-shirt who took a few pictures of me walking the Convention floor is thrust into the spotlight.

“We have with us right now, Mark.  Mark was attending the Convention when everything went dangerously wrong.  Mark, can you tell us what you saw?”

Oh, this could be bad.  Poor Mark looks like a deer caught in the headlights. “Um, yeah. I mean, so like, this Mystique chick was like hot, I mean, smoking hot, but I don’t know if she was really with the Riddler dude, ‘cause she was in the costume contest first. Oh, I got some good pictures of her if you want.”

I’m not sure that I like being called “smoking hot” by this Mark guy.  Now, I feel a little creeped out for posing for him and letting him take my picture.

Amelia looks a little flustered, but at the same time I can see the calculating look that crosses her face as soon as the poor sap mentions the pictures. “Pictures? Oh that would be great Mark!” She goes all smile and vamp on him.  “Would you be able to let my cameraman over there pull the pictures of your camera?”

“Oh sure, like no problem.” Mark replies, smiling at Amelia.  Yep, he’s a nerd.  All she had to do was smile at him and she totally has him wrapped around her fingers.  

“There you have it folks.  Once my producer is able to go through, umm, Mark’s pictures,” I think that she almost forgot the dude’s name there. “, we will provide our viewers with some exclusive and never before seen images of this Mystique woman.”

She completely ignores the part about where he said that I wasn’t with the Riddler.  She grabs a few more passing folks for interviews.  None of them back me up.  They all rave about how cool it was to watch me take on the police and see the Green Arrow try to stop me.  

They display one of the pictures from Mark’s camera and wouldn’t you know that they picked the one where I am looking my most threatening and aiming my fake gun at the camera?  Oh no, they completely ignore the ones where I posed alongside Wolverine, Storm and Magneto while we all smiled happy for the camera. Those sensationalist rat bastards.

“As you can see from this picture of Mystique...”

“You bitch! I am not Mystique!”  I growl under my breath.  I feel like screaming, but I don’t want to wake the neighbors.

“...she appears to be a little younger than I expected. Maybe eighteen or twenty, but from the eye witness accounts, we can’t let her apparent age fool us.  She is clearly a very dangerous and troubled young woman.”

I can’t stand it anymore.  I am NOT Mystique and I am most certainly not claiming or calling myself by that name.  I so do not look twenty either! Grrrr!  Wait a minute.  Did I just get mad because she thought I might be twenty instead of sixteen like everyone else thinks?

Oh god.

I can’t believe that I just got mad about that. I turn off the TV and fall bonelessly to my knees in the middle of my living room floor.  The remote for the TV slips out of my hand and falls onto the carpet. I briefly consider picking it back up so that I can throw it into the TV, but Jenny got me the cool programmable remote for my birthday last year and I feel kind of attached to it.

Well, at least I’m home and safe in my apartment. I’m not sure how long I will be safe here, but if everyone thinks that I am still in California and trapped inside the San Francisco Convention Center by the police, then I think that I might be safe for at least a day. Maybe two days if I’m real lucky.

I begin to cry a little as I sink further to the floor, my bare knees splay out until my bikini clad butt rests on the carpet with my white loin cloth dress thing spread out on the floor between my legs.  Based on my current seated position and how comfortable it feels, it looks like I am way more limber than I used to be. The long red hair of my wig hangs across my face as I look down and just stare at the perfectly smooth, blue skin of my legs.   

I really wish that I had listened to my ex-girlfriend and quit playing “That Fucking Game!”  as in, “You love that fucking game more than me!” or “Why don’t you just go play with your virtual fucking girlfriend you insensitive jerk!”  

Sorry about dropping the f-bombs there.  Her words, not mine.  You would think that as a journalism major and a novice reporter for the local paper that she would have less of a potty mouth.  Notice that I called her my ex-girlfriend?  Obviously, I thought that Dragon’s Blood Online (DBO) was the best game evah!  

Well, I did think that was true, until I woke up four days ago strapped down in a hospital bed with a nurse exclaiming, “She’s awake!”

That’s when I kind of knew that I maybe should’ve listened to Jenny.  She’s that ex-girlfriend that I just mentioned.  Except for the time spent at work, I managed to go 100% estrogen free for six months and with perfect hindsight, I really did miss having her in my life.

That makes me realize that I’m crying my eyes out and that I have mascara running down my cheeks.  Why am I crying and why do I have mascara running down my cheeks?   

The first question is easier to answer.  

I’m crying because I just got my ass shot off by a trigger happy SWAT team and I challenge anyone to not feel upset about something like that.  I can’t really blame them for shooting me. It was pretty stupid of me, but I can’t help feel a little conflicted about the fact that I was kicking their asses until that superhero Green Arrow chick took a shot at me with some exploding arrow things. The arrows seemed to be more bang and flash than explosion, so maybe the Green Arrow wasn’t trying to kill me. That made me think long enough to realize that I should get the hell out of there before someone really got hurt, like me. I’m sure that Jade, American Dream or The Spectre are on their way to my living room right now.  Hell, maybe they all are.

I know that I am dressed in a representation of Mystique’s original X-Men costume and before all hell broke out, I took second place in the costume contest, but I’m not a shape shifter. I am also not Rebecca Romijn-Stamos. Ergo, I am not Mystique. I just sorta kinda mostly look like her when I am wearing her costume. Okay, so I have yellow eyes like Mystique, but they are just contacts.  My real eyes are red and everyone knows that Mystique does not have red eyes.  If I take the contacts out and my wig off, I wouldn’t look anything like Mystique. Well, except for the blue skin and the Mystique costume.

I reach back and try to get back of the costume unzipped once more, but it’s still stuck and I can’t get enough leverage.  Grrr!

My attempt to twist my arms into a pretzel behind my back is cut short by the sound of a key being jammed into the lock of my front door. This is it. I’m done fighting.  Just come and haul me off to jail where cop killers like me belong.  Well, maybe I’m not a cop killer, but I obviously put a few in the hospital tonight.  I hope that they are going to be okay.

I hear the door softly open, someone enter and then close the door behind them.  The solid thunk of the deadbolt locking back into place surprises me. That’s not normal cop procedure, is it? Where did they get a key?  Oh yeah, maybe from the apartment manager? They aren’t saying anything. Wouldn’t the police yell out something like, “This is the police!  Freeze!” Maybe it’s an assassin? Okay, if the person is an assassin, they have to be pretty damn incompetent to make all that noise at the front door.

I decide to just remain passively sitting in the middle of the living room floor.  I could just power up all my buffs and blast the living shit out of whoever walks down the hallway, but after what I just saw on the news, I kind of hope that it is an assassin. I just want them to have a clean shot so that I don’t suffer.  Now there is a morbid thought.

I’m pretty damn surprised when I hear Jenny’s voice call from down the hallway. “John?  Are you here?”

Crap! I forgot that she still had a key to the apartment.  

I’m even more surprised when I don’t try to run and hide from her.  I just know that after she is done laughing at me, she is going to be a self-righteous bitch about my situation.  Just before she calls the cops on me.

I might as well get it over with. I sigh before I softly reply, “In the living room.”

“John?  Why are all the lights off?”

They are off?  I didn’t notice.  It seems bright enough in here to me.  Oh yeah, I’m a Dark Elf now.  I have Dark Vision or something that lets me see in the dark.  I wonder why she isn’t asking why I sound like a girl. It feels good to hear my real name again, but I was just starting to get used to my new one.

The living room light snaps on and I hear Jenny gasp with surprise.  I’m still just looking down at my legs.  

“John?”

Why is she still asking me if I am John?  She turned the damn lights on.  Can’t she see that there is some blue skinned chick with a cheap wig sitting here and not the loser dough-boy lump of her ex-boyfriend?  I turn my head to look at her.

“It’s Valerie now.”

She gasps with surprise, but she doesn’t scream.  I guess that’s a good thing. She just stands there rooted in place as she takes in my appearance.

“What?”

“I said, that it’s Valerie now. I’m not really John anymore. I kind of lack the right equipment.” I say as I pointedly glance down at my chest and crotch area.

I watch as her face shifts from shock before relaxing into thoughtfulness and finally stopping with the most surprising expression of them all for me right now.  Concern.  She actually looks concerned.

“Jen, what are you doing here?” I ask, snapping her out of her shock.

“Omigod! John! I mean, umm, Valerie  I’ll be right back!”  She turns around and races into the kitchen.  I wonder if she is going for a knife.  I hear the water in the sink running. Maybe she is washing the knife first? Instead of a knife, she rushes out of the kitchen with a wet washcloth and crouches down on her knees beside me.  I notice that it isn’t the same washcloth that I used earlier.  “Did you know that there is a big gun thing on the counter and that you have a bloody washcloth in the sink?”

“Yeah, but the gun isn’t real.”

She blinks once, doesn’t say anything to that. I would laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but I am too drained and confused by her behavior to resist when she begins to use the washcloth to clean my face.  I just stare blankly at her face as she carefully wipes the mascara from around my eyes and off my cheeks.

“Okay, close your eyes so I can get inside the corners of your eyes and get the gunk off your lashes easier.”  I close my eyes.  She gently continues to rub the crap off my face.

She stops working my eyes and gives my entire face a quick once over.  “There!  All done.  I think that I got most of the crap off your face.  Do you want me to get that wig off of you?”

I re-open my eyes and just look at her.  She’s just calmly studying me.  Not laughing or maliciously smiling at me. Nope.  She has what looks like the start of an encouraging and friendly smile on her face.  I feel my eyes begin to get a little wet again.

I would say “Yes, please.”, but I’m not sure if I could get it out without breaking down.  I nod my head affirmatively once instead.

She pulls my unresisting head down and uses her fingers to find and pull out the pins holding the wig onto my head.  A gentle tug and the hated thing is off! It feels so good to not have that stifling thing on my head.  

“Wow, your real hair is so shiny.  It’s beautiful!”

“Ummm...okay.”

She begins to pull out the pins holding my real hair. “Lemme get the pins out and get a good look at you.”

I’m glad that she’s here, but I don’t understand. “It’s a little late. Why are you here Jen?”

“Oh, I saw your picture on the news.”  Jen says, distractedly as she pulls out some more pins.  Her response kind of answers my question, but it doesn’t really answer the why.

I feel my hair finally hang free once more.  My scalp feels tons better already, but how did she recognize me?  Hell, I don’t even recognize myself right now. I wonder how many laws she broke to get to my apartment so fast.  In good traffic, her apartment is normally twenty minutes away. Well, it is pretty early so I guess traffic is pretty easy right now. She must have noticed my confused expression.

“I watched you play this character enough,” says Jenny, quickly looking me up and down. “I mean,  I complained about you playing her every time I saw her. Plus, I watched your final match over the Internet.  I’d recognize you anywhere.  But, I have to say, you are looking a little younger than your character looked on the screen.”

“Umm, yeah. DBO never had younger character models, but I think that I look like what a teen-aged Dark Elf would look like at sixteen. That’s if I’m lucky.”

“Hmmm, yeah.  Sixteen, but maybe eighteen if you added some makeup.”

“Oh Joy.  Wait a minute, you watched me play?  On purpose?!”

She flashes an embarrassed smile at me.  “Yeah, I watched your team win the contest last weekend.  I was so happy for you!”

Boom!  There goes my head.  It just exploded all over the living room.  I hope that I didn’t get any of my brains on Jenny.  I manage to gasp out. “You what!?  You were!?!”

She gently laughs at me.  I feel too stunned to resist as she sits up on her knees and wraps her arms around me, crushing my head against her chest as she hugs me.  I feel myself start to relax in the comfort of her embrace.  The warmth of her body and familiar scent is so reassuring.  

“I missed you so much Jen.”  Once I admit that to her, I can’t stop myself. I return her hug as I break down and cry once again.  Except this time, my tears are tears of relief instead of useless frustration, anger and self-pity.  It feels so good to let it all out. I feel like I’ve been running on fumes since I woke up.  I can’t believe the Jenny is here.  I can’t believe how much has changed for me.  My life is over.  I have no identity.  No family. I’m no one and now I can’t even get help with getting a new ID from that hard-assed lady from the DMA, Agent Helligan.  Not that it would help anyway even if I still could get an ID. I’m a wanted criminal.

The tears turn into body wracking sobs. “Oh god, Jenny!  What am I going to do?”

She responds by hugging me even tighter while she gently rocks me back and forth with her body; whispering “shhhh, it’s okay baby. I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

I lose track of time, but I finally manage to stop crying.  I even manage to let out a quick laugh at the idea of how we must look together.  Here I am, the newest and most dangerous evil super-villain being hugged by my ex-girlfriend as I cry like a little baby.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’ll tell you in a second.”  My voice is very nasally from all the snot trying to drain out of my nose. I stand up and run into the bathroom to blow my nose.  Well, I sort of run. It’s more like a really fast tip toe stutter step thing. I will be so glad when I can get out of these damn boots.  I’ve lost count of how many times I almost twisted my ankle.

That tip toe run thing reminds me of the new additions on my chest. The costume has a built in bra, but the running motion is doing strange things to my chest.  I’m almost used to the sensation of my chest shifting when I walk.  Now, I only really notice them every time I look down and they surprise me by blocking my view.

The bare legs, bikini and risque loin cloth skirt that is split all the way up to the top of my hips is still a strange clothing sensation.  I’m glad that the top part of the costume covers me all the way up to just below my chin while leaving my shoulders and arms bare.  With all the top covered, I can almost ignore the fact that I am practically naked from the bottom of my belly button and down.

Jenny follows me into the bathroom after I get the worst of the snot out of my nose.  The sight of her standing leaned up against the door frame and studying me makes me feel a little nervous.

“What?  Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I like the name.  Valerie. It suits you, but I’m amazed by how young, drop dead gorgeous and cutely evil that you look right now.”

I’m too stunned to make a coherent reply to that statement. “Huh?”  See, I told you so.

Instead of an explanation, she just giggles at me.  “So, what was so funny out there?”

“You said that you saw me on the news, right?”  

Jenny nods.

“Well, I was just thinking about how pathetic of an evil super-villain I am with snot pouring out of my nose from crying so much.”

That earns me another giggle from Jen as I walk over to check my face in the mirror.  I don’t want to have anything gross hanging out of my nose.  I guess that I am pretty damn good looking, in an exotic kind of way.  The yellow contacts come out pretty easy.  I’m actually surprised that they didn’t fall out when I was crying my eyes out.

I blink a few times to get rid of the funny feeling in my eyes.  It is such a relief to not have those things in my eyes. My blood red eyes and lips contrast nicely against my midnight blue skin.  Add some body glitter and I could advertise myself as having a midnight blue metallic paint job.

My shiny silver hair looks a little bedraggled.  I drag my brush through my hair a few times to tame the worst of it, but it still looks pretty bad.  I really need a shower.  I also need to chop off all this hair too.  Holy crap, what a pain in the ass.

“Arrg!  Can you get me a pair of scissors from the kitchen?  I want you to cut all this crap off, please?”

“I most certainly won’t and don’t you dare either!  Your hair is beautiful!”

I turn and look at her. “But Jen, it’s so hard to deal with.”  I say with a touch of whine in my voice.  

“Just promise me that you won’t do anything to your hair.  If you really want it shorter, I’ll take you to my stylist so that it’s done right.”

I sigh with defeat.  “Okay Jen.  I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise.”  Why do all the women want me to keep my hair so long?  Is it some sort of ‘misery loves company’ female bonding thing?

“Do you have a scrunchie thing I can borrow so that I can put this up into a ponytail?”

“Oh sure.” She reaches behind her head and pulls the scrunchie out of her hair before handing it to me.  “Do you need any...”

She stops when she notices how easily I get my hair tamed.  “How did you?”

I smirk. “Let’s just say that you’re not the first woman I’ve asked to cut off my hair.”

I’ve checked myself out in the mirror before, but I never really studied myself with a critical eye.  In the hospital, I really only looked at myself and saw a person that I didn’t recognize.  Everything moved to fast at the convention center.  I was rushed from one thing to the next and the sight of myself in the mirror there just seemed so unreal.  I felt like another person entirely. Which should be pretty hard considering that I am a different person now.  If that makes any sense.

But now, as I study my new face. I feel...I feel, pleased?

Everything about my face is perfect.  Even my teeth are perfectly white and even.  When I smile I can see my cute little fangs on my upper and lower jaw. They just add to the overall evil effect.  I don’t think that I am a vampire or anything like that. I don’t feel any hunger for blood anyway. I shudder slightly when I remember how I good I felt when I vamp drained those cops.

“What’s wrong?”  Jenny sounds concerned again.

“Oh, nothing.  I’ll tell you about it later.”

I return my focus to my reflection. See, not a vampire. I have a reflection. My delicately arched eyebrows have a little silver showing through where Jenny wiped some of the dye off that they used to color my eyebrows red to match the wig. The dangling silver skull earrings hanging from my delicate looking pointy elf ears coupled with the matching silver skull insignia headband complete the evil illusion.

My reflection.  That’s it!  MY reflection.  Until now, I haven’t really thought of my reflection as me.  I smile at that thought.

“So. J...Valerie. When you’re done checking yourself out in the mirror, can you tell me what the hell happened, where you got that wicked costume from and why you have bullet holes in it?”

Oh, this is going to be a long story.  “Umm, can we talk about this in the living room?”

“Sure.” Jen smiles at me as she steps out of the bathroom doorway so that I can squeeze past her.

I get about halfway down the hall before I feel the need to revisit the bathroom. I stop and turn back to face Jen.  “On second thought, I need to go pee.”

She just giggles at me again. “So do I.  I know that you’re kinda new to this. Can you hold it?”

“Umm, I think so?”

She ponders that for a second. “Okay, you go. I’ll wait.”

“Thanks!” I say as I rush past her, anxiously pull down the bikini bottom thing covering my new girl junk, pull the divided skirt thing out of the way, hold the skull belt thing up as I sit down on the cold toilet seat and let go with a sigh of relief.  I thought about taking the damn belt off, but there is no way that I want to waste the time it would take to do that while doing the pee-pee dance.

My relief is short lived when Jen asks, “Do you need any help with, ya know?”

I kind of forgot that she was there for a second.  The urge hit me kind of hard and fast.  I feel myself blush, but I doubt that she can see it with my skin color.  “Nope, I’m good. I have had to pee a few times before now.” I reply as I quickly wipe myself under her supervision.  

“Okay.  Thanks for warming up the seat.  Can I go now?”  She says with a tight expression.

I guess that she really has to go too.  I stand and jump out of the way while I quickly get my bikini bottoms pulled back up. I am a little embarrassed by how quickly and natural I look while I adjust the bikini’s fit across my butt cheeks.  I finish that up by expertly smoothing my skirt to cover as much as possible.  I even wash my hands, yes, I do know enough to wash my hands, thank you very much.

I am a little surprised when Jen flushes the toilet and turns back to push me out the bathroom door so that she can wash her hands too. “Okay, meet me in the kitchen and we will see what we can find for drinks.  I wouldn’t mind some wine right about now and since you’re now underage, I think that you should stick to that for right now too.”

“That’s not even funny, but okay, I still have a few bottles of your wine in the pantry.”  

Open wine bottle and filled wine glasses in hand, I bring up the rear as we retire to the living room for story time. The bright overhead light is killing my eyes.  I start to walk across the room to hit the light switch when Jen stops me.

“Wait!  Stop. How did you learn to walk like that?”

I am so glad that my skin is blue. If it wasn’t my entire body would be beet red right now.  “Umm, at the Convention.  The lady who designed this costume taught me.”

Jenny looks surprised. “Wow.  Really, just wow.  You really ooze danger with that walk of yours, but I want to really see what you look like.”

I feel a bit embarrassed by her attention now.  I look back at her. “But, Jeeennn”

“Don’t try that pout on me young lady!  I’m an expert.”  I stick my tongue out at her and I am rewarded by her holding back an obvious giggle. “Now.  Slowly turn all the way around.  I want to see what you look like.”

I spin around feeling very exposed and timid.

“Come on honey.  I know you were in the costume contest. Strike some poses!”

I give up and do as she asks.  I stalk back into the kitchen and grab the fake gun so that I can perform some of the poses I did at the convention.  I leave the gloves in the kitchen so that the one can dry.

“Okay, okay.  That’s enough. It’s official now. I hate you.” She says, mocking me.

“Umm, What?”  I nervously look at her.

“Except for your blue skin, you’re freaking perfect. Hell, even your blue skin is perfect.  Not a blemish, zit or freckle to be found. You’re like a guy’s wet dream come to life.  Perfect face, perfect boobs, perfect butt, perfect hips, perfect legs.  Hell, you even have the perfect little tummy.  Not an ounce of fat or cellulite on your body!”

“It’s not my fault!” I whine as I feel my eyes start to tear up again.

“Oh Val. Do you mind if I call you that?”

“I’m not sure. Val sounds kinda, I dunno. Meh?”

“Okay, how about Ally. It kind of fits into Valerie. Vally. Ally.”

“Hmmm, actually. I kinda like Ally better. I don’t really have a middle name picked out. Allison could work.”

“Okay!  Valerie Allison Wilson, Ally it is then!”  She pauses for a couple of seconds. “Ya know, You could flip that around.  Allison Valerie sounds a touch better.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Okay, but the way you look. It’s just not fair!”

“Huh?”

“I could spend every hour of the day in the gym working out and eating nothing but rabbit food and I’d never look even half as good as you do right now and you didn’t even have to try.”

“Umm, I’d trade you in a heartbeat if I could. Well, except for the girl thing that I’m sorta stuck with. I mean, I’d gladly be my old self again and you could be me.”

She laughs. “No thank you.  I might be a little jealous of you, but I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes right now!”

“Ookaay,” I say dubiously. “Well, I don’t really wanna be in my shoes either.  These heels are killing my feet.”  That’s all I got for a rebuttal.  It earns me a knowing smirk from Jenny. “Can I turn off the light now?”

“Sure. Then just turn on the lamp in the corner so that we have a little light to see by.”

“Okay.”

After I have the lighting taken care of, I sit back down on the couch and drop the gun on the floor. Then, I gratefully unzip and pull off my boots before I snuggle myself into the corner of one of the arm rests and take a sip from my wine glass.  I’m surprised by how good the wine tastes to me.  I can make out a dozen subtle flavors and scents that combine into a single flavor that I find delicious.  “That’s weird.”

“What?”

“The wine.  I don’t remember wine ever tasting so good before.  I always thought it tasted kind of, umm, vinegary.”

“Well, maybe it’s a girl thing or maybe your taste buds are more refined now?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Guess so...”

“Lemme see your feet.”

I glance at her curiously. “Why?”

“I’ll give you a quick massage.  I know that always made my feet feel better when you did that for me after I wore heels.”

“Oh, okay.  Thanks.” I stretch my legs out so she can get to my feet.  I hope that my feet aren’t too stinky.  Her fingers feel absolutely delightful.  I groan with relief and after a few minutes I feel like I am going to fall asleep.

“So, is that a real bullet hole and real blood or are they part of the costume?”

I glance down at myself. “Oh, they’re real alright.”

She stops rubbing my feet. “Are you hurt?”

“Umm, not anymore, but can you keep rubbing my feet? That feels so good.”

She restarts the massage. “Okay, Who shot you?”

“The police.”

“What?!?”  She stops again.  “Why?”

“Probably because they thought my gun was real and that I was going to shoot them with it.”

She lets my feet fall back to the cushions.  “Okay. Spill it.  I wanna know everything that happened to you from the time you left DC until I found you crying in the middle of your living room floor.”

“Okay.”  I pull my feet back and tuck them under me as I make myself comfortable. I take another sip of wine to focus my thoughts.  It does taste pretty good and I can feel a warm glow already starting in my tummy.  Wow, I’m a real light weight now.  

“So, after you rightfully left my sorry ass, I...”

She holds up her hand to stop me. “Wait.  Do you mind if I grab my recorder and record this?  I might wanna write a story for the paper later and it could help explain your side of the story better.  Hell, it might even get you out of trouble.”

“Umm, sure?”  Heck, it couldn’t hurt.  I’m already in pretty deep shit as it is.  However; I am a little disappointed that she didn’t disagree about the ‘rightfully leaving’ part.