Chapter 2!  LOVE AND PEACE!  No… no wait, this chapter is more like INSANITY AND CHAOS, but because Forge and Jamie are so groovy, I'll let it slide.

I'm trying to decide if I want Forge to be a grown-up with teenager tendencies, or a teen with adult tendencies… or Jamie's much large, older, duplicate.  … Nah.

Once again, I'd like to thank my beta, PantherDragon, for letting me run screaming from the computer once in a while… slave driver.

Look, TAINEYAH, look!  Another chapter!  With another planned too!  ::sticks Originality sticker to forehead::

TODDFAN: I hope you are prepared for several more chapters of grooviness.  … is 'grooviness' a word?

Oh, STRETCHY one… I forget names quite frequently.  Middle-verse, Middle-space… if I forgot any more, I'd call it, "Bayville High pocket-space".  And if you want to know why Forge fears bunnies, talk to ToddFan.  It's her baby (not LITERALLY…figuratively, daa)

ASTERIA… you are right on the age.  Kit's brain counted like this… One, two… MANGO! ::runs::  Yeah, my brain escapes.

::Dances with ULTRAMATT17:: Leeet's do the tiiiimewarp, agaaaaaain!

SERPENTINE013X owns bellbottoms?  I'm so, very sorry.

Uh, ASLYIN, I thank thee for thy shiny cookie of red flavoring… but what does 'red' taste like?

PANTHERDRAGON:  I send you a gallon of telepathic milk.

Learning New Tricks

Chapter 2 – Dress up

2/20/04

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After everyone filed out of the institute, they looked over Forge's truck.  This was going to be a problem, you see, because there were four (or sometimes more) of them, but only three seats.  And those three seats were dusty, cluttered, and smelled like mothballs because of all the time Forge's trunk spent in storage.

"Jamie, hop in the back."  Forge pulled the tarp off the bed of the pickup truck.

"Why me?"  Jamie pouted.  He wanted to ride up front with the 'big kids'.

Sensing impending doom via a screaming twelve-year-old, Forge played it cool.  "Have you heard, little guy?  The back of the pickup truck is where people ride when cruising for girls!  It's the grooviest."  Jamie's attention was instantly perked.  A duplicate hoisted Jamie into the back and then was pulled in by the original. 

Forge began pulling the tarp back over.  "Hey!  Why are you covering it?"  Jamie asked, popping his head up from the back and looking around like a meercat.

The dangling threat of a screaming fit still looming, Forge bluffed again.  "The tarp is to keep your hair from getting all messed up.  Girls don't like messy hair."  Jamie quickly flatted his hands over his already wild hair and ducked back into the hold.

The other three mutants piled into the cab and Forge drove down the path.  Amara was stuck in the middle of the cab, holding her nose in disgust at the smell.  "Nice trick zhere, Forge.  If you hadn't pulled zhe tarp over, zhere would be trouble when we get into town.  Total freaking out."  Kurt rolled open a window to the night air, trying to get the smell of mothballs out. 

"Why?  What would happen?"  Forge looked in his rearview mirror curiously.  The truck hit a pothole in the road.

"OW!"

"OW!"

"OW!"  Three identical voices from the back cried, which was at least one more voice than Forge had seen go into the truck.  Slapping one hand over the bridge of his nose and forehead, Forge felt the desire to mumble out the 'idiocies of adolescent' but refrained.  Young men grouching like old people was waaaay uncool.

Amara was staring ahead in utter boredom.  "Doesn't this thing have a CD player?"  Amara ran her hand over the dash, looking for a flip-out player.

"Cee…Dee?"  Forge looked blankly at Amara.  "What's wrong with the eight-track?"  Forge tapped a very large rectangular intention on the dashboard.

Amara looked up at Kurt, equally as confused.  "Eight …track?" she asked.

Kurt had to think for a moment, trying to remember.  "Eet's like… a really big, old-school cassette tape.  Totally whack, isn't eet?"  He made a box shape with his fingers, trying to indicate the size.  Amara looked scandalized.  No CD player?! 

Letting that one slide, Forge returned his attention to he road.  Kurt directed him to an outdoor mall strip.  "There used to be a drive-in there."  Forge recalled aloud.  Ahh, the drive-in.  Where hormonal teenagers took their significant other (of the day) and went to….yeah.  Forge had a slight flashback…

(Enter the groovy flashbackness)

Forge and several of his friends had piled into that very pickup truck and gone to the drive-in.  Parking the car sideways in the parking stalls, they all pulled own lawn chairs and set them up in the flatbed.  Popcorn in one hand, drinks in the other, and prepared to honk the horn when the movie got scary, they awaited the projection booth to spark to life.

"What do you have there Forge?"  A blond and happy friend leaned forward to look at the bag of candy he had.  She is the epitome of '70's lovechild', so let's call her 'Bubbly'.

"Not sure.  Something called 'Reeses Pieces'."  Forge shook the bag.

"You actually spent money on broken bits of candy?  I could have done that for you!"  A guy with permed hair and the most annoying tye-dye shirt announced (now just to be known as 'Tye-dye').  Throwing his own bag of M&M's under his chair, he then proceeded to crush the hell out of it.  The M&M's became 'bits-of-powdered,-crushed-and-otherwise-maimed-chocolate-which-are-guaranteed-to-melt-all-over-you.'  Tye-dye opened the bag looked at the ruined M&M's.  Then the teen dumped them into his malt, making the first ice cream and candy mix.

Forge ripped the bag open, revealing tiny M&M look-alikes.  Everyone leaned into to get a good look a these 'Reeses Pieces'.  "What a burn, they're just bogue M's."  Another guy said, this one with bellbottoms so large he could have put his pants on over his shoes.  As per the others, we'll nickname him 'Bellbottom'.  Just to make them all feel special, you know.  Can't have Forge having the only strange name out there.

Shrugging at Bellbottom's comment, Forge tried a Reese Piece.  "Heeeey!  Far out!  These things are funky!"  It's was peanut butter with a chocolate shell, unlike the chocolate-all-over candy.  Instantly, there was a raid on Forge's candy.

"Outta sight!"  Bubbly announced.  "They're all… just… yeaaaah."   The 70's weren't the age of eloquence. 

The projector whirred to life, suddenly giving the countdown on the massive screen ahead.  'Attack of the Revenge of the Killer Slime Molds from Outer Space, part II'.  The title flashing across the screen was, by far, the most entertaining part of the movie.  It was another low-budge, low-plot movie.

Everyone was riveted to the screen in rapt horror as a giant space battle began.  Forge was staring at rapt horror at the 'special effects'.  "Man, I can still see the strings!"  Bellbottom shushed Forge and Bubbly jumped at the sound, and she shushed him back.  The movie didn't get any better from there on.

Getting up for another drink, Forge walked past the projection booth.  And then an idea hit.  An eeeeevil idea.  A splendidly eeeeevil idea.  With everyone engrossed in the horrible movie, there would be no witnesses.  And if Bubbly jumped as a simple hiss, she'd freak out at what was to come.

Idly making his way to the large building that housed the film, Forge hunkered down just below the hole the movie was projecting from.  Concentrating, his hand changed into the bio-organic metal and several large claws unfolded from the metal limb.  The screwdriver point lengthened a bit more and the claws snapped as Forge prepared.  A potentially evil and mischievous look crossed the genius teen's face.  Casually, he raised his hand into the beam of light.

"AHHHHHHHHHH!!  Killer squid from outer space!"  Was the cry.  The claws snapped a few times and his arm melded shapes to pull out the welding torch.  The transformation caused a mass panic.  Bubbly fainted.

"Mission: Accomplished."  Forge quickly retreated from the spot, his hand returning to the normal visage.  "Now to enjoy a cold, tasty beverage…"

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            "Forge!  Hello, is anyone home?"  Amara was waving a hand in front of his face.

"I'm fine!"  Forge announced, waving her hand away and focusing on the road.

"Good, because you just went through a red light and Kurt blew a fuse."  Amara jerked a thumb at Kurt, who was clinging to the door handle and utterly frozen.  Tightening his grip on the wheel, Forge made mental note not to flashback while driving again.

Backing the truck into a parking spot, they piled out of the cab and gasped for air that didn't reek of mothballs.  "Eww, mein fur ees going to smell of mothballs until I vash."  Kurt winced, holding his arms out in front of him as if it would keep the smell away.

A head popped up from the cargo hold.  "Can we come out now?"  Jamie asked, the tarp stretched over the top of his head.  Forge unlocked the gate and Jamie jumped out.  Followed by another Jamie.  And another.  And another.  It didn't take long before Forge was surrounded by at least a dozen little boys.

Forge preformed a double take.  Not at the number of boys, but at what they were now wearing.

"I brought disguises!"  Jamie announced, noticing the strange looks he was getting.  One duplicate was wearing a pair of 'nose glasses', while another had hung a fake beard on his face.  Fake scars, overly large glasses, wax lips; every novelty disguise in existence was being displayed on the duplicates.  One unfortunate duplicate had a paper bag over his head. 

"Jamie… take zhose off!  Professor said you vern't supposed to spend your allowance on joke magazines anymore."  Kurt began herding the Jamies into a group, hoping the original…whichever that was… would reabsorb his dupes.

The young mutant pouted.  "You're no fun."  He moped, absorbing all his duplicates in an effect not unlike a vacuum sucking up marbles.  Dragging his feet, Jamie scuffled to Kurt's side.

Amara was looking up at the stores, their illuminated signs lighting the darkness.  "Why did we come here?"  The store in the mini-mall wasn't quite mainstream, and boasted a selection of 'everything'.

Kurt leaned conspiratorially over to whisper to Amara.  "Because, zhe mall might cause Forge to blow a fuse."

"I can hear you.  I'm just right over here."  Forge waved a hand at them.  "You are speaking in a stage-whisper."

Ignoring Forge's outburst, Amara nodded.  "And the stores have those annoying disco shoes on display too."  The unsaid, 'and we don't want to give Forge any ideas about it' was perfectly clear as she mock-whispered back.

Looking down at Jamie, Forge asked, "Does this happen often at your school?"

"Yep!  We've got a bunch of telepaths, so instead of thinking stuff out, we just say it."  The boy nodded.  "Unless Logan is around.  Then we do use charades."   Then he began to pantomime out that he was hungry.

Kurt grabbed the men (well, more like 'man and boy') and dragged them into the store with Amara following.  It was just like any other store; full of shopping females, racks of pants, and really tasteless music playing over the sound system.  However, the situation of 'everyday life' was ruined by the death grip Kurt had on Forge's shirt.  He was a man on a mission.  He was going to reintroduce Forge to the modern world, or go hungry trying.  The latter wasn't an option.

"Amara, you are in charge of picking Forge's clothes.  He's a--," Kurt interrupted himself, grabbing the collar of Forge's shirt, pulling it outwards and looking in, "—size 38.  And his pant size ees—,"

This time Forge cut him off.  "I can just TELL you my sizes."  Forge had one hand protectively on his pants.  Reporting to Amara, the girl made her way to the men's section, dragging Jamie with.  After all, when going into uncharted territory, always bring a human-shield… I mean… a guide.

Kurt was eying a pair of jeans.  "I vish, for once, I could go shopping for mein-self at zhese places."

Looking over the rack of pants, Forge raised an eyebrow in confusion.  "You can't?"

"Tail holes don't cut zhemselves, Forge."  Kurt sighed, his hologram looking disappointed.  Forge felt like a first-class heel.  It was like someone pointing out that he couldn't wear rings or watches on his mechanical arm.  "Come to think of it… I wonder how Varren gets his shirts?"  Kurt's thoughts were now full of Warren Worthington's personal tailors, shirts, and pants.  For some reason, the pants in his head began marching around as he pondered.

Amara returned with a bundle of clothes and Jamie with a bundle twice as big.  Forge was in shock.  He hadn't seen such colors outside of tye-dye.  Amara held up a floral print, Hawaiian style shirt that not even St. John was insane enough to wear… and Scott wasn't colorblind enough to try it on either.

"Not for all the tea leaves in China."  Forge said flatly.

Throwing the shirt aside, Amara pulled up another.  This one was in a light blue.  Holding up, Amara tossed it aside after first glance.  "No, you're more of a 'warm' complexion."  She reported.

"What's that mean?"  Forge said, bewildered as Amara threw all the blues, grays, greens, and (URG!) purples out of her selections.

Chewing on her lip, she smiled.  "I have no clue, but Jean says it a lot and then throws all the blues in her closet out."  Forge quickly shot Kurt a concerned look about trusting a girl who was trying to dress him in purple.

"Dress him in the clothes I picked!  The ones I picked!"  Jamie jumped about impatiently.

Once again, Forge was deeply concerned about trusting his fashion style to someone; in this case, a hyper twelve-year-old.  Thus, escape was looking like the best option.  Sadly though, his plan to escape failed when Kurt commanded Jamie to dance on the hood of Forge's truck if he made a break for it.  Jamie sneered at the command, and began practicing break-dancing on the carpet.

Snagging up part of the pile of clothes, Forge found a dressing room and quickly barricaded the door.  A sardonic little voice in his mind whined that he was too big to fit through the heating ducts if he unscrewed the cover. 

Pulling something black out of the pile, Forge pulled it on.  Glancing in the mirror, Forge could see nothing wrong.  Then he took another glance.  "I'm not leaving the building like this!"  Forge shouted through the door.

"But I've seen lots of guys look really good in those clothes!"  Amara sighed.

The door suddenly swung open; startling the three 'fashion consults'.  Forge was dressed in black imitation leather pants and a black open-chest poet's shirt.  The shirt was slightly translucent.  "I look.  Like Davie.  Bowie."  He gasped out.  "And these pants are tight."

Amara sighed.  "…David Bowie."  She said dreamily and batted her eyes.  Jamie and Kurt gave a thumb down to the outfit and Forge quickly went to change… before someone saw him.

The next out fit was a just little better…but only just.  Stepping out of the dressing room, Forge hooked his hands into the belt loops and tried to keep the pants from hitting the floor.  He was wearing an extra baggy pair of raver pants, equipped with enough pockets to hide secret spy information from the enemy.  She shirt matched, with metal rings, extra pockets, and straps winding across both arms and his chest.  Forge looked like the world's angriest raver… who was about to drop his pants.  Thumbs down again from the peanut gallery.

The next three outfits weren't too bad.  Amara had chosen casual sweaters, and several styles of slacks and blue jeans.  They were practical, they were stylish, and what got Amara's vote… they were tight.

The sixth's outfit looked good enough, but didn't really strike anyone as being particularly important.  This is where the crisis –of course—happened.  "Ow… owowow!"  Forge winced, trying to pull the shirt over his head.

"What's going on in there?  Forge, are you all right?"  Amara's concerned voice called from the other side of the door and she rapped lightly on the wood.

"I think this shirt hates me."  Wincing, Forge gave another tug and nearly strangled himself.  He fumbled blindly for the collar, trying to free himself.  "Uh, Kurt?  I think it's stuck."

There was silence beyond the door.  Then they all began giggling.  "Y-your shirt ees stuck on you?"  Kurt asked, fighting to keep his voice level. 

"Attack shirt!"  Jamie squeaked in amusement, giggling into his hand, trying to keep from laughing at Forge's misfortune.  After all, misfortune is funny to twelve-year-olds.  Jamie's comment caused another round of laughing.

Inside the dressing room the laughing hadn't freed Forge at all, but it did elicit several very interesting swears.  "It's caught on my necklace!"  Forge tried to undo the polished shell necklace, but the clasp was tangled in the shirt.  Like a turtle, Forge had pulled his head, and most of his arms into the shirt before realizing he was stuck.  Now, short of stretching the shirt beyond recognition, Forge couldn't pull out or even pull it back on.

The laughter became more riotous and someone fell against the door as they lost the ability to stand up and giggle.  Fumbling for the lock, his arms pinned to his head, Forge tumbled out of the room and tripped over an incapacitated Kurt.  Wagner couldn't complain because Forge looked more ridiculous than he sounded.

Amara was the only one that wasn't laughing hard enough to lose her balance, so she began to help untangle his necklace from the shirt.  "We could just cut it off…"  She tugged on the clasp, trying to wiggle it free from the tangle.

"Don't you even think about it!  That would be cutting my customs and life apart."  Forge managed to get one hand free and pulled the shirt back down from his head.  Glaring at the giggling Kurt and Jamie, Forge tried again to pull the shirt off.  Amara freed the clasp and was holding one end of the shell necklace.  The shirt was thrown a considerable distance for its troubles and Forge glared at all the clothes in that general direction.

A young girl watched as a shirt flew over her head.  Turning, she spotted a shirtless Forge fuming over 'modern styles'.  "Oh Em Gee!"  The girl giggled, quickly looking away in embarrassment.  Forge quickly dodged back into the dressing room.

"Translation?"  Forge opened the door a crack and whispered to Amara.

The Nova Roman was giving the girl equally strange looks.  "It's short for …uh… Jamie, you tell him."  Amara grabbed Jamie by the arm and dragged him up.

"Net-speak!  Short for 'Oh my God'.  Kind of like l33t and w00t."  Jamie announced.  Amara shoved him back into his seat and nodded matter-of-factly at Forge.  Baffled by this 'net-speak', Forge made a mental note to learn this language.  Inevitably, once you learn the way of the w00t, you can never turn back.

The pile of clothes slowly dwindled and Forge managed to replace a good deal of his wardrobe.  Ignoring Amara's fashion advice, he grabbed several t-shirts for good old-fashioned grease mucking.  Yet there was one outfit he had yet to try on. 

The one Jamie gave him.

"Righty, I think I have enough clothes now.  Can we leave?"  Forge stepped out from the dressing room.

Jamie instantly noticed was Forge was attempting to avoid.  "But you didn't try on the ones I picked!"  He cried, sounding forlorn.  "I know how to pick good clothes, I'm twelve.  I can dress myself cool."  The boy announced.  Kurt recalled a punishment of laundry duty and decided not to mention that Jamie had superman underpants.

 "Fine.  But if they have ducks or fuzzy animals on them anywhere, you going to be tapped to the fender on the drive home."  Forge relented, picking up the last outfit and returning to the dressing room.  Jamie didn't seem to take the threat seriously.  After all, when you can be your own decoy and overwhelm almost anyone, taking revenge was easy.

There was an abrupt pause from the changing room, as if Forge had suddenly frozen.  "Is eet any good?"  Kurt tapped the door.

"…yeah."  Forge sounded dazed.

"Then come out here and show us!"  Amara said impatiently.

The door pushed open and everyone (Kurt, two Jamies, a random sales clerk, and Amara) crowded around to peer in.  Forge was wearing a double layer of t-shirts, a red shirt over a yellow shirt.  A casual pair of jeans were just a bit long, but safely bunched up around his shoes.  The outfit seemed to exactly match--

"See!  We are twins now!  I can pick good clothes too."  Jamie stood beside Forge, tugging on his red sweater.  Jamie's long sleeved sweater had a yellow double layer under it.  Yet unlike Jamie's baggy clothes, Forge's fit well.  Kurt presented a double thumb's up and Amara nodded in approval. 

"I hear that, Squirt.  Not too shabby."  Forge ruffled Jamie's hair.  The praise was to Jamie as highly-caffeinated drinks are to Pietro, and the small mutant nearly started bouncing off the walls in delight.

Gathering the new clothes, accessories, and necessaries, Kurt lead the group towards the front of the store to check out.  Forge's parents had lent him their credit card to allow him to replace what had been lost over time.

"I guess this wasn't so bad."  Forge confessed as the cashier began scanning items.  "The new style is pretty solid and I won't have to streak anymore.  I got the bread to pay for it too."

The woman working the register totaled the amount up.  She reported the amount, "That'll be $413.97."

"Ok, I'm just gonna--413 dollars?!?"  Forge choked.

"And ninty-seven cents!"  Jamie chimed.  The plastic card was getting a work out on this trip.  Even Amara looked shocked at the total amount of money, but she showed it by raising one eyebrow gracefully.  Princesses weren't supposed to look shocked.

Kurt winced.  "Velcome to zhe new millennium, Forge."