Show me your WAR FACE!!!!

Gettin’ rusty now :/ Stepford Cuckoos

Irma•Celeste•Sophie•Esme•Phoebe

Uncanny X-Men #8 (2013)

“Probably because it sounds like coo coo, which makes you sound like you either really enjoy cocoa puffs, or you’re coo coo crazy. Besides, I wouldn’t want to be addressed by Frost-Summers. As much of a group you are, you’re also individuals. It doesn’t feel right calling you all one thing.”

“Well, obviously if you’re talking to just one of us you should just use our name. But if you need to get all of our attention somewhere then shouting all five names in a row. We keep trying to get everyone use to the codename Five-In-One.”

“It just won’t take. Annoying, really, because listening to people whinge about our surname as though it needs to meet everyone’s exacting standards of acceptable naming conventions is tedious as all hell.”

“Cuckoos are brood parasites. Besides, I don’t want to constantly collectively call you the Cuckoos. That’s just annoying.”

“It’s our surname. It’s not annoying.”

“Why are people always so weird about our name? It’s the Stepford part I’ve always found a bit insulting, not this.”

“No shit? I had no idea.” Dante whistled. “That doesn’t make much sense to me. I didn’t have anything against mutants before I found out I was an Inhuman, and I don’t plan on starting. Mutants are people like anyone else, trying to make it through life with the lot God left ‘em with.” 

Dante took a deep breath and nodded, closing his eyes. When he opened them, they glowed orange; Dante figured a little intimidation factor couldn’t hurt. 

Dante knocked on the door. There was no answer, but Dante could faintly hear the sound of the inhabitants shushing one another. Dante looked back at the Cuckoos, shrugged, and kicked the door down.

“We’re not religious ourselves, but we did know a very religious mutant. Two, actually. Different religions though,” Irma said.

Their eyes glowed a bright white in response to his change, letting him decide the tone of the encounter with the humans. They were, the Cuckoos saw when he dropped the door, a real mix. Three looked like they lived at the gym, while the other two were scrawnier, including the one they had tagged as the likely ringleader.

<Brawn over brains jokes anyone? No? Oh, forget I said anything.>

<We’re not Spider-Man, honestly. We have some dignity left to lose.>

“You should really apologize for that mess,” they chimed in unison.

      “No one knows how to be anything else. That’s a        cop-out.” She exhaled another sigh, and found a surface to sit on, lean against, kicking her legs out in front of her. She didn’t know if there was a solution to this – maybe it was something that was going to be a violent circle, with no resolution.       “I’m guessing mentor is out, too.”

“Despite the perceptions of certain people in power, we’re actually rather good at this whole telepathy racket.”

“What she means is -”

“What she means, Irma, is that we’re not children who don’t know what we’re doing. And you don’t need to edit.”

“Humph. Apparently, someone does.”

Irma threw up her hands, letting Phoebe have her odd self- righteous moment. She probably couldn’t say how much of the outburst was her own frustration, and how much of it was seeping in from the others. They were all individuals, singular people, but they were all five at the same time.

How much of Emma’s identity they were truly wrestling, that was a trickier question for the discerning mind.

She’s going to die. At twenty-nine, of a massive brain bleed. And with her dying breath, she’s going to blame  them.       “You’re making my head hurt, you truly are.” She pushed her hands through her hair, before passing her fingers over her throat.       “Mother and daughters won’t work. I don’t know        what will.”

“Oh promises, promises...”

This whole dance might suit Celeste or Sophie, but Esme would have been just fine with upping the ante a bit.

“Well we don’t know how to be anything else either.”

“You’re no longer our teacher, are you? I mean, we’re not really students anymore. I don’t even know where the technical age question factors in either.”

“If we get into that then my head is going to hurt. Which wouldn’t bode well for the rest of you either.”

“Please don’t insult the spice girls in my  presence. But if you like The Heathers then  it might stick.”

“Shush. Just accept the wisdom of your technically older relatives.”

“But what’s the real difference between that and just calling us the Cuckoos?”

“Trust me, chica, I wouldn’t have picked it if I’d had a choice,” Dante murmured, half to himself. “But that’s life, right? One day you’re playing weddings, the next you get a whiff of green mist and burn your house down.”

That sounded bad. Dante looked back at them.

“I’ve got a better handle on it now.”

The group arrived at the room that the Cuckoos had pointed out. Dante stood in front of it, trying to steady his heartbeat.

“How many are there?”

“Mist - you mean you’re an Inhuman?” Sophie said, inhaling sharply.

“We’re mutants, to answer the next question you would wonder about. It’s in vogue for us to all fight each other.” Phoebe mostly looked bored rather than eager for a fight.

“Five. One feels like the ringleader,” Sophie said.

“She means that one of them is clearly more confident,” Irma added. “For teenagers, that’s a good clue. He’s sitting in the back of the room.”

“The Heathers?”

“Wait. Sophie, Phoebe. Irm…Mindee. Thought I had something there. Cleste. Esme. It’s sort of SPICE.”

“Yes, her real name is Irma.”

“It is sort of SPICE. Who knew sentient bacteria had a twisted sense of humor? That’s a little bit disturbing now that I think about it. That’s not where the whole Mindee thing came from -”

“Heathers is a more fun reference than British pop bands we’ve never been interested in.”

“So, you want to be related to me only for the man  power. How about The Spice Girls?”

“It’s clever, but their entire alleged career predates our...existence? Lifespan? You know what I mean.”

“I cannot call you anything, without you getting upset.” She tucked blunt blonde behind her ears, trying to find something to do with her hands. “You matter to me, of course you do. You’re not  a low priority. But I don’t want to put you in a position  you don’t want to be in. Physically, we are what we   are. But emotionally, that’s what you have to decide.”

She might have been right about that, but none of Cuckoos were eager to break ranks and admit it. She would just get smug about it. More smug than she could be otherwise.

“And what if we don’t know what we’re supposed to decide?”

“What if we - how are we meant to decide something like that if we don’t know what we’re supposed to do?”