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With a bamf! that itself seemed to boast of irrepressible braggadocio, Kurt appeared at the entrance to the Danger Room. He tried not to abuse his mutant power of transportation, owing both to not wanting to put too much of a strain on an ability he might need at any moment—and the spell—but today, he felt it was justified. With nothing else to do on a doldrumsy weekend, he’d decided to gift Scott some time in the X-Men’s famous combat simulator. Their fearless leader loved it when any of the X-Men honed their skills at the glorified obstacle course that was something of a second significant other to him.

And Kurt agreed—with the crises their mutant hinterteil so frequently found themselves in, everyone needed to be at their best. But there was no reason he couldn’t have some fun while he was getting his practice in. Play-acting as Robin Hood or Captain Jack Sparrow would still test his reflexes to the limit, even if Scott frowned upon pretending to slay undead pirates or oppressive Normans.

Kurt wondered what he would think about playing John Carter of Mars, in full kit to boot—not that there was much of it. At the moment, Kurt was wearing less than Colossus and Scott was not a man susceptible to such frivolity.

Then again, the man had had that thing with Psylocke. So Kurt doubted he would come down too hard on showing a little skin. But, best to let sleeping dogs lie. What Scott didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Calling up the program from the Danger Room’s databanks… his blue brother Hank had encoded it for him, having a literary appreciation for the works of Edgar Rice Burroughs… Kurt took a last moment to adjust his costume.

Looking at his glossy reflection in the Danger Room door’s stolid metal, he saw the usual handsome devil. Just rugged enough not to be baby-faced, and just baby-faced enough not to be Logan. Blue hair curled boyishly on top his head. He wore a leather harness with nothing underneath besides the fine layer of fur that covered his entire body. Although his muscles weren’t as defined as some of the X-Men’s powerhouses, his slender body was by no means androgynous. He had prominent biceps and his abs showed through light swirls of blue. At his narrow waist, a loincloth afforded Kurt enough modesty to be comfortable—he was a showman, not an exhibitionist—and held his sheathed sword and holstered pistol. His legs were strong and healthy-looking, with the bottoms of his sheath and holster strapped to his thighs to keep them from flopping around during his trademark acrobatics. And, though it handicapped his prehensile double-toes, he wore a pair of leathery buccaneer boots. Sometimes, image had to take precedence.

Besides, Kurt reasoned to himself, you never knew when your toes might be disabled in battle. And he could still rely on his long, spade-tipped tail for a solid grip.

If only Hank had included a holographic Dejah Thoris for some of that gripping.