***** 

TITLE: None

AUTHOR: Raietta 

RATING: NC-17 for a single m/m sex scene. Dammit. 

CATEGORY: M/K, with lots and lots of fictional guest stars (hee!) 

WARNING: Unfinished!!!!! 

NOTES: This is just a quick, quick, very quick snippet that I just 
had fun writing, please, *do not* take this story seriously!! Lots 
and lots of fictional characters guest-star. Having no time for 
anything anymore, this story is rough, short, silly, rough, self-
indulgent, and rough. Plus, it's unfinished. Dedicated to my
little sister, even though she'll probably never ever read it, as a sort
of happy b-day thingie, which explains the Sailor Moon guest 
appearances. Happy birthday, sweetie! 

P.S. Sorry about the self-insertion (*who* is The Hostess? Who, 
indeed?). I just couldn't help myself. <g> 

*****

 

The party had only been going for fifteen minutes, and already it was 
way out of hand. Three stains on the carpet, which had been shampooed 
only a month ago. God dammit. One vase broken, three glasses 
shattered, one picture knocked off the wall, the frame smashed. The 
Hostess didn't have a raging headache, though, happily enough.
Things were going quite well, comparatively speaking (flashback to the New 
Year's party fiasco earlier this year--ugh). All the guests were 
having a blast. Hopefully, the damage would be kept to a minimum. 
Please. 

Someone had put a CD of popular Halloween songs on the stereo, and 
people in costumes swirled and bopped all over the house, the living 
room, the bedrooms, the kitchen, dancing to the Monster Mash and 
making the floors tremble. Orange and black streamers of paper crepe 
fluttered from doorjambs, strings of grinning paper jack-o-lanterns 
and blanched ghosts curved across ceilings. Somewhere in the 
basement, where the pool table was, a sharp bang issued forth. The 
Hostess winced, and nearly dropped her tray of hors d'oeuvres. 
Dammit. That was a suspiciously loud noise. Like, say, for instance, 
a pool table suddenly toppling over and smashing to the floor. God 
dammit. 

"Marvelous party!" a lady dressed as Catwoman shouted suddenly in The 
Hostess's ear, and plucked a cracker with a wedge of cheese on it 
from the tray. "Simply wonderful party! Superb!" 

"Thank you!" The Hostess shouted back, trying to be heard above the 
general roar of people talking and laughing and screaming and singing 
and the very loud Ghostbusters theme song currently playing on the 
stereo. The woman in the Catwoman costume simply smiled and patted 
her on the head, and swirled away, back into the crowd. 

The doorbell rang. Sighing, The Hostess, still clutching her tray of 
snacks, pushed her way through the crowd of revelers to the door, and 
opened it with another sigh. Please God, not another guest. She 
didn't remember inviting this many people. 

Two men stood on the doorstep, flanked by The Hostess's carefully 
carved jack-o-lanterns. One man was wearing a large white box, 
bizarrely enough, the other was dressed as a baseball player. 

"Hey, baby doll!" the baseball player shouted jubilantly, and leaned 
over and gave The Hostess a quick peck on the cheek. 

The Hostess immediately broke into a smile and exclaimed 
happily, "Fox Mulder! You dog you! It's been forever! I
didn't think 
you were going to come." 

Fox Mulder just grinned and did a soft-shoe sketch on the front 
step. "I always attend Fictional Character Bashes, you know that, 
kiddo." 

TH snorted. "Sure, right, whatever, Mulder. You must be the most 
antisocial person I know." 

"I'm not a person, I'm a fictive! And I resent being called 
antisocial. I'm just... just..." 

"Bitingly sarcastic and moody all the time?" This was from the man in 
the big white box. He smirked at Mulder, who sputtered, "Am not! Is 
it my fault my writers make me quirky and cynical?" The man, ignoring 
Fox, turned to TH and said, affectionately, "Hi, girl." 

"Hi, Alex," TH replied sweetly, then stepped aside and let the two 
men inside, tray of edibles still held aloft in one hand. "What on 
earth are you supposed to be, anyway, Krycek? A blank Rubic's
cube?" 

"I'm a clothes dryer!" the assassin replied cheerfully, and
Mulder rolled his eyes. A gesture at his midsection. "See that circle?" TH 
nodded, amazed. "That's where you put the clothes in! See?" Then
Alex pulled open the little circle drawn onto the box side, and a pile of 
clothes fell out and onto the floor. 

"God damn," TH breathed, as she and everyone nearby stared down at 
the pile of clothes on the floor. "That has got to be *the* most 
unromantic costume I have ever seen." 

"Beg pardon?" Krycek blinked at her, confusion swirling across 
vibrantly green eyes. 

"I was expecting you two to come dressed as Romeo and Juliet, or 
something," TH groused sulkily. Both men immediately gave one another 
long-suffering looks. "Something *cute* and *couply*." 

"Mulder here refused to wear tights." 

"Krycek insisted on being something kooky." 

"Well, c'mon!" Krycek exclaimed. "Have you ever heard of a 
superspy/assassin/Consortium Bad Boy dressing up as a clothes dryer 
for Halloween? It's cool!" 

Mulder scowled. "No, it isn't. It's weird." 

"Oooh, the pot calling the kettle black," Krycek sneered. "I suppose 
you'd have a lot of experience on *that*, wouldn't you,
Spooky?" 

Before a fist-fight broke out between the two, TH quickly intervened, 
asking, "So, Mulder, which baseball player are you supposed to be, or 
are you just a generic ball player?" 

Mulder drew himself up proudly. "I happen to be dressed as Babe Ruth, 
*only* the greatest baseball player to ever live." 

"That's Mickey Mantle," Krycek corrected. Mulder glared. 

"You don't look like Babe Ruth," TH said, frowning 
thoughtfully. "You're too thin." 

Mulder just sighed. 

"Who are you dressed up as?" Krycek asked her, before Mulder could 
start sulking. 

TH smiled and spread out her arms to show off her costume. It 
consisted of a straight jacket, long sleeves dangling, thrown over a 
glaringly bright silver faux lamé gown, with a poofy skirt. Black 
circles were colored in under her eyes, and her hair was wild and 
messy. "I'm Sylvia Plath's Esther Greenwood! Isn't it
cool? I was gonna go as her in her Pollyanna Cowgirl outfit, but I couldn't
find the right shirt." 

Nonplused stares. 

"And you call *my* costume weird," Krycek muttered, rolling his eyes. 

"Esther never wore a straight jacket," Mulder said pensively, and it 
was TH's time to sigh. 

"Just go with it," she ordered, and the two shrugged. "And quit 
bugging me. I have snack foods to give out to people. Go mingle, or 
something." 

"Okay," the two lovers said, amiably, and disappeared into the crowd. 
TH sighed. 

Wandering into the kitchen to get more beer for people, TH saw that 
the kitchen had been destroyed. A witch's hat lay forlornly in
the sink. The refrigerator stood half open, the pantry door gaped wide. 
Paper plates filled with nibbled-on food lay scattered on every 
surface. Dear God. As she bent to pick up a plate off the floor, a 
crowd of guests suddenly burst into the kitchen. Screaming and 
laughing and splashing various liquids all over the place. One of 
them, a teenaged girl with long blonde hair in two trailing pig 
tails, dressed as a bunny, was squealing and trying to beat the hell 
out of a boy dressed as a drill sergeant. "Give it *back*, Pan, you 
creep! Give it *back*!!" 

The drill sergeant just giggled drunkenly and held a pink wand with a 
glittery moon at its end out of the screaming girl's reach, 
taunting, "Try and get it, Bunny, try and get it!" 

One of the other partiers, Freddie Krueger dressed up as Harold 
Bloom, raised a knife threateningly at the sergeant. "Give the little 
girl the magic wand-thing, you creep, before I slice your head off." 

"Eeek," said the sergeant. 

TH felt a great wave of fear wash over her. She did not want to 
become involved. Quickly, she ducked around the kitchen table and 
snuck out the back door. No one noticed her leave, thank God. 

Outside, safely in the backyard, The Hostess let out a loud breath of 
relief. Small clusters of people were scattered across the backyard, 
laughing and chatting away. TH could feel the headache coming on. 
Time to go and hide, for a while. Quickly, she crept out of sight. 

Inside the house, a man dressed as Dr. Frank N. Furter stalked over 
to a table of food and drinks on six-inch heels and began filling up 
a plate. As he perused the array of alcoholic beverages, a woman 
dressed in a black leotard and tutu with purple and green striped 
panty hose and a purple and green striped witch's hat strode up
to the table and joined him. Reaching across the sweet transvestite to 
get at a bowl of cheese balls, the woman said, "Excuse me," looked 
up, and froze. 

"Walter Skinner?" she exclaimed, and the AD turned and looked at her, 
surprised. 

"Scully?" 

The FBI agent took a step back and brushed a lock of frizzy red hair 
out of her eyes. "Well, don't you look smashing, sir!" she cried, 
grinning widely, her eyes roaming over Skinner's makeup, corset, 
elbow gloves, fishnets, and garter belt. Skinner rolled his eyes. "I 
never knew you liked `The Rocky Horror Picture Show'." 

Skinner grimaced and tugged at the string of oversized pearls around 
his throat, like he normally would a tie. "It's... a cute movie." 

"Hmm." Scully smiled and poured herself a cup of punch. 

"Watch out, I think it's spiked," Skinner warned. 

"Thanks," Scully replied, and gulped the drink down in one swallow. 

"And who are you dressed up as?" Skinner asked as he reached for a 
brewskie. 

Scully smiled again. "I'm Jill Thompson's `Scary
Godmother'. Isn't it a great outfit?" 

"Ah, yes it is," the AD replied, without a clue as to what Scully was 
talking about. 

"It took me forever to find these shoes," Scully continued, and they 
both gazed down at her footwear for a moment, contemplatively. 

"Seen Mulder and Krycek anywhere?" 

"Yeah, the dynamic duo arrived a little while ago. Krycek came 
dressed as a clothes dryer." Scully smirked, remembering. 

"Jesus. That's creative." 

"Frank N. Furter's creative, too," Scully replied, loyally. 

"Not really," Skinner said sourly. "Two other people came as Furter, 
and then to top it off, Frank came himself, dressed as an FBI agent." 

Scully laughed. 

"Furter's downstairs somewhere, last time I saw him, hitting on
the Cat in the Hat." 

"That's pretty sick." 

"Huh." 

"Excuse me," a voice piped up, and the two stepped back to let a girl 
dressed as one of Monty Python's knights of the round table (Sir 
Robin) get to the bowl of chips. She had to set down a pair of 
coconuts and a cage with a stuffed parrot in it to get her food. 
Skinner and Scully stared at the cage, confusion on both their faces. 
The girl, seeing their looks, smiled. "I couldn't decide between
a Monty sketch or a Monty movie. So I did both!" 

"Very clever," Skinner replied uncertainly, clearing his throat, and 
the girl grinned and said, "Thanks!", then picked up her plate, her 
cage, and her coconuts, and galloped off, going `clippity
clop' all the way. 

"Maybe we should go somewhere relatively sane," Skinner suggested, 
and Scully replied, "Sounds good." 

The two left the table in search of parts of the house free of insane 
fictives. As they left the living room, the doorbell rang. "Don't 
answer that," Skinner cautioned Scully, the sixth sense he'd 
developed in `Nam suddenly kicking in. 

Scully shrugged. "Okay." They continued out of the room. 

The doorbell continued to ring, insistently. 

"Hey!" Shakespeare's Ophelia, dressed as a Munster, 
shouted. "Somebody gonna get that?" 

"Where's the goddammed crummy hostess?" Salinger's Holden
Caulfield shouted back. 

At that, a sigh issued forth from the table of snacks that Skinner 
and Scully had just left, the tablecloth lifted, and The Hostess, who 
had been hiding under the table in relative peace for a while, 
clambered out, got to her feet, and went to answer the door. 

Five little kids and an adult stood waiting for her on the front 
step. The moment she opened the door, the little munchkins burst into 
song. 

"Trick or treat! Smell my feet!

Give me something good to eat!

If you don't! I don't care!

I'll pull down your underwear!" 

"Hi," was all TH could manage to say, and quickly dumped the contents 
of a giant bag of M&Ms into their pillowcases. Little hard candies 
spilled everywhere. The adult in the group glared at her, but TH 
couldn't bring herself to care. Just a few minutes ago, someone
had broken her little David Mack's `Kabuki' statue, a prized
possession. She'd almost burst into tears, but managed to stave them off
for the time being. The headache, on the other hand, was screaming through 
her head full-force. All she wanted to do by now was curl up 
somewhere quiet and die. 

"Hey, wait a minute," one of the kids, dressed as a goblin, was 
protesting. The Hostess ignored the kid and went back inside and 
slammed shut the door. And to think, just a few years ago she would 
have been one of those kids, dressed up as Snow White and telling 
stupid jokes for candy. When the hell had she turned into such a 
cranky old person? Weirdness. For a brief, horrifying moment, TH 
could feel the unshed tears well up once more in her eyes. 

"Hey, are you all right?" a man nearby asked her. TH looked up, and 
saw that Batman, dressed as the Joker, was hovering by her elbow, 
acting very Bruce Wayne-ish and kind. 

TH sniffed. "I'm just feeling a bit off, that's all." 

Batman smiled kindly. "Hosting a party is always very overwhelming. 
Why don't you go lie down for a minute, then? I can hold the fort
for a while." 

TH smiled adoringly up at him, watery-eyed and grateful. "Thank you! 
Thank you, I think I will." 

Batman patted her on the shoulder, and TH slipped off toward her 
bedroom, skirting Richard St. Vier dressed as Gandhi, Mulan dressed 
as Marie Antoinette. Pushing her way through a group of werewolves 
and mummies and one Big Bird, she finally arrived at her room, opened 
the door, and found herself staring at two very impassioned men 
screwing like crazed weasels in her bed. 

"*God*! *Jesus*! *God*! *God*! *God*! *Yes*!" one man was shrieking 
as the other rammed into him, knocking the headboard rhythmically 
against the wall. TH, horrified, could only gape. Then she noticed 
the large white box with a hole cut into the side lying abandoned on 
the floor, next to a discarded baseball uniform. 

Outrage erupted in her body, exploded into her head. "God DAMN it!" 
she howled, irate, at the oblivious couple. Fox was by now 
caterwauling like a cat, one long vowel strung out over the space of 
a minute. "Can't you two *ever* keep it in your pants for more
than an hour?! Jesus! And in my bed, too!" 

Before the irrational urge to kick the doorjamb repeatedly until her 
foot bled took over, TH slammed shut the door to Mulder and
Krycek's lovemaking and stormed back into the crowd of partygoers. 

"Rassum frassum frickin' frackin' motherfucking goddammed
oversexed hormonal jackasses," she muttered irately to herself, before
being accosted by a short man dressed as Gandalf. 

"What!" she shouted at him. The man giggled and splashed a liberal 
amount of the contents of his drink onto his wizard's robe and
the floor. 

"Psst!" he whispered, loudly. "Lemme tell ya a secret." The man 
leaned in close and breathed into TH's ear. "I think th'
punch's been spiked. Hee!" 

TH frowned. "I didn't make any punch." 

"Gambit brought it," a woman with a white streak in her hair 
announced, passing by. She was dressed as Elvira, Mistress of the 
Dark. 

"Huh," The Hostess said. This made, eerily enough, a modicum of 
sense. 

"Then who spiked it?" the drunk short man asked. 

"Gambit probably did that, too, sugah," Rogue said, and Matt Murdock, 
dressed appropriately as the Devil, suddenly appeared behind TH, 
frowning. 

"You've seen Gambit?" Daredevil asked Rogue, looking annoyed. 

"Of course Ah did, he's mah date!" Rogue exclaimed. 

"No he's not," Matt shot back, "he's my date!"

"No he's not!" yet another man shouted, and everyone turned to
stare at the X-Man Iceman, one of the other guests dressed as Frank N. 
Furter, who glared at both Rogue and Daredevil. "He's *my* date!" 

"He bloody well is not!" piped in another voice, and Gen X's
Chamber stalked up to the knot of people. "Gambit's *my* date ter
this party!" 

"Is not, you twerpy little rugrat!" Rogue shouted. 

Suddenly, without warning, a fistfight broke out. Chaos immediately 
reigned. Furniture started smashing indiscriminately, and soon half 
of the partygoers were involved, Jane Eyre punching out Mark Renton, 
Homer Simpson with Dr. Evil in a headlock. Over it all came the eerie 
strains of a Radiohead song, the Halloween Music Hits CD apparently 
having finished. 

"Stop it! Stop it!" The Hostess started screaming, helplessly, and 
then had to duck when a knick-knack sailed out of the whirling fray 
and launched itself at her head. "Aiiieeee!" she shrieked, and then 
the door to her bedroom burst open and Mulder and Krycek, both very, 
very naked, rushed out of the room, howling like banshees and leaping 
into the fray. 

"Yeehaw!" Krycek shouted, engaging in combat with Obi-Wan Kenobi, who 
was dressed as a Sith. "I loooove party brawls!!" 

"Hee hee!" Mulder replied, blocking a punch from Hank Rearden and 
shoving TH solicitously out of harm's way. "First mind-altering
sex, then a big, fat, knock-down, drag-out battle! Life doesn't get
much better than this!" 

"Ack!" TH cried, watching despairingly as the fight flowed into the 
living room and the kitchen, furniture caving in under the force of 
the fight. "Not the stereo system! Not the stereo system! Anything 
but the stereo system!" 

SCRUNCH!! 

Radiohead's "In Limbo" song silenced abruptly. The Hostess
screamed. 

"Agggghhhhh!!" TH shrieked, her eyes beginning to flame a little as 
she gazed at the remains of her beloved stereo system. "Does *anyone* 
know how much I paid for that fifty-disc CD player?!? 
Aaaggggghhhhh!!" Something inside her snapped audibly. Hefting a fire 
poker from the fireplace stand, TH turned with a deadly smile to the 
fight whirling its way through the house, let out a battle scream, 
and joined in. 

*** 

"Whew! That was fun!" 

The Hostess, upon hearing Krycek say this, turned to glare at the man 
with a pair of black eyes from her spot on the floor. Krycek just 
grinned crazily at her from around a split lip. He was sitting next 
to Mulder in the living room, against the wall, and boy oh boy, did 
he look pleased with himself. 

"Well, it was," he said, grinning happily. Skinner, sitting limply on 
the sofa in the living room, which had been broken down the middle 
somewhere in the fight, rolled his eyes. He was missing one of his 
high heels, and his wig was gone. He looked utterly ridiculous. 

"Krycek, shut up," TH snapped dully, feeling miserable. "Before I... 
before I... oh, hell. Just be quiet. I'm in no mood for your 
sociopathy right now." 

Krycek started to look contrite, but Mulder spoiled it by leaning 
over, still quite blissfully nude, and kissing his lover on the 
mouth, mindful of the split lip. Krycek immediately reciprocated, 
grinning into the kiss. They pulled back finally, blood now on both 
their chins. 

"Don't worry about it, babe," Fox said, smiling, "I still love
you. My hero." 

"Awww," Krycek purred, snuggling up to Mulder, "sugarlips, what did I 
ever do to deserve you?" 

  

****

Annnndddd, that's all I could wring out in such short time. Thank 
God!!! Happy Halloween, everyone!! 

--Raietta